Chapter Text
August 25th, 1975
She woke up alone in a dark room, the disgusting feeling of sweat covered her entire body in a thin sheen that immediately made her sit up and stretched; feeling the ache and pop of her joints. The high humidity of the weather irritated her greatly and already put her in a bad mood.
Her window was the only source of air; cracked open to the fullest while the mesh kept out all the bugs hoping to suck on her skin. She looked out of it, meeting the view of beautiful trees and a pretty backyard. Bright, big and healthy flowers were blooming before her eyes hopped from rooftops to rooftops of other houses. Less than a few minutes up ahead was a small forest that she explored and went through a couple of times. The view was beautiful until she heard the faint sounds of raining droplets hitting the rooftop before it came down pouring, again. The skies are always covered by soft puffs of depressing, unwelcoming and sombre clouds that cloak the bright, happy sun.
Sticky, gloomy, grey and rainy. That pretty much summed up London, England as a whole.
She really, really did not like London.
At first, she loved the idea of moving there. The posh accents portrayed in movies by hot and famous actors, the tall buildings made of steel seemed cool and the colourful houses lined in Notting Hill were adorable. Hell, even the Queen lived there! Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle seemed pretty cool. But then there were minor inconveniences that built up over time.
First, it was the shitty food. Maybe she hadn’t found the good restaurants yet, but there were hardly any multicultural options. Just bread and beans and coffee and tea. It turned into a great area of concern, what if the food at Hogwarts was also shit too? Then it was the mass amount of rain, but she expected that. Next, it was the horrible traffic and manic drivers. The cyclists were insane, zipping through red lights and one even flipped her off for simply walking across a streetwalk and ‘cutting them off’ despite there being a bike lane. Then it was the fast-paced life. Everyone was always on the move, always in a hurry to get somewhere and the rush never seemed to stop, not even for a second. Afterwards, there was this sort of pressure she felt every time she opened the front door; becoming exhausted quickly. The people were even worse. Canadians had their problems, but her accent seemed to deeply offend random civilians, causing them to sneer at her in disgust. Rude and impatient: that was her first impression of the British. She could argue that London was even worse than New York. With the small build-up of annoyance that kept pilling on rapidly, it was safe to say that she hated London.
Stupid British stereotypes , she thought inwardly. All fake, it’s never like the movies.
Although, she hoped that she only nit-picked the place because she missed her comfortable and familiar house in Toronto.
When Y/N L/N originally moved to England from Canada with her mother, she was beyond excited but it was dampened with the feeling of sadness. While she was excited to start out somewhere fresh and new and attend a new school, she also had to start fresh and new . She was a stranger and out of her element.
Her mother was a Cardiothoracic surgeon and moved for a job opportunity to become chief of Cardiothoracic surgery. The placement was something she worked years to achieve, her mother’s dream job. There was no way she was going to let the opportunity slip through her fingers, and Y/N would never have asked her to do so.
She loved her mother and to some extent, wanted to follow in her footsteps, but ever since her new job position, her scheduling had been filled and overbearing. She was often roped into unplanned and unexpected surgeries. She had hardly seen her, let alone eat a meal together since they moved less than a month ago.
Like any other No-Maj parents, her mother was beyond shocked to find a couple of odd men and women at her doorstep, wearing outdated and strange clothing, claiming that her daughter possessed magical powers. Who wouldn’t be surprised, especially her, a believer in the hard facts and science.
Then she picked at her nails, recalling every happy memory of her time at Ilvermorny and her life in Canada. She missed her old house, her old friends, the old maple trees in the backyard and the tire swings she and her mother hung on them, creating a make-shift swing.
Specifically, she missed her friend Matthew. They’d been friends for years and some of her most memorable, happiest memories contained him or Ilvermorny in some way.
Y/N gaze drifted away from her window and to the letter sat on top of her dresser, her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, a hard-cover book called Hogwarts, A History and her owl Celeste. She walked up and grabbed her acceptance letter, re-reading it again.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chief Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
To Ms. Y/N L/N
The Empty Room with the Large Windows
8 Union Drive
City of London
Dear Ms. L/N
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
It had been a lengthy process to transfer schools. Her headmistress, Alexis Lambkins, was a plump woman with curly hair and tan skin. She had been in contact with her soon-to-be headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Both had been sending letters back and forth, arranging details of her schooling and more.
Of course she heard of Albus Dumbledore, who hadn’t? It was daunting, though — having a wizard of that status inquire about her for months.
She sighed, folding it in half again before slipping it back into the envelope, fanning herself with the letter.
She had yet to unbox anything, opting to leave everything packaged up, ready to be taken for easy access. She was about to be whisked away into a new school for almost an entire year and saw no point unboxing everything only to have to pack again, especially since she was set to leave in a week.
The move had been a lot for her to adjust to. Opening the boxes would just be another reminder, too. Every morning when she woke up, there was always a sharp rise of emotions jabbing at her chest as she realized she wasn’t in her bed. An expectation was there that she would suddenly wake up and be back home.
Home.
In moments like these, while she was proud of her New-Maj heritage, she wished her mother was a witch too. A part of her thinks — knows that her mother would be around more often and more understanding. Plus, she could Apparate around instead of taking the crowded buses filled with rude and impatient Brits.
She remembered a transfer student that came from Hogwarts back in her third year. He’d move to the States permanently. She didn’t remember him much, he’d been a sixth year and only spoke with other sixth and seventh year students. Although she did remember him being nice, there were other transfer students from Japan and France there that she may have been mistaking him for.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she followed her morning routine, showered and put on clean clothes. Y/N roamed around the house before finding herself in front of the fridge. Empty, aside from a few condiments. She sighed as she felt her stomach grumble. Thinking of what to do, she drummed her fingers against the wooden table counter before walking to the living room. A bright-coloured couch was pushed back to the wall, a glass coffee table sat in front of it, a few magazines and medical journals from her mother were flipped open. She lent down, grabbing the remote to the television and clicked it on.
She flicked through the channels, most of them were cheesy soap operas or movies. At one point, she came across the Animated Star Trek series; her eyes lingered for a while before skipping the channel until she landed on the weather forecast.
She tossed the remote back onto the couch, walked up to her room, grabbed her wallet, keys, cassette player and her wand, shoving it into her pocket and hid it from view. That was one thing she liked about London, she was able to keep her wand instead of handing it over every summer to her headmistress.
Walking to the door, she slipped on her runners no — trainers. Yes, because that’s what they called them here; trainers. At least the British had cute slang and phrases. Then, picked up an umbrella from the stand and opened the door. She looked at her reflection in the shiny knob. There was someone there, copying her movements, but it wasn’t herself.
With a click; ready to grab a few groceries for her but mostly her mother. She wanted to restock so her mother didn’t need to worry about groceries after she came home — or well, enough to last her for the week after Y/N was set to leave. Opening an umbrella and shoved her earbuds into her ears, she walked to the nearby crossing street, waiting patiently for the light to turn green. Once it did, a driver came swerving out of nowhere, almost hitting her. She rubbed her hand on her forehead, irritably.
Shitty fucking London.
She crossed the road and walked into the first shop that had electric fans on display and bought one before going to the local grocery shop.