The Witch in The Wheelchair
written by cinna
DISCONTINUED - WILL BE REMAKING THE BOOK
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
4
Reads
683
Chapter Two
Chapter 2
The Wizarding World was not prepared for a wheelchair. Diagon Alley had bumpy roads with large grooves that were perfect for getting your wheels stuck in. Strange glares came from everywhere and even whispers that haunted her. If something was obvious, it was that no one in this world had ever seen a wheelchair, much less cared about one. Lyra kept her head low, her non-existent smile fading even more.
The shops were even worse. There were talks about a boy. The boy who lived. But when she entered, there were talks about a freak. The freak who's going to Hogwarts. Her. She tried to ignore it, but she had heard it for the last month. The same song. Over and over and over again. The same routine. And this place wouldn't be any different. The shop bell of Ollivanders tinkled with delight, then quietly dimmed, as if sobbing for the wheelchair.
"Ah, McGonagall. 9 and a half inches, fir, and dragon heartstring. Mmm. Beautiful wand for transfiguration. Now, how did that turn out?" Mr. Ollivander's eye had a small twinkle as he walked over to the pair and smiled. McGonagall blushed. "Hmm, and let's see... who's this?" The old man smiled at Lyra, and Lyra felt a sense of belonging. "Hmmm, willow, aspen. Or perhaps rowan?" He skittered over to his shelves, opening one. "Try this. Aspen, unicorn hair, 11 and one fourth, reasonably supple-"
Lyra took it in her hands, feeling the small grooves along the bottom, but it was quickly snatched away, and replaced with another. "Rowan, unicorn hair, 10 and three quarters, surprisingly swishy." Lyra felt tingles at her fingertips. She felt something go through the wand and her eyes grew in astonishment and fear- all to no avail. Mr. Ollivander knew and took it away, feeling the shelves for something that could suit her. "Mind you, not everyone gets the wand on the first try..." He shook his head and squinted. "One second, I've got to go to the back and get something."
He swiftly walked away, gliding on his feet, and brought out a beautiful case, embroidered with golden swirls, velvety and soft. Inside, there was an intricately carved wand, dark swirls climbing up the side and curves that seemed to fly off the wand. The loop-de-loops and circles reminded Lyra of the wheels on her wheelchair. "Willow wood with a unicorn hair core, 11 inches, and quite bendy flexibility. Quite a nice wand and I had to keep it in the back so that customers weren't tempted to try it. Willow often attracts people." Lyra held the wand in her hand.
She took a deep breath and thought for a moment, before feeling the tingles in her fingertips. She felt a beam of light shoot through her. She started shaking with fear. She lurched forward and sparks flew out, draining her completely. She felt tired and restless at the same time. But Ollivander was clapping and McGonagall was too. "I've honestly got to say, I didn't expect that," Mr. Ollivander said with a magical look on his face. "Wands don't usually drain- why I'm talking about nonsense. It's your first time around magic. Try to not worry too much." They left and paid, McGonagall, putting the wand away.
They bought the books with minor inconvenience. They bought a cauldron with very little looks from passerby. And they were able to buy a tawny owl (which Lyra named Gertrude as a joke, then named it Mr. Morton) without the owls questioning the chair. They finally proceeded to Madam Milkin's Robes, where a girl with ratty brown hair was getting fitted, and what looked like her parents stood nearby. Lyra entered the shop, the tingles of the bell ringing, and the girl looked at her and scowled at her, Lyra quickly looking away. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson. Now, what house is Pansy in? We have a wonderful sale on ties-"
"We need no sales, thank you very much. She has got her ties from somewhere than the better likes of you." The man snapped at the woman and swatted her with a piece of newspaper, barely missing. He turned on his heels and started to walk out, the woman silent, but obviously infuriated. "And what is this? Are we getting lazy and sitting in chairs that need to be pushed around- oh hello, Professor McGonagall. I was just thinking you should be more appreciated. Would you like a present of some sort? A new wand, perhaps?"
"As if you could pick a wand for me. Now, I will not tolerate any more bribes from you and your family. My wand will do me good. And Miss Lotstein needs this chair, as she was shot by a muggle firearm one month ago. Now if you'll excuse us-" Mr. Parkinson rolled his eyes, ending her sentence. He then rushed out, whispering something that sounded something like, "Mudbloods," and grabbed his daughter's hand, dragging her far away from them.
The woman at the counter smiled and looked at Lyra. "Welcome to Madam Milkin's Robes for All Occasions. How may I help you?"
"We need new robes for her. School robes, Hogwarts issued." The woman nodded, getting out a flexible ruler and her wand, pushing her glasses up her face.
"Now, if you would care to get up-" And Lyra froze with fear. She hadn't properly stood up for the entire time she was at home. She had transferred a couple of times onto her bed and onto a chair at the doctor's office, but not stand up and try to hobble over at the least. She shook her head firmly. "I see... well, in that case we can't exactly measure you, can we?" She draped some cloth over Lyra and started to yells some words. "Diffindo! Reparo! Wingardium Leviosa!" Lyra felt the fabric be cut, mended, and sewn. "Messy job, I know. But nothing I can't fix." She blasted the cloth again, the seams were now hidden, a perfect fit to Lyra.
They paid and when they got outside, Lyra dared to ask. "What's a mudblood?" McGonagall sighed and put her hands by her side, shaking her head. "Some people...think that other kinds of people should get a chance at this life. A magical life. Mudblood means that you are magical, yet don't have a magical parent. We call non-magical folks muggles. Quite a mundane name, I know, but we must call them something or things would get very confusing. Now, shall we get on this? You have a train to catch tomorrow, and you must be very tired from shopping and-"
"Just one thing. Why does everybody look at me weirdly? Why are people treating me like a freak- yet they know nothing about me?" She interlaced her fingers and started to sob, slow tears coming out. "Why do people think I'm different! There's got to be another wizard or witch in a wheelchair. There's got to be loads of people with disabilities or injuries, right?" But seeing the look on McGonagall's face made her break out in tears. She realized the truth. There was nothing for her. There was no one who was like her. She started to wheel away, her face red and puffy, toward The Leaky Cauldron, where they had booked a room for the night. The manager floated her up the stairs and she closed the door, taking Mr. Morris, starting to form a letter.
Dear Headmaster of Hogwarts,
You thought wrong to chose me to be a witch. You thought wrong when you thought that I would be able to live in this world with others like me. I would like to not go, to spare my embarrassment as well as yours, from the inevitable future we both ought to see.
Yours with the best, Lyra Lotstein, the girl who doesn't belong.
She sealed the letter and gave it to Mr. Morris, and sealed it with her spit, feeling guilty with every lick and every stamp. She paid the owl, her hands trembling as she wrote her name and attached a slip of paper to the owl's leg. Return Mr. Morris to the emporium. I won't be needing any of my stuff anymore.
