Chapter Text
The year begins, and a mysterious new student arrives from Wales
The date is September 1st 2013; the location is Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, the most prestigious magical school in the British Isles. In the basement of the aforementioned school, a young man sits on his bed, tapping at the keyboard of an expensive wizard computer.
Technology has made huge leaps and bounds in the last few years, pushed forward by maji-hackers: young sorcerers, often with glasses and an overabundance of acne, who live in their parents’ basements. The work they do is invaluable, so much so that even the famously conservative ministry of magic has been forced to acknowledge its importance.
Much like the muggle equivalent, the content on the wizard Internet ranges from informative and useful to misinformed and contested to completely useless. An excellent example of the completely useless is WizTube.
Unlike the inferior muggle YouTube, WizTube allows users to watch holographic recordings of popular music videos, numerous covers of these videos, top quidditch moments, dragon competitions from other countries (Eurocup Dragon Races are uploaded illegally by dedicated fans every year), reruns of ‘Pimp my Broomstick’, and infinite home holos by young wizards hoping to launch their career as a WizTuber. The one man on the bed is one such person.
“A lot of students in other houses say that the Slytherin common room is cold and wet, in atmosphere as well as in temperature; they are wrong. It can be a bit chilly here in winter, but that’s because the room is in the dungeons, and, as for the atmosphere, well, if it’s not as chummy as other dorms, it’s because we like our privacy and dislike being jumped on by idiots (read: Gryffindors) like so much furniture.”
“Oh, I haven’t introduced myself; I am Jean Kirschtein, pureblood, wizard, and sixth year student here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is going to be the start of my channel on WizTube.”
“This is going to be a journal of my sixth year in this academy, and a log of all the events that are going to happen within it. So I hope you enjoy my videos, and I look forward to an exciting year with you all. Kirschtein out.”
Jean shuts the ImptopTM; it’s the newest kind, operated by specially trained sprites who can be directed with just a flick of a wand. The wizard computer was a gift from his parents, and he’d found it floating over the end of his bed on his birthday with the words ‘sorry honey, business calls, we’ll be back by this weekend, luv mum and dad ’ written in blue light in the air above it.
He stands up and carries the sleek oak case across the common room to his dorm. The opening banquet starts in about ten minutes, and, although he wants to bring it with him and boast about it in front of the new first years, Headmaster Erwin’s eagle eyes would definitely notice it, and ever since wiztech became popular, it has been strictly banned in official ceremonies.
The Slytherin complex is quiet and fairly empty; its members are all unpacking or sitting quietly, readjusting to life in the wizard school. Stuff has already started to pile up on chairs and desks, as, contrary to appearances, Slytherins tend to live in a kind of organized chaos that bemuses the outsiders. Jean turns back to the dark oak door of his room, which he shares with an insanely tall guy who sweats a lot. As sixth years, they’ve earned the right to share a room between two people rather than four.
Jean looks in the mirror that occupies a portion of one wall in the hexagonal room, a poster of the famous quidditch player, Ilse Langnar, has already been taped to one corner. Beside the Kenmare Kestrels poster is a small group photo of about ten students laughing at the camera. He straightens his tie and robes, and then shoves the conical wizard hat down over his two toned hair, trying to make it stay on his head. It falls off. In the mirror he sees his roommate, Bertolt Fubar, enter the room, or at least try to enter the room. 192cm of Bertl, plus an extra 40cm of hat proves too much for the door, knocking the latter off Bertl’s head, much to uproarious laughter from a nearby painting of one of Slytherin’s most famous Alumni, Nile Dawk.
Bertl bends down to retrieve the hat. “That’s the third time today,” he says morosely.
“Let’s just carry them to the banquet,” Jean replies, he pulls a pocket watch out of his robe, “it starts in about two minutes.”
They arrive at the table just in time to watch the vice principle and head of Gryffindor, Hanji Zoe, make an exaggerated silencing motion at everyone gathered and then duck out the door to bring in the first years.
Slytherin’s table is almost full, excepting the seats reserved for first years, and Jean and Bertl move to a section at the back. Much to Jean’s consternation, the only seat left is directly behind Gryffindor’s Eren Jaeger, the bane of Jean’s existence.
“Hey Kirschtein,” he hisses, “lost your way to the great hall again? I bet –Ouch! ”Mikasa, Eren’s dark haired stepsister jabs her elbow into his ribs.
“Fuck off Jaeger,” Jean whispers back, before pointedly ignoring the other boy and turning to the raised dais.
“What an amazing retort,” a brunette with a ponytail, Sasha, shoots back.
Jean turns and favours her with a scowl, “better than anything you could manage, potatogirl.”
Her boyfriend, Connie, hoots loudly at this, and Sasha sticks out her tongue. Jean sighs; he’s been stuck with these idiots since year one, when they somehow adopted him into their weird group.
There has been no change to the lineup at the professor’s table: on the left, the tree-like groundskeeper Mike Zacharias, then Erd Gin, transfiguration, followed by Gunther Schultz, flying and quidditch coach; after that, there is an empty seat belonging to the potions teacher Hanji. In the center of the table is a large silver and wood throne, currently occupied by Erwin Smith, the one-armed principle of Hogwarts. (There are many stories about how exactly he lost his arm, and none of them are true.) On Erwin’s right is the diminutive (but faintly terrifying) defense against the dark arts professor, Levi Ackerman, who sits beside Petra Rall, herbology, and Aruro Bossard, charms. Moblit Berner, Hanji’s overworked assistant who teaches muggle studies when he’s not busy putting out fires in the potions room, occupies the final seat.
The immense doors of the great hall burst open with a burst of streamers in all the house colours, conjured up by the prefects. Wide-eyed eleven year olds try to look everywhere at once as they are ushered forward by an overly enthusiastic Hanji.
Something at the back of the group catches Jean’s eye. An older student, far taller than all the others walks beside Hanji. He has black hair and large eyes, and so many freckles that Jean can see them even from his seat at Slytherin table. He leans back towards the neighbouring bench.
“Hey, who’s the tall kid in the back?” he asks quietly.
“I haven’t seen him anywhere before, but he looks to be about our age,” Mikasa whispers back.
Connie cranes his neck to get a better look, “he’s got Hogwarts robes, but no house colours…” He trails off as a piece of parchment folded into an aeroplane zooms out from under table and settles in front of Eren, who picks it up and opens it.
“It’s from Armin.” They look over at the Ravenclaw table, where a short blond boy winks at them. Eren looks back to the note and starts reading in the quietest voice he can manage (which still isn’t very quiet), “The boy at the back is a transfer student from Wales; Hanji was talking about him. He went to Red Dragon Academy before, but his family moved up to Manchester, so now he will be attending here. I guess the profs want to sort him along with this first years rather than doing something private.”
After Eren has finished reading, the note folds itself and whizzes away. Two tables over Jean can see Armin retrieve it and slip it into his robe.
“Students,” the muffled whispering in the hall dies out completely as the headmaster prepares to make his speech. Jean tunes out about half way through, choosing instead to watch the newcomers. Most of the first years stand in awe, watching the Headmaster, the Profs, or the students. The older guy seems just as speechless as the youngsters.
Jean tries to remember what he knows about Red Dragon Academy. It’s the biggest school in wales, which isn’t saying much, and it’s famously biased against the English, the French, the Irish, and everyone who isn’t welsh. Really it’s where the Welsh send their kids to learn wizardry that hasn’t been indoctrinated with English ideals, which is to say they learn the exact same thing just with more consonants (see: the welsh language).
Erwin finishes his speech and pulls the battered sorting hat out of its case, sitting it on its stool to let it sing a dumb song. Eren snickers and points to Professor Levi, who is rolling his eyes at the hat. Mikasa puts her hand over Sasha’s mouth to keep her from laughing out loud. She ends up snorting into her goblet.
The song finishes and Hanji begins calling out names of first years, who nervously shuffle up to the old stool and sit with varying degrees of patience as Hanji lowers the hat on to their heads. (Jean knows for a fact that Hanji lowers the hat more and more slowly as the night goes on just to psych out the new students.) He isn’t really interested in any of these kids, and he claps politely whenever anyone is selected for Slytherin. He is also childish enough to boo quietly at Eren and the others whenever the hat yells, “Griffindor!”
Finally only one black-robed figure stands at the front of the hall. Hanji clears her throat dramatically. “This is an exceptional situation. Marco Bodt,” the boy waves a bit, grinning nervously, “is a student transferring here from Red Dragon in Wales. He will be entering Hogwarts as a sixth year student, and I hope that you will all be very friendly to him.”
“Marco Bodt, huh,” Eren says under his breath, “doesn’t sound welsh. Hey,” he turns to Jean, “ten sickles says he’ll be sorted into Griffindor.”
“Shut up Eren,” Mikasa says, just loudly enough to earn a scowl from Professor Levi. Eren wilts under his gaze, but Mikasa frowns right back at him.
By this time, Marco has sat on the stool, and Hanji is lowering the hat glacially slowly onto his head.
Sasha’s stomach growls and Connie snickers at her. Ignoring him, she whispers, “I wish she’d hurry up a bit, I’m literally starving here.”
The vice headmistress must be able to read minds because as soon as Sasha finishes this thought, she drops the hat right onto Marco’s head. It twists itself around, and Jean knows from personal experience that the seemingly inanimate object is having a conversation of some sort with its wearer. The hat blinks then yells, “Hufflepuff.”
The yellow draped table on the far side of the hall erupts with cheers. Jean frowns a bit; it would have been nice to have a completely new person in Slytherin, especially that guy. Wait. Where did that thought come from?
Erwin stands again, and, not wasting words, says, “Let the feast begin!”
Food appears on plates, and drinks in jugs. Sasha, Connie, and Eren pile in immediately, loading their plates and elbowing each other. Mikasa and Jean exchange glances; the appetites of their companions haven’t lessened in the last six years.
Turning back to his Slytherin companions, Jean sighs and carefully places a piece of chicken on to his plate.
“So I saw you eying up that Bodt kid,” a tiny blonde girl with icy blue eyes remarks.
Jean sits back, Annie is probably the literal definition of a Slytherin, and somehow everything she says puts him off balance. Those eyes don’t miss anything either.
Beside her, Bertl sweats, “I saw him sit next to Reiner, so maybe we can chat with him later.”
“Oh no…” Annie mutters. Looking across the hall, Jean can see why; Reiner, an immensely well-muscled blond guy, has caught the far smaller Marco in an overly friendly one-armed hug. That’s really the essence of Reiner’s personality: excessive amounts of anything and everything.
They all wince in sympathy. Annie shrugs and turns back to her food. “None of these first years seem particularly promising…”
“Muggles call it ‘Indian summer,’” Armin lectures, “It’s when the autumn is just as warm as the summer.”
Jean shifts the Imptop on his lap so it’s mini camera recorder gets a better view of the blond boy. Eren lounges one bench away, Mikasa sitting at his feet. Sasha and Connie are fooling around on the grass of the courtyard. It’s midmorning on the day after the entrance banquet, the second official day of school.
“I don’t see why you’re so interested in Muggle Studies, you can’t really do anything with it.” Eren leans back, “and can’t we start already, I want to know what classes you guys have.”
“Not until Reiner gets here,” Mikasa says.
“And you’re the only one obsessed with a crazy quest against all evil,” Jean pauses the video.
Armin takes the Imptop, “This computer is so cool, and I can’t believe you’ve got one; they’re so expensive.”
Jean blushes.
“What’s up sluts,” a booming voice echoes from the dark doorway. Eren jumps and falls off his bench. “Guess who just got out of prison?” Reiner appears, grinning, trailed by Bertl and Annie.
“Reiner no,” Bertl sighs, his shoulders deflating a bit.
Eren jumps back to his feet. “I’ll pay you if you say that to Levi”
“I’ll pay you more if you say that to Erwin,” Connie chimes in.
Reiner smirks, “well I just might.”
Annie executes a crazy standing trip from behind, and he topples over onto his ass. “No you will not.”
A fourth person enters the doorway, but hangs back so the light of the courtyard only touches one side of his face, leaving the other in shadow and making it look like he is only half there.
The others are too busy guffawing at Reiner’s upturned butt to notice, but Jean sees. He starts; the boy in the doorway is the same new student from Wales who was sorted into Hufflepuff at the opening ceremony.
Reiner stands up, laughing good-naturedly, and notices the boy. He motions him over. “Everybody, I’d like you to meet Marco. He’s new so he doesn’t know anyone. Marco this is…” He rattles off everyone’s names way too quickly.
Marco looks confused; Jean can’t really blame him. Reiner had obviously adopted him as a friend, and given him very little say in the matter. Reiner was like that, Eren too, they were big and loud and crazy, and, before you knew it, you’d been dragged along with them.
Jean suppressed a smile; this gang might just be a bunch of weirdos and mudbloods, but life was more interesting with them around than it was sitting alone in his parents’ cold manor with only their bad tempered cat for company –
“Okay! Now we can discuss classes,” Eren interrupts Jean’s train of thought.
A chorus of “yes!” answers this statement and everyone crowds around. Armin, the only person not to have already forgotten Marco, smiles and waves at him, indicating the empty space between himself and Jean. Marco grins thankfully and takes the spot.
Mikasa and Annie pull out their timetables and compare classes while Reiner bemoans the fact that he “never gets in classes with hot chicks, just ugly horse faces like Jean”.
“Hey!” Jean snaps back.
Before he can properly retaliate Eren joins the chorus, “GROOOOOOSS double potions with the reverse centaur.”
That’s not a name he came up with himself; it was one of Annie’s icy verbal jabs that Eren had appropriated.
Jean stands up to try to punch him. Armin grabs his robe and pulls him back down.
Eren begins to pull a face, but Mikasa’s fist connects with the back of his head.
“I have muggle studies and then herbology,” Armin says calmly.
“Oh, I have herbology then too, we’re probably in the same class,” a foreign voice adds. It’s Marco. He speaks with a strong welsh accent and a peculiar lilting tone. “I love herbology.”
Everyone is quiet for a moment; it’s the first time most of them have heard Marco speak. Then Reiner breaks the silence with a loud guffaw. “So you like plants huh?”
“Nerd,” whispers Eren. Mikasa gives him a dirty look.
“Okay, what about the afternoon,” roars Reiner, the little argument having totally passed him by, “Bertl and I have advanced divination, and then defense against the dark arts.”
“Gah, gah, gah,” Eren laughs smugly. “I have quidditch theory and then Defense. Betcha wish you were taking that class, don’t you, Reverse centaur?”
Annie sighs dramatically, “Eren you just used that insult three minutes ago, and Connie and Sasha have that class too.”
“I don’t care about quidditch theory,” Jean adds, smirking. “I don’t need a lesson to appreciate the beautiful game. A mudblood like you might though.”
“Hey that’s bloodist and offensive,” Connie yells from the other side of the circle. Recently he’d discovered the deep seeded prejudice throughout the wizarding world and vowed to eliminate it (with blood and fire if necessary, as he’d once told Sasha).
“Bloodist isn’t a thing Connie,” Connie opens his mouth to retort but Mikasa doesn’t give him time, “but Jean that was derogatory and you need to shut up.”
Jean shuts up.
An awkward second of silence ensues. From beside Jean, Marco speaks again, “it looks like we all have that same Defense against the Dark Arts class.”
“Err, I guess we do,” mumbles Bertl.
Conversation returns to normal. Jean lets out a mental sigh of relief and sits back. Usually he’d be fine with engaging in a supremely childish argument with Eren and Connie, but for some reason he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Marco.
They spend the rest of the morning lounging around the courtyard. Marco doesn’t really say much more, other than getting into a deep conversation with Armin about the various uses of traffic lights. The discussion is confusing and technical, and, after about a minute, Jean gives up trying to follow it.
Annie and Mikasa sit together on a bench, painting each other’s nails black, silver, and gold and judging other students. Sasha fidgets beside them, but she has no patience for that kind of thing and soon ends up playing a muggle karate game with Connie and Eren. Reiner is mooning after a tiny Hufflepuff girl who, despite her diminutive size, is the same age as the rest of them.
Jean snickers as he imagines big and muscular Reiner dancing with the petite girl. He thinks back to last year’s Yule ball, and the catastrophe of Reiner’s dancing and of Bertl trying to dance with Christa’s shadow, Ymir, while they both tried to watch their charges.
He himself hadn’t had anyone to go with, but the comedy of that, and of Sasha and Connie’s pranks, almost made up for it.
This year would be different. He has his friends, of course, and does well in his academics. On the whole, he is shaping up to be a model student and is well on his way to a good ministry position.
Jean closes his eyes and basks in the Indian summer sun. He’d forgotten how much he missed being surrounded by people. And that Bodt guy actually seems to have some interesting things to say. The year isn’t shaping up to be too bad at all.