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ONE SUGAR AND SPICE

(AND EVERYTHING NICE?)

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     HOLLY LIPPINCOTT likes to think that she's a little metamorphic.

     As the daughter of a man that slices people apart, stitching and tucking to make someone look younger, she had the feeling that it was something to do with being around him her entire childhood. And, even if it wasn't his profession's fault — because often, children tended to struggle with whatever their parents' jobs include — he must have something to do with it.

     Even by fourteen, Holly has recognized that certain situations, certain people, call for different qualities of someone's personality. Sometimes you have to speak to someone who washes their food down with complaints about everything under the sun, and often the easy option is to nod and agree, even if you rather liked the way that the restaurant prepared their vegetables. Holly and her dad both had that quality, knowing how to assess a situation and figure out the best way to fit in.

     That's how Holly managed to have a successful school career, back at her old school. Secrets were — and still are, she presumes — the fuel there. Even if she stumbled upon this, and her shyness was mistaken for mystery, it quickly transformed into something that she played into. If people wanted to befriend her, thinking there was some big, bad secret hidden under her skin, then you know what? Let them think that. Let them be nice to her, try to be her friend instead of the other way around, try and figure out what was behind her green eyes. If that made her friends, she wasn't going to complain.

     She supposes that it was the school's infatuation for the lesser known that brought this whole catastrophe in the first place. Once upon a time, the school saw a shy girl in her first year and thought it was peculiar, interesting enough to have a story (secret) behind. By the end of the last school year, secrets weren't pursued, they were reported and those involved would get questioned by the new headteacher.

     It's his fault. The headteacher that appeared a few years ago. Holly remembers the joy her dad possessed when the Berlin Wall was hacked down by Berliners, and she remembers his stories about how his high school in America had to go through nuclear war drills, just in case it happened during geometry.

     She remembers the look on her dad's face when, last Christmas, Holly finally told him how dark the school had become. Durmstrang was always a cold, shadowy castle, but then again, the same could be said for a castle in the Scottish Highlands. There used to be laughter and friendship in spite of the need for extra woolly socks at bed-time. When she left, students spoke in whispers, makeshift first-aid kits were hidden in rooms in case someone got a detention, and the Unforgivable Curses were child's play.

     So here Holly stands. Well. Here Holly pauses to make sure she looks presentable in her mirror, zones out, and thinks about the movie on the TV last night. She blinks and returns to reality, and looks at herself. She hopes she looks presentable by Hogwarts' standards... OK, she hopes she looks a little above just presentable, but that's because her dad raised her saying, "It's better to be overdressed than not." Jeans and a turtleneck were smart enough for her to feel like she's trying, but not dressy enough for her to make it obvious, the fact that she's trying to look nice. Most people probably won't notice that she's new. The only people that will are the kids in her classes, and even then, she won't see any of them until tomorrow. Today's just looking nice so she can set a good impression on the girls in her dorm, or if she manages to find anyone to sit with on the train (but she doubts that this will happen. Which she doesn't mind. She's got a book packed just in case.)

     The digital clock on her bedside table reads 10:09 AM and Holly grabs her burgundy raincoat. The English skies have already decided that's summer's dead to them for another year, and the heavens have opened, throwing rain onto the pavements and window-panes. Holly's favourite time of year is winter, but just because she likes the morning frost doesn't mean she resents the sight of rainfall. It's too artless. The frost sneaks up on you when you step outside and realise you should've brought a scarf and hat.

     Her dad's waiting for her downstairs when she reaches the bottom step, hurriedly throwing on her coat as she jumps down. She sits to pull on her boots. She might be running a couple minutes late, but then again, she always ends up running a couple minutes late. Normally it's fine and nothing to fret, but in this instance, she needs to be at Kings Cross for around half-ten, to make sure that she's fine and settled before it sets off at eleven. And, considering Kings Cross is around twenty minutes away in the car, she needs to get her boots on as quickly as possible.

     She and her dad get into the car. Her trunk's been sitting in the boot of the car since the night before after she had a mad panic that she didn't have enough... Well, enough everything, and darted down to the nearest shops to stock up on everything from socks to reading material. Which she guesses has worked out for her. Now she's got a crate's worth of pink fluffy socks and old-school horror novels.

     "If you don't like it, then we can sort something out," her dad tells her. He worries a lot. The fact that her old school reminded him of a scary union that wanted to nuke his place of origin has resulted in him being overly paranoid about everything else related to witchcraft and wizardry. But it makes sense, she supposes. The muggles have jumped from war to war since 1914, and her dad grew up with a dad and a grandad that had experienced the trenches and Pearl Harbour. "The principal seems to be nice."

     "'Course he's going to be — isn't Mum from one of the fancy wizard families?"

     "Beats me," he says. To be fair, it makes sense. If it wasn't for a certain accident (Holly) her parents would've had one date and that would've been it. Never again. And, to be fair, her dad wouldn't have known about Holly if the unfortunate incident occurred and her mum couldn't care for Baby Holly anymore. "But that isn't why, anyway. At least, I don't think... He explained to me the school's different subjects and what you'd be learning. Just in case you were forced to learn how to kill someone again."

     "But, on the bright side," says Holly, raising a finger as she makes a point. "In three years, I can take care of the spiders without a worry."

     "You still know how to kill someone."

     "Yeah, and so do you. Grab a knife, stab, stab, stab."

     The traffic lights go red. Her dad looks at with concern. She smiles.

     The clock above the car radio reads 10:24 AM. Holly's knee starts to bounce up and down, and she's not sure if she's nervous or excited. Her stomach's yet to start twisting, so she supposes that's a good thing. Maybe she's excited. Because, really, how cool of an opportunity is this? No one knows anything about her. No one knows when she was eleven, and she tripped and threw a bowl of goulash at a scary Quidditch player in sixth year. No one knows about the couple of times people thought she was talking to herself (she wasn't, but she'll explain that whole mess later.) And, no one knows how weird she was in primary school.

     All people will know is that she's Holliday Lippincott, Holly for short. Maybe some will find out her middle name's Hazel. Maybe some will find out that her dad's a respected plastic surgeon, and his partner's a badass pilot. Maybe some will learn that her favourite singer's Cher, hands-down. Maybe some will spot her reading Frankenstein and The Picture of Dorian Gray and realise that as much as she loves pop princesses and Audrey Hepburn films, she also loves creepy horror classics.

     Especially Dorian Gray.

     What a book.

     So she's looking forward to that factor. The rest, not so much. She's got find herself a new group of friends. If she's lucky (which she isn't — you heard what happened to Durmstrang, right?) the girls in her dorm room will be nice and they'll become her friends. But if she isn't lucky, then she's going to have to scour her lessons and the hallways to find people to be her friend. She's not being stuck with—

     "But anyway," her dad continues, after a five-minute pause since her comment silenced him. The radio's playing a Cher song. Holly feels like that's a good sign. "Your new principal's nice. Better than that moron."

     "Yeah, but with my luck, it'll be a couple years and the school will descent into darkness," says Holly. She frowns for a second. "It took three years for it to be an issue with Durmstrang? Right, so, by the time I'm in my last year, the school's going to teaching Dark Arts. Including how to use the Unforgivable Curses — and, they'll pull a page out of Durmstrang's book, and use the kids in detention to practice on for the Cruciatus Curse." Holly sits back in the car seat. "Can't wait."

     "If you even think that's going to happen, Holliday—"

     "Yeah, yeah, send you a pigeon or something and get your boyfriend to rescue me," says Holly. Her dad's frowning and she lets out a sigh. "It's not going to happen, is it? Voldemort's been dead for years now, and there's not the same climate, you know? You always said that a country's got to be suffering incredibly for someone like him to rise to power, and by the sounds of things, the UK's not like that."

     She chooses to ignore what she read in the papers about Sirius Black. She's also very grateful that this new headteacher didn't mention that, either, because if he had, she'd probably be starting at a muggle school or something. But, then, Dumbledore wouldn't, because that makes the school look bad. And Holly wouldn't because if anything, it seems a little exciting. An escaped murderer breaking into school sounds more like a fun Tuesday, compared to some of the stuff Durmstrang went through.

     "I sure hope it isn't," he says.

     Holly glances at the clock. 10:34 AM.

     "Well," says Holly. "It won't."

     "Hm," her dad mumbles. Holly knows he's got a right to worry, he doesn't know much about the wizarding world, but sometimes she can't help but wish he could worry a little less. It worked out well for her, in the fact that she got to leave Durmstrang and her dad was hell-bent on getting her into another wizarding school, even if it's unheard of. But, also, it would be nice if they could go to Diagon Alley to get school supplies without her dad looking at everyone like he's Joseph McCarthy.

      10:43 AM. They're a couple minutes later than expected but no worries, she's still got enough time to get to the platform. Her dad gets her trunk out from the boot and gives her a hug before she grabs the handle of the trunk and leaves to get inside Kings Cross before her raincoat's hood fails her and her hair's soaking wet from the rain.

     Platform nine and three quarters takes a few minutes to get to, but a couple of these are because Holly spotted a kiosk and couldn't stop herself from buying a magazine and hot chocolate. Normally she can ignore whims and get straight to where she needs to go, but she doesn't know if Hogwarts has hot chocolate. Durmstrang didn't. Holly's blood is fifty per cent hot chocolate, she needs to buy a cup whenever she's got the chance.

     She checks her watch. 10:51 AM. OK. Maybe she shouldn't have spent the time waiting in the queue to get hot chocolate with whipped cream? But she also supposes that hey, maybe it was a good thing that she stopped for a beverage because now, she's got no time to spare to stare at the wall and think, boy, if this is the wrong wall...

     So Holly grabs one of the trolleys discarded by some busy muggle, throws her trunk onto it, and tries her best to steer whilst also making sure to not spill her hot chocolate. She runs at the wall, swearing under her breath, and braces for impact.

      But she doesn't have to.

     Holly's standing on the other side of the wall, at the platform. For a second she takes in how the place feels warm, both in temperature and the way that people are smiling at their friends and family, hugging each other, showing that they love each other. It's a painful contrast to Durmstrang. All of the students there are too worried about going back to school to grin at classmates they haven't seen over the summer.

      But she's got no more time to waste. She can dwell on the differences when she's sitting on the train — which is going to leave in seven minutes? Uh? Get a move on, Hol?

     Holly discards the trolley with the others. She grabs her stuff, using some strange manoeuvre to hold her hot chocolate along with her trunk and owl cage, and gets going onto the train. At one point she makes a bee-line through a group of witches and wizards but she thinks, you know what? They probably won't remember her. All they saw is a blur of blonde hair. Maybe some feathers, from her owl, cleverly named Owl. Maybe they caught a whiff of nice, sweet chocolate. That's redeemable if they keep any memory of that one second.

     When she gets onto the train, she spots an empty compartment. She's planning to wait until later on to find friends anyway, there's no use trying to figure out who's her age and who's not. That would be a nightmare if she made friends and they ended up being a year older, and therefore not in any of her lessons. She needs some company, dammit.

     She pulls the door opens and tries her best to slip in without spilling hot chocolate or throwing the owl cage at the window. She sets the hot chocolate on the floor, to keep both balanced whilst she, a small and weak little child, tries to pull a heavy trunk onto the railing above. Eventually, she manages, but her arm muscles are exhausted and the hot chocolate sounds even more appealing than a couple minutes ago.

     Holly begins to look around. It looks nicer than what she's used to. Homelier, she thinks. The lightbulbs must be the kind that shines a warm white instead of the cold kind, and the fabric of the seats are a cosy-looking red. Holly thinks she likes it. It's unsettling, a massive difference to what she's used to, but she likes it.

     She downs her hot chocolate the instant it's cool enough for it to not scold her throat. Mindlessly, her fingers move to start twirling her necklace around, but the door opens. A girl with short black hair frowns at her. "Oh, you must be waiting for your friends, anyway—"

     "No." Holly looks at her. The girl's eyes narrow. She's got the sort of face that could be seen as intimidating, but Holly's used to those sorts of resting expressions. "I'm new."

     The girl, although frowning, moves to sit in the compartment. She tilts her head a little bit so that her hair falls behind her shoulder on one side of her face. Holly sees the confusion — or is it intrigue? — on the girl's face grow.

     "Where did you used to go?"

     "Durmstrang."

     The girl's eyes widen in bewilderment. Holly's surprised. She didn't think that this would be the reaction, that people would find the fact that she went there magical and exciting, but sure, she'll go with it. Anything to sit with someone during lessons and mealtimes.

     "I'm Pansy," she says. "And you—?"

     "Holly."

     The next few minutes consist of something that could be easily translated into the biography of Holliday Lippincott. She was born during Virgo season. Once upon a time, she attended Durmstrang (you know this, though) and she shared a room with a girl from Bulgaria and two from Sweden, all of which she was friends with since they thankfully spoke English. (Although she learnt a bunch of phrases from different languages whilst at the school, most of them were either insults or shut up a teacher's coming.) She was also on the Quidditch team, Chaser, but got cut to make room for more burlier players.

     Her mum's a witch and currently lives in a tower in the middle of the ocean, along with her husband. (Pansy's eyes had grown into saucers when Holly says, "His brother's got a son here, I think? Some kid called Malfoy...") But she remembers the letter she had gotten from her mother on her eleventh birthday, telling her not to tell others that her dad's a muggle. So she keeps that part quiet, how her dad is a muggle that moved from Los Angeles to London when he was eighteen and two weeks, and Holly was accidentally created after one date with a girl he thought was too full of herself (and this is coming from a Hollywood expat.) Nowadays her dad is a plastic surgeon and he's got a partner, a nice pilot called Eugene that has two Dalmatians.

     And that's that. Pansy looks like she's proud of herself, for accidentally meeting Holly. "My friends should be appearing any time soon — we're all in the same house. The best house, obviously," she says. She grins. Holly smiles back. She knows that's what she's supposed to do. That, and Pansy doesn't seem terrible. She's nice. "I know you'll be in our house, though."

     "House?"

     Pansy nods. She moves to sit back in her seat. "Slytherin's the best one, that's the one my friends and I are in — and the one I know you'll be in," she says. "There's also Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and then Gryffindor, which is the worst house. Every Gryffindor is obsessed with themselves, it's pathetic."

     Holly tilts her head a little and smiles at her. "Don't say that I'll wind up being one now," she replies. Pansy laughs and shakes her head in disgust like it's that horrific. Part of Holly wonders how a house system can be this aggressive. "What's so bad about Gryffindor, anyway?"

     "They're just terrible," says Pansy, shaking her head still. She leans forward and puts her hand on Holly's wrist, in a cute comforting way. "But you don't need to worry, you're not going to be like them... I can already tell, you're far better than them."

     Is this because of Durmstrang? Or is it because she's a Virgo or something? Because either way, both of those ideas seem completely moronic.

     The compartment door opens again, and three girls appear. Owl's almost sat on and Holly lunges to grab hold of him, pulling him back and hugging him tightly. The blonde girl that almost sat on the owl cage looks over at Holly.

     "Oh, this is Holly," says Pansy, beaming brightly. She looks like she's found a diamond at the bottom of the ocean or something. "She used to go to Durmstrang, and she's in our house, and obviously she's going to be a Slytherin, like the best of us are." Then, she moves to look at Holly. "That's Daphne, Millicent, and Tracey."

     "Sweet," says Holly.

     They all look friendly enough, and very quickly, they all burst into conversation, talking about school and explaining to her the stuff that she wouldn't know. Daphne — the blonde that almost sat on the owl cage — says that they best get changed into their school uniforms, and the latter is done. Holly feels a little strange, having a plain tie whilst the others have robes with green and silver already decorating the fabric. Holly almost moves, to start twisting the diamond on her necklace in discomfort, but she stops, because the Gryffindor-Slytherin thing is mentioned again, and she's yet again reassured that she's obviously going to be in green later.

     "C'mon," says Pansy. "You're such a Slytherin."

     Tracey nods. "It's the green hair that does it."

     She thinks she's going to like it here.

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