Chapter Text
The sun was setting over the forest as Ryan trod heavily along the dirt road, suitcase floating dutifully behind him. It was warm for a Scottish evening, or so the old man at the train station had told him; Ryan was shivering in his overcoat, longing for the California sun again.
There was no denying that Scotland was pretty, though. He took a deep breath, feeling the connection to his suitcase, the ancient magic soaking into the ground and the trees. A big difference to the city.
Britain had been a whirlwind of new sensations – from the airport to the industrial grit and blood of King’s Cross, breathing in the millennia of the city, and from there to the rolling fields of the countryside giving way to crags and glens as they had come further north. Scotland was wilder, more capricious than the magic in London. Maybe Ryan was biased, from his presupposed notions about the country.
He rounded a corner, and the lake opened up in front of him, glittering in the evening sun. The castle squatted on a crag at the other side, looking out to the mountains with a vaguely lazy air of something that no doubt it would outlive Ryan. It was huge, ornate, and still fucking miles away, what the fuck?
There had been nobody there to meet him at the train station, and so he had set off walking by himself. He’d been informed in no uncertain terms that it was impossible to apparate into the grounds, and he couldn’t see the gates.
Nothing to do but press on.
He reached the gates just as true night fell, the sun finally vanishing below the horizon and taking the last vestiges of warmth with it. They were twice as tall as he was, with stone boars sitting on the wall at either side. They were also shut fast, and there was nobody in sight.
“Um, hello?” He called, strangely unwilling to touch the wrought iron. His instincts warned him away.
One of the stone boars tipped its head down to look at him. “Good evening. Awful late to be wandering around the forest.”
“Holy shit,” Ryan leapt back from the gates, searching frantically for the source of the noise before finally spotting the boar. His luggage fell to the ground with a thump.
“Language,” The boar sniffed, ruffling its wings – wings? - with an odd grinding noise. “What are you up to?”
“I, uh,” Ryan stammered. “Professor McGonagall?”
“What about her?” The boar reminded him terribly of his abuelo, but with a snout and a British accent. Something in the way his eyes glinted.
“She invited me here. I’m supposed to be, uh, teaching.”
“Really? I’d rather think they’d hire someone who could speak fluent English.”
Ryan flinched, almost involuntarily. This was the start of a new life; he didn’t need to be reminded of negative energies he’d left on the other side of the Atlantic. “Am I gonna stay out here in the cold all night then?”
“No, of course not.” The boar sighed. “I’ve sent word to the janitor, he’s on his way.”
Sure enough, a lantern was bobbing on the other side of the gates, and soon enough a figure came into view. For a hot minute, Ryan thought perhaps Death itself had come for him, but no – it was just an exceptionally old, exceptionally dirty man with a hunched back and absolutely no teeth.
“Hello, hello, you must be Professor Bergara.” He slurred. “Terribly sorry, but we were expecting you tomorrow night.”
“Oh,” Ryan said, gathering up his luggage from the dirt with a wave of his wand. A singular suitcase, all his worldly possessions. It wasn’t worth getting upset over.
A courtyard surrounded by a covered walkway, ivy rustling in a light breeze, only pinpricks of light in windows to suggest an outline of the castle towering overhead. Ryan craned his head back, more distracted by the extraordinary array of stars in the clear sky overhead than anything. You couldn’t get that in Los Angeles.
“Howasyerjerney?” The old man – he had introduced himself as Filch on the walk up the hill – mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“How was your journey?”
“Oh, uh, fine. Long.”
A tall, thin woman wearing a tall, thin hat was waiting for them at the top of the steps, silhouetted against imposing wooden doors. Ryan could feel the cobbles under his feet vibrating with centuries of students thundering past.
He remembered the cramped tarot shop in Los Angeles, the place where dreams went to die. Okay, harsh. The place he’d ground to a halt for three years.
“Where do I go from here? How do I best apply myself?”
The Ace of Wands – new beginnings, ambition, a leap of faith. The Emperor – competence, achievement. He’d always been drawn to the Hierophant, though he wondered if he was worthy of it.
He had the job, he could relax. A deep breath, a new life – the cards never lied. It couldn’t come soon enough.
“Mr Bergara!” Professor McGonagall, vaguely familiar from the Floo conversation they had shared a month earlier, clapped her hands together. “I hope you can forgive us for the mix-up.”
“It’s all fine,” Ryan said. “I got to see the forest.”
“That’s terribly unfortunate!” McGonagall, gesturing him to follow her into the bowels of the castle. In her long, velvet robes, she looked like she belonged perfectly in place. Ryan only owned one pair of robes, and he was wearing them, but he still felt out of place. Maybe it was the no-maj hair-gel tucked in his suitcase, or the hole in his sleeve. He’d bought these for his graduation.
“I must say, I look forward to hearing all about Ilvermorny.” McGonagall was chirping, the light Scottish brogue only a little grating. Ryan didn’t bother to correct her. “We don’t have the pleasure of many Americans at Hogwarts. Now I think of it, having two on staff is unprecedented-”
“Two?” Ryan interrupted without thinking and cursed himself.
“You’ll meet him tomorrow, no doubt. Your room is just down here.”
The castle was physically silent, the only sound McGonagall’s tapping shoes, Ryan’s shuffling footsteps and Filch hobbling along behind. But Ryan could feel it, in his elbows and quickening down his spine, the sound of children talking and yelling and crying. It was soaked into the stone walls.
“Can we offer you any kind of refreshment? I can’t imagine you’ve had any supper.”
“Uh, yeah, something to eat would be great,” Ryan said, still distracted by the stone ceiling overhead. He wasn’t making a good first impression; wrong day, patched robes, no eye-contact. Bad form.
“I’ll send a house elf up to the tower,” McGonagall said, and Ryan whipped his head round.
“I can get it myself,” He said, adding “thank you,” as an afterthought.
“Goodness, no, the kitchens are miles away from the North Tower,” She said, still briskly leading them through winding corridors. Ryan was going to get immediately, hopelessly lost.
Eventually, as Ryan’s feet were finally starting to give way, they arrived at the end of a long corridor, where a ladder lead up to a trapdoor.
“Your classroom is up there, and your rooms will be just beyond that.” McGonagall swept to a halt at the bottom of the ladder. “Fair warning, most of the furnishings are left over from the previous occupant of the post and she was…rather eccentric.”
“As long as there’s somewhere to sleep, I am good.” Ryan assured her, looking up the ladder with trepidation. There was no way he was going to manage this with dignity.
The classroom was nice enough, with small tables dotted here and there instead of desks, a large fireplace, and huge windows facing the mountains. Ryan tried to imagine it full of students and failed. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be teaching Divination, he would have laughed in their face.
Just off the classroom was a small office with a writing desk and empty bookshelves. Ryan didn’t own any books; he’d have to get a hold of some before he had any students in here. The bedroom was hung with faded drapes in various patterns, that exploded with dust when Ryan even brushed them. The bed was massive, an old-fashioned four-poster. There was no shower in the bathroom, only a claw-footed tub. He stared at himself in the clouded mirror over the sink and shook his head, like it would clear the bags from under his eyes. Nope, Stressed Ryan still stared back at him.
He pulled his robes off, thankful to be rid of the itch, and collapsed facedown on the bed. He hoped he didn’t have an asthma attack in his sleep; he wasn’t sure if there was a spell to avoid those.
He’d forgotten to shut the curtains, and so he was woken by the sun in his eyes at an ungodly hour. He fumbled in his robes, discarded on the floor, and checked his watch. 7.30am.
He splashed his face in the old handbasin in the bathroom, somehow full of water without his instruction, and turned to see a silvery, incorporeal cat waiting for him.
“Jesus!” He leapt backwards, clutching his towel to his bare chest, like he cared if a Patronus saw him naked.
“Good morning, Professor Bergara!” The cat chirped. “Breakfast starts at 8.00, sharp.” It turned and prowled away, straight through the closed door.
What the fuck was he going to wear? Could he wear his robes for the second day in a row?
These fucking Brits and their traditions – in Cali, wizards dressed like normal people. Ryan picked his robes up and de-wrinkled them, and then turned them dark brown instead of purple. It took him three goes, but he managed it eventually. If McGonagall looked closely, she would notice they were the same, but he didn’t think she would look closely.
He thought for a minute, then put on a button down and khakis underneath the robes. He could test the waters, and if people didn’t take to it, he could get more robes as soon as his salary came in.
He wasn’t sure what teachers did when there weren’t any students. He supposed he should plan some lessons.
Of course, he was going to be late for breakfast, because the minute he stepped round the corner from the corridor with his trapdoor in it, he was utterly lost. What a waste of time.
“Hoo, you’re an unfamiliar face,” A voice said in his ear, and he just about peed himself for the third time in 24 hours. The paintings. The fucking paintings were talking to him.
“Hello,” Ryan said, trying not to show too much wariness.
“Too old to be a student, but a very young teacher,” The oil priest looked down at him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Divination,” Ryan said, almost reaching out a hand for the man to shake before checking himself.
“Oh gosh,” The priest’s face was carefully neutral. “Now, are you struggling to get to the Great Hall? Can I point you in the right direction?”
“Yes, please,” Ryan sighed gratefully, hurrying in the direction the priest pointed him.