Beginners: book 1, Goblet of Fire

Ilvermorney

"Caught out of bed with other students on four separate occasions,"

"You were sneaking out with boys?"

"Well-"

"I never said male students," he stares at me agape, but the Dean continues; "Cursing, jinxing and hexing classmates."

"That was only boys." I try to joke, but it only makes him madder.

"'Pranking'" she actually uses air quotes, "teachers, and breaking nearly every school rule we have in place. Now, would you like me to go back more than this year or is that enough?"

"Dean, I am very very sorry for her behaviour. But, you understand our circumstances, background, you couldn't cut her a little slack?"

I want to scream. 'I'm right here, I can hear you, stop talking about me like I'm not in the same room you mother fuckers!', but I feel like that wouldn't help.

"I've been cutting you slack for the last three years; this is unacceptable. I must set an example for the other students, many here have difficult pasts, that does not mean they can endanger the other students." I stare at her boney face, gaunt and intimidating. No wonder she's an old maid.

"Dean, please," Shit, he's pleading.

"I'm sorry Mr. Whitnell, but I cannot go on any further, Ms. Whitnell, you are hereby expelled from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"But Quidditch-" She holds up her hand, enough to shut me up.

"As you know, in accordance with The Magical Congress of the United States of America, I must confiscate your wand, you can make an appeal if you would like it back."

"My wand?"

"You may go collect your things, but I expect it when you return."

"Miss-!"

"Liz," the look on dad's face felt like a menthol poker being stabbed into me, cold, then very hot. "Just go."

I look back at the Dean, but she just nods. Grabbing my bag, I make my way out of her office and into the hallway. Everyone is in class, a small comfort, I won't have to make the walk of shame with my bags.

I stop on the quad and look around. This place isn't home, but I did get attached. You spend 10 months of every year somewhere; it works its way into your heart. The ivy-covered brick walls, the constant smell of lemon oil, the people, good and bad. I cut across to the Thunderbird house. The lounge is empty, so is the staircase up to the dorms. Mary's bed sits unmade, with a pile of clothes strewn on top, some of which are mine.

"Fuck," I groan, grabbing my duffle from under my bed and tossing clothes into it haphazardly. I sit and write a note to Mary. Once she heard my dad had been summoned, we both had a slight inkling of what was going to happen, but I'll still miss her. She's been my roommate for 3 years, the only true friend I've had.

Her cat rubs up against my leg. "I'll miss you the most, Finn," I rub his head and toss a felt mouse for him to chase.

Between my uniform and books, there isn't much to pack, but I drag the task on. There's no point in fighting, I brought this on myself, no matter my circumstances. I don't need to be locked away in some school, this is what I wanted. Or at least I try to tell myself that.

Dad is waiting for me at the main building with my broom, disappointment radiating off him. "Go give it up," he won't look at me. I drop my bag and head inside, not before grabbing the stack of uniforms I've left on top.

Dean Thomas stands next to the reception desk, an owl at the ready. I hesitantly reach into my pocket, give my wand one last look, and place it on the counter, "here."

"Thank you Ms. Whitnell," she says, placing it in an envelope.

"And I won't need these anymore," I place my uniforms on the counter as well, "give them to someone who does."

She places her hand on top of the stack, a rare show of kindness, "I hope you know I don't like doing this."

"Yeah," I break my eye contact with the floor to look at her, "I understand, I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."

Her eyes warm, something I didn't think was possible, "you're a smart girl, I know there's more for you in this world."

I nod, she nods back, this small moment of connection makes it real. I'm leaving, for good. Despite myself, tears well up in my eyes. I turn on my heels, hoping she didn't see.

Outside, dad picks up my bag and begins to walk down the brick path to the gates. It isn't my turn to speak, I stay silent, keeping close behind him. Once off the campus, he sticks out his arm, my single to grab on, and we apparate.

"Go to your room." His voice is cold and quiet, I wish he would yell, scream.

"Dad they called me a who-"

"I said GO TO YOUR ROOM!" At least I got it out of him. Now I can go, let him think it over. Picking up my bag, I head down the hall to my room. Our apartment is small, but it's just the two of us, and I'm gone most of the year anyway. But he must be lonely. I guess that's why he works so much.

I try to keep myself busy, unpacking, then cleaning, then organizing my room. I easily kill an hour, and curl up in bed, staring out the window. Maybe now ill get time to explore the city, I've always hated it. There's a knock on my door, an olive branch, asking my permission to come in, which I grant.

He sits at my feet and takes a breath before speaking. "I'm- I'm sorry I yelled. I know you hated it there, but I work full time, I can't teach you myself." His voice is methodical, he's thought every word over.

"You won't have to," I sit up so we're face to face, "I've still got all my books, I can just learn myself." He doesn't seem convinced.

"You know I can't do that, leave you to your own devices. Liz, you need a proper education, and neither I nor you can do that."

He pauses, looks around my room, there's a sadness in his eyes. "Tomorrow I'm going to see if I can be transferred to the Ministry of Magic, there's a liaison opening, it allows us to move back to England."

"Move?!"

"I've written a letter to Albus Dumbledore." He continues, staring at my wall "He's the headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've asked if he will accept you late, you did get in after all. It's a good school, I loved it very much when I went."

"Dad you can't send me to a new school," my mind was racing, new people, new country, I'll be three years late, everyone will know each other. I can feel panic starting to rear its ugly head.

"I'm sorry," now he looks at me, placing a hand on my foot, "think of it as a new start, no one knowing you might be a good thing."

"No..." my voice trails off, I know there's no hope in fighting it.

"I know this is going to be hard, but there's nothing else I can do. I'm just trying to set you up for the best life possible."

I can feel the conflict inside of me, scream, or sob. I choose cold, a good in-between. "What about aunt mags? And Grandma?" They are the whole reason we came to America after all.

"Oh, well we don't see them much anyway. They'll come to visit, Margaret is always talking about going to England"

"Dad," I don't know what I was going to say, "I'm sorry."

"I know." He pats my foot and gets up to leave, "I'm going to order some supper."

I nod, he closes the door behind him.