Catalyst

Chapter 5: Contact

Abathur looked around the train station. Aside from the obvious displays of power, it seemed almost disappointingly terran, grey and crowded. Ignoring the loud groups of people and tearful farewells, he walked straight towards the train, entering it. He found an empty seat, took out a book, and began studying, ignoring others surrounding and passing him. It was quite an interesting book, one discussing many of the creatures that appeared to possess psionics. Abathur was particularly interested in a creature called a centaur. Such an obvious hybrid between two different species created by means unknown would likely be quite intriguing, should he ever encounter it.

Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to go through enough of his literature. The train ride ended far before he finished the textbook, leaving Abathur to pack up his books and exit the cabin, heading out into a deluge of rain. Most of the students were getting into carriages, pulled by odd, skeletal, winged quadrupeds. Oddly enough, most of the terrans didn't acknowledge the likely equine relatives, something that Abathur resolved to examine later. He began to approach the carriages, only to be interrupted by a loud call.

"First years! First years over here!" It was the hybrid again. Apparently, first years of the school were removed from the main group, to be escorted by him. Abathur walked over, taking note of the other students heading in the same direction. None appeared particularly impressive, but Abathur had learned his lesson on underestimation after the headmaster. Abathur kept a careful eye on all of them as they scrambled into the boats. He continued keeping an eye on them as they rowed across the large lake, only occasionally glancing away to examine the creatures below him, in the water. Abathur could have sworn that an immensely large creature was below him, but dismissed the thought immediately. That was ridiculous, it wouldn't have nearly enough food to eat, and would starve to death within a week.

The remainder of the boat ride was uneventful. The rain was not conducive to conversation, even if Abathur had been interested in interacting with the other occupants of the watercraft. After a few minutes of rowing, the group of boats arrived at a shore, and the passengers promptly disembarked. One by one, they filed into the gates in front of them, briefly stopped for a speech by one of the teachers, then went into a room to wait. It was there that Abathur suffered his first truly big shock of the magical world.

Ghosts. Sentient, immaterial, collections of thoughts. How they sustained themselves, how they came to be, what they did, Abathur didn't know, and wasn't sure he wanted to. It both thrilled and terrified him to see them. On the one hand, their mere existence promised a wealth of knowledge, and spoke to the things he had yet to uncover. On the other hand, it spoke of his things he had yet to discover, and that not all of them would react as predicted. It was troubling, to say the least.

Fortunately, the ghosts did not stay for long. Before any significant amount of time had passed, the ghosts had left, and the students were filing off into a larger room, where the remainder of the older terrans were seated. Most were talking to their peers, or merely looking into their lap, but all looked up at the procession of first years moving to the front of the room, nearby to an old, pointed hat on a stool. Abathur was just wondering when anything would happen. It was only when the hat started to sing, that Abathur became nervous, not because of the stares of the students and staff, or the constant fidgeting of those around him, but because of the hat.

More specifically, the fact that it was insinuating that it was going to read his mind. That was not an option. If the hat peered into his mind, saw him as he was, and exposed him, they would all try to kill him. Everyone around him. The students, the teachers, it was entirely possible that the ghosts would as well, he didn't know their capabilities. If Abathur put the tattered thing on his head, he would be completely at its mercy. The only other option was escape, but that was even worse. If he attempted to flee, or fight his way through the crowd, he would be ousted for certain, and the outcome would be the same. Abathur was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Paralyzed with indecision, Abathur stood deathly still, listening as McGonagall worked through the list of students.