5 July 1922
Early Afternoon
The air in London was different from Ireland. Where Ireland was fresh, crisp and somehow green. London was thick, smelled like people and dirt. And while Ireland was encased in everything green, London was the definition of grey.
And Brooks loved every damn bit of it.
His mother had finally seen sense. The O’Cleary castle had been traded for a modest two bedroom apartment in a magical section of London. It wasn't Boston, but at least there wasn't so much f’eckin’ green.
It became clear soon after the birth of Kinley Nylah Garren, his baby sister, on 01 June 1922, that living with his Gran and Pa wasn’t an option. They were the hovering sort. Commenting on things that didn’t need comments. It was clear why his mother left in the first place.
They moved only a couple weeks ago, just two weeks after Kinley was born. Being a big brother was his new favorite title. He felt a sense of duty. The need to protect and love burned inside. It was going to be impossible to leave in September.
Rook shouldered his way through the Diagon Alley crowds, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wasn't here for the sights, the food or the people. He’d burned through three books on Runes in the last week, and his brain was starting to itch like a scab that needed picking.
He ducked into Perchance A Page, the bell above the door giving a sharp ring. The shop was a labyrinth of towering shelves and narrow aisles, somewhere he could get lost for hours. Which was exactly his mission.
Rook navigated to the back of the shop, planning on working his way to the front over the summer. He was looking for something, anything, that would hold his attention. With this ability to ready fast and remember most, if the first two pages didn’t catch his interest he’d shelve the book and move on. He reached for a heavy, leather bound volume titled The Geometry of Kinetic Casting, but as he pulled it from the shelf he realized he wasn't alone in the cramped corner.
Through the gap in the books, he caught a glimpse of another student. She looked about his age, but unlike the focused, high-energy bustle of the shoppers outside, she had an air of someone who had been dragged into the shop against her will.
Rook didn't move. He adjusted his grip on the book, watching the girl for a beat. Her back was to him, so he wasn't sure what she was doing exactly. He wasn't looking for a conversation, but there was something about her that made the words come out of his mouth without thought.
"I can’t tell if you're hiding or finally found what you were looking for," he said, his voice scratchy with lack of use. His accent a mix of Boston and Irish. He didn't look up from the spine of the book he was inspecting. "Or you're lookin' for the section on sleeping potions and took a wrong turn at the history shelf."
Morgan turned the page in her journal; it was about halfway full by this point. She’d begun writing in it over Christmas break when she found out about her new sibling. She didn’t ever write ‘dear diary’ or ‘dear journal’ or anything like that; instead, she wrote ‘dear mum’.
Her mum was now appraised of everything happening in Morgan’s life; being fifteen, a new home, a new family, another new sibling… another brother. A step-mother this time around.
It kind of took some of the sting away, but also in a way made it a bit worse. She wished she could actually speak to her mother about these changes. And yet, here she was… still writing. Pretending she knew what her mum would say about everything.
Morgan sighed and tapped the page with her quill, leaving a series of dots in the top corner as she considered everything. Did she hate her family? No. Julia had always been really nice to her, and Benji was one of her best friends… So no, she didn’t hate them. Kate was… an acquired taste, but she was trying.
Things were just different. And while the girl usually relished the summer months, she was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts in the fall. Sure, all of her new family would be there too but she’d have a bit more separation – she could escape to her dorm room (a bit difficult to escape to her common room when her father was the head of Gryffindor) for peace.
"I can’t tell if you're hiding or finally found what you were looking for."
Morgan didn’t look up. The shop was full enough that the voice could have been meant for anyone, and she wasn’t going to interrupt herself on the off chance that it wasn’t for her. She pressed her quill back to the page.
"Or you're lookin' for the section on sleeping potions and took a wrong turn at the history shelf."
That one. That one, she felt was aimed at her. Morgan let it sit for a moment while she finished the sentence she’d started, before setting her quill down and turning.
A boy. About her age, perhaps a year older, with a book in his hands that he was very deliberately not looking up from. That detail stuck with her, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say the words out loud and he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that he had.
That was fine.
“Trust, it ain’t the potions,” she responded, the corner of her mouth pulling up in a smirk despite herself.
The book in his hands drew her green eyes; numbers and diagrams and graphs… the subject matter was dense enough to make her eyes cross just looking at it.
“Ya like numbers, yeah?” Morgan tilted her head slightly, not unfriendly. But she was measuring him. “Or d’you just carry those around to scare people off?”
“Trust, it ain’t the potions,” the mystery girl said. His eyes looked up for a tick at her voice. A smirk playing on her lips. Ok… not what he was expecting. His eyes shot back down to the book in his hands, avoiding eye contact. Opening the large book, he randomly flipped to a page, not focusing on the words at all, which was rare for him.
“Potions aren't your thing? Shame. They're a real riot if you've got the stomach for the fumes.” His voice was a strange blend of Boston alleys and an Irish pub. Clipped, fast, and definitely not local. He hadn't come here to talk, but the itch in his brain was being replaced by a different kind of curiosity.
Brooks kept his eyes down, as the pages flipped, focusing on a few pages, reading the words and numbers and taking in every detail in record time. Safe to say this book was going to be boring, so he closed it with a thud and a sigh.
“Ya like numbers, yeah?” The girl asked. An aire or sass to her question. He liked it.
His eyes finally rose to meet hers. It was hard to make out their color in the dingy bookstore. No natural light found the back corners, which he usually loved. This time, he wished he could see her better.
“Numbers? Aye. Numbers don't lie. Ya give 'em a rule, they stick to it. No surprises, no baloney.”
“Or d’you just carry those around to scare people off?” He huffed out a small chuckle. Looking at the heavy book in his hands. “Nah, I don’t think this would scare someone off. For that, you'd need a bat or a heavy set of brass. Books just give 'em a headache before the fight even starts.” Back in Boston, he’d learned to use his hands. Wands not being allowed by underaged wizards, he had to find other means to protect himself in the big city.
“Granted, knowledge is power. The more ya know, the better to battle your enemies. If you use it right, it’s better than a bat.”
Putting the book down, he leaned against the shelf, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, you're not here for potions and I'm bettin’ not the numbers. What brought ya to the hidden depths of the book store?”
Morgan wrinkled her nose at the thought of potions and how gross they were. Honestly, the girl loved digging in the dirt for random shiny objects that she considered treasures, she loved her toad who she dressed up constantly, but she just could not stomach potions. Was it the subject itself or the fact that her new step-mum taught it last term?
An interesting thought, but she moved on.
She noted that he wasn’t looking at her, but thought nothing of it. His accent – Irish and.. some sort of strange American – was thick, almost sing-songy. Definitely not local, though he was clearly her age. Perhaps he went to another magical school.
She looked back down at her journal, wondering if she should continue writing in it. Considering most people who wandered back here were stuffy old professors – the type who had already studied everything else that was interesting – had piqued her interest, though she wouldn’t admit it.
“Nah, I don’t think this would scare someone off. For that, you'd need a bat or a heavy set of brass. Books just give 'em a headache before the fight even starts.”
A quirked eyebrow and slightly narrowed eyes from the girl. It was no secret that she had been known in the past to get violent when she felt necessary. He hadn’t mentioned a wand; most people in the wizarding world would go straight for magic in the case of fighting.
That fact made him more intriguing for sure.
“Granted, knowledge is power. The more ya know, the better to battle your enemies. If you use it right, it’s better than a bat.”
She didn’t respond, but that was something she’d begun learning as of late. He set the book down and leaned against the shelf, his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking at her now.
“So, you're not here for potions and I'm bettin’ not the numbers. What brought ya to the hidden depths of the book store?”
Morgan turned in her chair to properly look at him, taking a moment before answering as if she was carefully weighing the question.
“Needed somewhere quiet. Turns out people don’t follow you into the boring section.” She paused for a beat. “Usually.”
Her eyes skimmed the row of books he’d abandoned. “You’re not what I expected to find back here either, for what it’s worth,” she commented, almost nonchalantly, as she glanced at his face. His presence registered in the way that unexpected things did; it was worth noting, but nothing more.
“Needed somewhere quiet. Turns out people don’t follow you into the boring section.” She said, pausing for a beat. “Usually.”
OUCH! Boring?! "Lord, your killin me." He clutched his chest, as if she had struck him right in the heart. He picked up a book on the shelf next to him and flipped till he got to a specific page. “Boring? This section isn’t boring. Look 'ere, ‘Vectoring the Void: A Guide to Defensive Geometry.’ How could you say this is boring? Using maths in combat? Using angles and objects to deflect hexes back at your opponent?” He was serious, kind of. It was a dreary dry read, but also an interesting concept.
"’Why waste your own energy to stop it, when you can use the enemy's own math to bury them?’ See, the author is a genius. It’s also a good way to battle and not get in trouble, if ya can manage. You don't even have to throw a punch; ya just let the other guy knock himself out. Win Win.” As he got excited, the Boston accent came out more pronounced.
He wasn’t sure if she would catch that he remembered a quote from the book. A book he read two days ago, but had perfect recall for all the important parts. It was a gift and a curse
He smiled, a shit eating grin that brightened his face. Sitting in the chair across from her with a flop. A cloud of dust billowing up from the ancient chair. Rook immediately began coughing, waving his hand around his head to disperse the particles in the air.
Smooth
“You’re not what I expected to find back here either, for what it’s worth.” The mystery girl said. He nodded his head, eyes traveling over the books around him. Many he had read, some he started and put back immediately. Just because the book was published didn’t mean it was good. His brain was less itchy sitting here talking to the girl, which was a new development. Sure, he had friends and liked people, but he typically found himself flocking to the worlds in the pages. He could hide there.
“Well, I imagin’ you’d be expectin’ an old professor with a long beard and dusty hat. Sorry to disappoint. I was just lookin for something to stop me brain from racing. When I get antsy, reading quiets the noise in me head. So… here I am.”
He still wasn’t sure if she welcomed the intrusion, or wanted him gone, but for the time he was happy to sit and chat. In fact, he was enjoying himself. There was something about her that he wanted to investigate. She wasn’t a book he could read, but he wanted to know more.
“I’m assumin ya go to Hogwarts? Can’t say I’m excited for the change. I went to Ilvermorny before we moved.” He wasn’t sure why he brought up the move. Inevitable it would bring up why they moved, his da, his mum, all the pain raced back in a tidal wave. He would skirt around the truth. The death of his da wasn’t a subject he wanted to bring up.
The boy’s presence was unexpected and not unpleasant. Still, Morgan kept her walls up. As he plopped down in the other chair and a puff of dust flew up into the air, she kept her amusement to herself. She closed her journal because… well, it was private, right?
“Well, I imagin’ you’d be expectin’ an old professor with a long beard and dusty hat. Sorry to disappoint. I was just lookin for something to stop me brain from racing. When I get antsy, reading quiets the noise in me head. So… here I am.”
Funnily enough, as the boy described the kind of professor you’d expect to be at Hogwarts, there was only maybe only one like that. She nodded slightly, tucking that fact away for a later time if necessary. He gets antsy. She gets antsy. Hmm…
“I’m assumin ya go to Hogwarts? Can’t say I’m excited for the change. I went to Ilvermorny before we moved.”
The name of the school was only slightly familiar to the halfblood who didn’t grow up in the wizarding world. She knew so much as to know it was somewhere in America. So he had moved recently? Interesting.
The knowledge that this boy had yet to attend Hogwarts, but would be in the fall, gave Morgan a great idea. Would they be friends eventually? She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
But she could have some fun at the moment. And see if he was gullible or not, which was important.
“Yep. And there isn’t much to say but… the heads of the houses are a particular kind of miserable though,” she said, holding the smirk in that she was dying to give out.
She leaned forward a bit, noting his brown eyes as she did so. “So, the Slytherin one looks like he hasn’t slept for a century and he genuinely might be a vampire. It’s not confirmed, but no one has ruled it out.” True? Not at all. “The Hufflepuff head cried at the end of term feast last year. Full on sobbing. No one knows why. No one asked. Just let her cry a damn river.”
She tapped her quill against her journal because the next two would be particularly entertaining.
“The Ravenclaw one has an obsession with these little baubles that are everywhere in the corridors, as if she has dominion over the entire castle. They’re enchanted, obviously, and if you touch the wrong one, it’ll follow you around and sing loudly for twenty minutes straight. She says it’s discipline…” Morgan tilted her head. “But I really just call it unhinged. She seems nice enough about it though.”
Now for her father. “The Gryffindor head is a special kind of insufferable. He’s so against nonsense that I genuinely think he might be physically allergic to it. He always looks like he hasn’t slept in a decade, and yet somehow finds the energy to disapprove of everything.” Then, for final measure: “Also, there are rumors about cat teeth… Unconfirmed, but very persistent rumors.”
She sighed and leaned back. “I really dunno if there is one you should want, but those are what we’ve got.”
Brooks leaned back in the old chair, it creaking as his body settled into the bumpy cushions. Listening to the mystery girl talk about Hogwarts gave him something to focus on. She wasn’t very good at selling the school. Ilvermorny had been home. Friends and professors became his family, welcoming him into the magical community with open arms. Being forced to leave, so close to graduation was the worst kind of torture.
Listening to her stories about the Heads of Houses. stories because some of them sounded pretty far fetched. He watched her mannerisms closely, eyes darting, quill bouncing, wringing her hands. Anything could be a tell. She was pretty steady while feeding him a line, but he didn’t know her well enough to gauge if she was telling the truth. A Vampire, really? He was probably pale because there was no f’eckin sun in this country. It would probably be a smart idea to pick up a book on the place though. For research.
"Slytherin, Huffle-what, and a vampire for a house head? Poor fella probably just needs a vacation and a bit of sun, though good luck findin' any in this damp sock of a country. I think I need to read up on this place.” Shifting in the uncomfortable seat he took in ever detail of the girl, he liked the sass, even if she was trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
"At Ilvermorny, we had the Wampus, the Thunderbird, and the Pukwudgie, which is a stupid f’eckin name, I know. But then there was the Horned Serpent. My house. Best of the lot, if ya don't mind me sayin'.”
Brooks shut his eyes and gave a fake little bow, or as much as he could sitting in the chair.
"So, since you're the local expert on the unhinged and the insufferable, what’s the verdict? Which house is for the kids who just want to be left alone with their books in peace, with a bit of shenanigans sprinkled in to keep things fun. Because, just a hunch, I'm bettin' you didn't end up with the crying Huffle-poofs."
As the boy spoke about his old school – Liver-something-or-other – she nodded only slightly. She tapped her quill on the outside of her closed journal with her left hand. He bowed, or tried to, after mentioning his house. She raised her brow – they must be that school’s Slytherin. Annoying, really.
She watched him settle back into the chair after his attempt at bowing, confident of his summary of what he wanted from a house. She felt something begin to bubble up that she didn’t suppress in time.
She broke. A smile.
“You just described Gryffindor. Congratulations, you figured it out. That’s my house,” she commented. She got control of her smile and let it naturally fade before continuing.
“Fair warning though about that head of house… he has a completely supernatural ability to locate shenanigans.” Morgan tilted her head slightly, smirking a bit as she tapped her quill once more. “I don’t know if it’s a sixth sense or just years of practice, but either way… good luck.”
Narrowing her eyes slightly, she moved forward a bit again. “And, if that weren’t enough, the damn portraits are nosy as hell. Like, aggressively nosy. They talk to each other across the whole castle. If you even sneeze in the wrong corridor, somehow someone already knows about it by dinner.”
Morgan was speaking from experience, of course. It took her a while to figure out how her father always knew what she was up to. The damn portraits wouldn’t stop telling him that she loved breaking curfew. If they’d been actual people she’d have hit them with her bag of rocks, but… she didn’t have many options besides fire and that was… well, a bit too extreme.
Yes, Morgan wasn’t determined enough to hide her shenanigans from her father.
Her green eyes studied the boy for a moment, turning her quill over in her fingers. He had mentioned the move twice now and skated past it both times with the particular ease of someone who had practiced not talking about something. She recognized it the same way you recognized a habit in someone else that you yourself had.
It was clearly not a pleasant thread, so she would let it be.
“Your accent’s not all Irish, though,” she commented. It wasn’t a question, it was an observation that she let hang in the air.
“You just described Gryffindor. Congratulations, you figured it out. That’s my house,” She said. He didn’t hate the idea of entering the castle with a friend. He also loved the idea of being alone and getting through the years so he could go back to America. Less attachments, the better.
“Fair warning though about that head of house… he has a completely supernatural ability to locate shenanigans. I don’t know if it’s a sixth sense or just years of practice, but either way… good luck.”
A sly smirk came across his face. “Shenanigans you say? Noted.”
His previous school was very strict on students breaking rules. Punishments varied, depending on the degree of infraction. He had been on the receiving end of quite a few. None that he felt like sharing with Mystery Girl. No need to set himself up with a reputation.
“And, if that weren’t enough, the damn portraits are nosy as hell. Like, aggressively nosy. They talk to each other across the whole castle. If you even sneeze in the wrong corridor, somehow someone already knows about it by dinner.”
He nodded at this. It was the same at Ilvermorny. “Aye, the portraits can be ruthless. I think they’re just bored and want a bit of drama. Now if ya think of them a bit differently.” He said, with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Leaning forward, Brooks rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his voice just for her.
“A portrait is just a witness who can't move. You either give 'em a reason to like ya, or a reason to fear ya. Me? I prefer to give 'em a reason to be entertained. A bored painting is a loud painting. So I might share a bit of gossip, or talk about how pretty one of the ladies might be. Also, if you’re up for a bit of fun, you can arrange a portrait party on the other side of the castle, from where your fun is planned. If you catch my drift."
Not that he had ever done any of these things. There was no proof, he was a gem of a student, you couldn’t prove a thing.
“I think I might need to study up on this castle of yours. They have to have a book about it in this place somewhere. Best to get the lay of the land before I arrive. Unless you want to tell me all the secrets.” A smile tugging at his lips.
His plan of hiding away in the back of the bookstore was fine when he left the house, but he was surprisingly happy with how things had changed.
Morgan watched the boy, listening as he spoke about the portraits, attempting to look unimpressed. She noted the glint in his brown eyes.
She failed. Marginally.
“A portrait party on the other side of the castle…” she repeated slowly, as if turning it over. “That’s not too bad.”
She wouldn’t give him more than that. Internally, however, she filed it away, cross-referenced it against every detention she’d ever received, and identified at least three specific occasions where it would have changed everything for her.
She wasn’t going to tell him that.
He smiled. A flutter moved through her chest. Morgan noted that as well, adding it to the other internal notes she was taking on this boy. It didn’t mean anything, he was simply just a boy in a bookshop who happened to have a fully functional brain – which was more than she could say about any of the other boys she’d known since entering the Wizarding World.
“As for the castle’s secrets –” she tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth pulling up, “– you’ll figure them out. Half the fun is finding them yourself.”
Morgan picked the journal up from her lap and tapped the cover once with her quill in a way that had become habit.
“Besides,” she added, almost as if it was an afterthought, “if I told you everything, you’d have no reason to be interesting to me.”
Something flickered across Morgan’s face – just her eyes, and only for a second – before she moved on. Sweeping it under the rug.
“There’s probably a book about the castle somewhere in here. Knowing this place, it’ll be shelved under something completely useless.”
The smile on his face caught him off guard. The lack of pain radiating from his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, was also an anomaly. Since the 3rd of January, Brooks hadn’t been happy. Sure, when his sister Kinley was born, there was a sense of happiness, but the underlying sadness and grief still plagued him.
It hadn’t been long, maybe only a short ten minutes, but the unyielding pain had paused. It didn’t vanish, but for the smallest of moments, he wasn’t sad. Dare he say, he was happy.
Bantering back and forth with Mystery Girl was fun.
It was back now, like a slap to the face. The hole in his chest. The brief period of happiness tainted by anger and pain. “As for the castle’s secrets – you’ll figure them out. Half the fun is finding them yourself.”
Another smile graced his face, but it wasn’t as bright as the last. It didn’t reach his eyes, the shadows of the past tainting the conversation. “Aye, and find them I will. You can bet on that.”
A castle like Hogwarts would hold any number of secrets within its walls. Secret rooms or underground tunnels were commonplace, and could be very useful. While he promised his mum that he would take school seriously, that didn’t mean he would sit alone in his dorm and study.
No… He wanted to know all about the inner workings of the famed Hogwarts.
“There’s probably a book about the castle somewhere in here. Knowing this place, it’ll be shelved under something completely useless.” Brooks picked up a book next to him, wiping off the dusty cover. “‘A Witches Guide to Potatoes: Magical Uses and Tasty Recipes.’ Yeah, I’d say that many of these books are in the wrong place, but I bet I can find something that will work if I look hard enough. That being said, I do love potatoes.”
Putting the book under his arm, as if he planned on buying it, she smirked at Mystery Girl. “I should probably go. Me Mum’s waiting for me at home and I need to pick up a few books.” Brooks sighed and stood from his chair, the springs creaking as his weight lifted.
“It was nice talking to you Mystery Girl. Sorry I have to go, but maybe we’ll see each other around.”
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