Half-Blood Means Two Things || Marauders Era | Percy Jackson ||

|| 6 - I Summon Eggs With A Stick ||

No matter how hard I tried, McGonagall and the goblin would not answer my questions about my mother being a criminal. Not even when I shot off question after question. Both remained tight-lipped and expressionless the whole ride back up to the lobby.

As soon as the goblin had informed me of my mother's record, McGonagall had shot up, looking furious, and gave the goblin a stern look that shut him up exceptionally fast. After ordering me to get the proper amount of money, she'd forced us both back into the cart, looking about ready to magically sew the goblin's mouth shut. The goblin, wisely, remained silent through all my angry demands.

"Please -- I should know about my mom! No one's ever told me about her!" I tried for the umpteenth time as McGonagall led me through the streets of Diagon Alley. She remained silent. "I'm her daughter!" Her lips didn't move a muscle. "I need to know -- "

McGonagall whipped toward me, her green eyes glinting dangerously. "Aur -- Charlie," she corrected herself, "I'm not going to tell you about your mother. It's best if you remain ignorant. I would deem it wise if you never mentioned your mother," she said with a tone that told me that she would not only deem it wise but enforce it if need be.

I folded my arms and glared at her. "Fine," I scowled at the ground. "But I'll find out," I vowed.

McGonagall sighed exasperatedly. She stared at the sky for a moment as if counting. Then she turned back toward me, patiently. "What's first on your list?"

I stared at her. "Shouldn't you know? You sent it to me."

She looked mildly annoyed as she answered, "Yes, yours and all 280 other students,"

She made a valid point.

Grumbling, I pulled my list out. "It says uniform -- " I read the first line and whirled towards her. "Do I have to wear robes?"

McGonagall looked at me in disbelief. "Yes!"

I groaned. "And a hat!" I groaned louder.

McGonagall just rolled her eyes and pulled me to a shop that must have sold robes. The sign said something like Damam Maklni's -- wait, no -- Madam Malkin's.

Mumbling profanities in Ancient Greek about stupid dyslexia, I pushed inside, and a bell dinged.

From somewhere in the back, a plump lady walked in with a wide smile. I wasn't sure if I got more Hansel and Gretel witch or Glinda, the Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz vibes. A bit of both, I decided.

"Hogwarts, dear?"

I stared at all the robes on display around us. There was a chair in the corner that was rocking while two needles seemed to be knitting a robe themselves. I stared at it awe for a moment before I realized she'd asked me a question.

"Uh, yeah," I said, still staring at the needles.

"Oh! American!" She observed. "And going to Hogwarts," she laughed to herself. I just stared at her blankly, confused. When she realized I didn't understand whatever joke she'd made, she frowned. "Go stand on a platform over there,"

Shrugging, I walked over to the platform, met by a pretty witch who was staring at me with a somewhat annoyed expression.

"Uh, hi?" I said. It came out harsher than I meant to. After McGonagall dodged my questions, the way the girl was staring at me just ground against me the wrong way.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise as if offended. "Hi," she said back.

I groaned. Way to go, Charlie, you're not even at school and people already don't like you! I'd been told by some campers at Camp Half-Blood that mortals tend to dislike demigods by nature. I hoped that wasn't true with witches, but the odds weren't looking good. I stuck out my hand, stepping up onto the platform next to her. "Name's Charlie," I sounded much less hostile this time.