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"with great responsibility comes great hunger"

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

She didn't know why. She wasn't sure how. But she was falling and she could feel the wind rushing through her ears, her hands desperately flapping and her eyes went back to being closed, they couldn't take the wind.

All she could remember was one word: wings.

Wings were something she wouldn't mind having at all. But she just kept on plummeting down, the blue sky blurring her vision. Then she could see the ground. 

A castle stood proudly on a highland, conjured up from the story books. It had been built with an assortment of different stones, from far away it just looked grey but as she got closer, it was a mosaic of humble rocks. It was art. It was a skill.

But she was getting closer. The ground looked hard, she would surely die if she hit it. And if someone found her–what could she say? She didn't know anything except the simple word– 'wings'. That was just embarrassing.

She braced herself for the fall as she got closer and closer. It's fine, she told herself. I don't have anything to grieve about, other than for some wings. As she shut her eyes and waited to say– 'Farewell, world!" her fall slowed. She felt as if she was flying but she was more of... floating.

She opened her eyes. A light blue aura glowed around her. She looked down. A crowd was ogling at her and an old man with a long beard had a funny stick out and he was using it to make her slow down. But Suraci was interested in the blue aura.

The blue aura was beautiful, Suraci fell in love with it at first sight. The sparkles not visible to the naked eye, she could see them, blue and silver and silver and blue. Beautiful.

The old man was towering before her and incredibly thin. His silver beard was so long it could be tucked into his belt. Everyone in the crowd were wearing robes, all of them lined with the hem of red or blue or green or yellow.

A grey-haired woman (Is everyone in this school old?) with ironed robes which made Suraci stifle a laugh. Ironed robes, a true fashion statement.

The woman quickly whispered something to the old man. The old man waved her off. We'll talk later.

"Minerva, would you mind taking this young woman to the Hospital Wing?"

The woman looked a bit affronted but she brushed it off and nodded at Suraci. "Hospital Wing it is, then,"

❖

Suraci frowned in distaste as the nurse tried to shove some medicine in her mouth.

"It's for your good," she insisted. Suraci sighed and gave in, opening her mouth. The medicine burnt bitterly and she gagged after she swallowed it. The nurse smiled triumphantly.

Someone sharply rapped on the door and Minerva glided in. She looked elegant with white robes. Suraci realised that she must have looked really beautiful when she was young. Her hair could have been locks of brown and her pale complexion would have looked pretty when she was young. It was an odd thing to think about what age can truly do to people.

The Hospital Wing was in a pretty dark room, considering the gothic aesthetic from the walls. The chandelier glinted with different colours from red to yellow to orange. The white sheets spread across the flimsy bed were uncomfortable but Suraci appreciated it anyway.

Minerva studied Suraci. Minerva's eyes–they held thousands of things, secrets that no one knew and tragedy which scarred her heart.

"What is your name?" Minerva asked carefully.

Suraci anticipated the question. She didn't trust this school. She had observed the cabinet on the right of the room, where trophies were kept. She read each name, wondering which one should be hers.

Angelina...Katie...Olivia...Valerie...Aspen.

Valerie.

There was something so tragically beautiful about Valerie that it clicked.

"Valerie Alexandris," she whispered. Alexandris came from the back of her mind where nothing lay, except her stolen memories.

"Your first name is British, your last name isn't. You could be from an immigrant family," Minerva paused. "Do you remember your family?" she asked softly, treading lightly on the subject.

Suraci, or Valerie, shook her head slowly. She searched her brain vaguely. All she could associate family with was...

Thunder shook the sky. Minerva frowned.

"It doesn't usually rain at this time of the year. Much less, a thunderstorm."

"Thunder," Olivia blurted out.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "I am aware," she said drily.

"No," Olivia felt herself flushing, "All I can remember about my family is thunder. I don't know if it's because I lived in a place where it was frequent or–or they died by–"

Minerva softened. "There could be many reasons for that, dear. There is no need to jump to conclusions."

Valerie shrugged, not wanting to mull over it now. She couldn't grieve for something that she never knew.

Minerva continued, "Madame Pomfrey looked over your memories. Your memories are somewhere in there but blocked by something. A force, perhaps, but not physically."

"Meanwhile, you will have to continue as a student. There is some magical blood in you and the heavens know why we never sent a letter–" Minerva stopped talking.

"I don't suppose you know why?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't," Valerie confirmed.

"Well, come along now," Minerva sighed. Valerie felt a bit sorry for her. Her job must be hard.

"Where?"

"They'll take you to the Sorting Hat. You need to get sorted."

❖

"Do you remember your age?" Minerva asked before they left the Hospital Wing.

Valerie searched her brain but with no avail. "No."

Minerva scanned her. "You're fifteen, I presume. That makes you in your fifth year,"

Valerie was busy examining the corridor. The Gothic aesthetic still radiated from this castle.

They left the Hospital Wing and outside, a boy with messy red hair that would rather die than be flat and sparkling blue eyes full of mirth waited outside for them. He had a cheeky grin on and was wearing a...robe hemmed with the lining of red.

"Mr. Blythe." Minerva sighed deeply. "Please do your best to be mature."

The boy saluted. "Mature is my middle name, Professor."

Minerva shook her head, almost smiling and left them both.

"I'm Ethan," the boy energetically offered a handshake. Valerie shook it, smiling a little at his energy. He pulled out a chocolate from his pocket and bit into it.

"Valerie," she responded.

"How do you feel?"

"I just fell eighteen kilometres from the sky to the Earth. What do you think?" she dead-panned.

Ethan shrugged. "Do you remember anything?"

 Valerie decided to be honest. "No," she said.

"You're like the most popular person in this school right now. You even topped Harry!"

"Harry?" she asked.

"Harry Potter. He's basically this guy in the fifth year who survived a killing curse from a dark wizard when he was a one year old,"

Valerie winced. Ethan eagerly waited for an answer.

"Um, sucks to be him?"

Ethan laughed. "That's not something people usually say," he said, leading the way to the room where the Sorting Hat lay. "It's either them falling over themselves to be introduced or them hating him for defeating a dark wizard."

He pulled out a croissant from his pocket. "Want one?"

Valerie shook her head. "Do you always eat?"

Ethan shrugged. "With great responsibility, comes great hunger."

"You're just dropping me off to an office,"

"So what? The walking distance counts,"

"Anyways, let's get cracking. There are four houses, the best one is obviously Ravenclaw. Wise and witty. The worst one is Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious,"

"Does being cunning and ambitious have to be a bad thing?"

"No, but the way most of them act is a bad thing. A bunch of pompous gits, pure-blood worshipers. I wish a painful death for all of them,"

Valerie cocked a brow. "What if I am a Slytherin? And what's a pure-blood?"

"First up, I don't think you would be. Second, a pure-blood is when two people love...you know what, forget about what I said, you have to ask Hermione that."

Valerie laughed and swallowed the desire to ask who Hermione is, scared of being too annoying.

madi speaks !

hey, hope u like eheheheehe i have so much planned >:)