All The Magic We Made (Sebastian Sallow x Fem!OC)

A Hat Mansplains My Character Archetype

To be honest, I have totally forgotten whatever I put on my 2023 bucket list. However, I can tell you for sure that having an owl deliver a magic school acceptance letter to my window was not one of them. Neither was having an iconic, elderly supposed "wizard" come to my door and announce that he will teach me magic so I can "catch up for fifth year". That's right, I'm already five flipping years behind for a school I've never heard of in my life. Most shocking of all, however, is the fact that he was actually legit and not an escaped psych ward patient on crack.

Yeah, so it turns out that I'm a witch. Over the summer, I have been training with Professor Fig, the iconic senior, in preparation for my first year at Hogwarts. Except instead of entering at eleven like everyone else, I am starting at the ripe old age of fifteen. Why, you ask? Mail trouble. Apparently it's rather difficult to get a letter from the UK to the west coast of Canada, especially when it's delivered by an owl.

I don't really get it either.

But while we're on the topic, I have more to add onto the Definitely-Not-On-The-Bucket-List List. Including but not limited to: getting on a flying carriage to go to school, said carriage getting attacked by a dragon, watching a guy die, finding a bank on the weird island we got stranded on, a goblin locking me and Professor Fig in a vault in said bank, fighting murderous stone statues with limited knowledge in magical combat—

Cue deep inhale.

—sticking my head into a cauldron and eavesdropping on another old guy's conversation with his friend (which confirms that, whoa!, I can see really old glowy magic and that makes me quirky and not like other girls), starting beef with a murderous goblin who seems to only possess hair follicles in his eyebrows, getting rescued from the murderous goblin by another murderous statue who then goes on to attack us—

Cue another deep inhale.

—somehow managing to escape and get to the school in one piece (yet so very traumatized), and now I'm late to my own "Sorting Ceremony". Not exactly sure what that is, either. Yay!

"Come along, this way. You're late," a stern-faced woman says, ushering me towards a pair of impressive doors.

"I do hope you'll excuse us, Professor McGonagall, we ran into some unexpected trouble on the way," Professor Fig explains. She huffs and gives a curt nod.

"I have some business to attend to. I will see you soon, Miss Andrysiak," Professor Fig says to me with an encouraging smile before heading his own way. This is awesome, everyone knows how to pronounce my name here.

The woman—Professor McGonagall—opens the doors and leads me into a large hall. I hurry to fix my unruly, warm brown curls, more messy than usual after the whole ordeal I had been through. There are four tables, all packed with students who fill the room with chatter. I can feel all the eyes on me as I walk along the middle with Professor McGonagall, to the platform at the end of the hall. There is someone moving a stool to the side, but McGonagall waves her hand at them. "No, no, don't put it away yet. We have one more to be sorted."

I clear my throat, slightly intimidated to speak to the woman but also hopelessly confused. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I really have no idea what's going on right now."

McGonagall glances at me, her posture rigid, but I could swear that something softened in her eyes. "You need not to fear, child," she says shortly. "We will put the Sorting Hat on your head and it will sort you into the house you will belong in for the remainder of your Hogwarts career. There are four houses, all with a unique set of attributes, and it will determine the best fit for you."

I nod as I am seated at the stool, now placed back in the centre of the platform. McGonagall retrieves an ancient looking hat and places it on my head. For a moment, there is silence. Everyone's eyes are on me and I feel like dying in a hole wouldn't be such a horrible fate.