Linus Grimthorn was 1/16th goblin, which was hardly something you'd notice, except for the very slight greenish tint his face took on under certain varieties of candlelight, and also his occasional proclivity for eating rabbit bones whole.
He'd been the Admissions Master at Hogwarts for only 10 days when the young woman in the strange, glittery robes arrived for her scheduled meeting.
"Penella Posthwaite, I presume?" he said, waving the girl towards the vulture-shaped oak and leather chair he'd positioned directly across from his own.
"Aye. Yes. S'me," said Penella, shivering a bit as she took her seat. "Thanks for taking the time, sir."
"Of course," said Grimthorn, swooping behind his desk in a manner he hoped would be impressively authoritative. In truth, he was still a bit unsure about his posting as Admissions Master. He'd never had much interest in education and his previous work as a District Supply Chain Manager at Cauldrons-4-Sale didn't seem as closely aligned to admissions work as the Headmaster had seemed to believe.
"What can I do for you, Miss Posthwaite?"
"Well sir," said Penella, drawing a deep, steadying breath. "It's just, I believe there's some incorrectness in my record, you see? And I'd like bits of it reconsidered so I might...you know...come to school here."
"Bits reconsidered?" said Grimthorn, swiveling around in his chair. With a quick flick and swish of his wand, a nearby drawer pulled itself open. With another, a thin file pulled itself free from the drawer and floated back to Grimthorn's waiting hands.
Grimthorn flipped the file open and began to scan. "Ah. Yes. Miss Posthwaite, it says here you're a squib." He pushed the file aside and straightened his shoulders. This was the part he'd had to practice, never having worked with children before. "I know Hogwarts is a dream for most, and it really is a wonderful school. But unfortunately, my child, there's not much we can do for one who isn't magically inclined. Do you understand?" Grimthorn nodded, entirely to himself. That'd gone rather alright.
But Penella shook her head. "See, that's just it. I am magic. I'm not a squib. There was a mistake, I think."
"Mistake?" Grimthorn frowned, pulling the file back open. "Paperwork's all here, I'm afraid. Tested at age five by Mathilda Burtlebonks. Rated a squib. You think she made a mistake?"
"Maybe not," said Penella guiltily, eyes cast firmly on the broad desk between them. "But, but maybe things changed? I'm not sure. I just know I'm magic now."
"Well," said Grimthorn, leaning back, only to find this particular chair didn't really lean back, so instead rolling his neck in a very thoughtful way. "I suppose you'd need to take it up with the Ministry if that were the case."
"Oh! Oh!" said Penella, her eyes momentarily wild and fluttery. "But school's about to start! I've just turned 11. You know how the Ministry is - they're very slow, don't you think? And if I do that, well, I'll fall behind, won't I? It would be much better, I think, if I just showed you I'm magic and then you could let me in, right? I could start on first day, just like the other children!"
"I'm not sure about that," said Grimthorn slowly. He really wasn't. And he wasn't too keen on asking his assistant Rookworth, who hadn't been shy about his disagreement with Grimthorn's appointment. "No matter what I do, to the Ministry you'd still be considered a squib."
"Well, I'd still go through the proper channels," said Penella. "But like I said, I just don't want to miss my chance here at Hogwarts. Wouldn't you feel bad if an able student like myself didn't get in on a little error like this?"
Grimthorn sighed. He felt a bit up the line, just then. It couldn't hurt to at least allow the girl to make her full case, could it?
"Alright," said Grimthorn after a long moment of deliberation. "You feel you can prove you're magic?"
Penella nodded. "Very much." She reached beneath her robes and came out with a small, metal box. From the box she removed a pile of printed paper slips. She fanned out the slips. "Pick a card."
"Come again?" said Grimthorn, feeling the slow burning prickles of regret creeping up his face.
"Pick a card," repeated Penella.
Feeling caught by his own kindness, Grimthorn went ahead and pulled a card from the pile.
"Don't show me," said Penella warningly. "Now put it back in the pile."
Grimthorn did as he was told. He hoped sincerely that Rookworth would not poke his head in just then.
Penella shuffled the pile, re-fanned the slips, and pulled one loose. "Is this your card?" she asked.
"Oh heavens," said Grimthorn dejectedly. "Is it supposed to be?"
"It isn't?" said Penella.
"No."
"Well, how about..." Here Penella reached into her mouth. Grimthorn, who had a naturally weak stomach, was forced to momentarily turn away. "This one?"
Grimthorn looked. The slip was the one he'd picked out. "That was in your mouth?"
"Magic," said Penella, nodding vigorously.
"What...what spell is that?"
"Secret," said Penella, dropping the dry cards back into the metal tin.
"But how...?"
"Magic," repeated Penella.
"Huh," said Grimthorn. "That's...that's quite incredible."
Penella smiled. "So can I come to Hogwarts?"
Here was the moment of truth. Grimthorn's first test. The Headmaster had placed his trust in Grimthorn - now was the time to prove that this trust was not misplaced.
"Absolutely!" said Grimthorn, leaning across the desk with his hand outstretched. "Hogwarts is happy to have you." Penella Posthwaite took the hand and shook, smiling so deeply her tears had to struggle mightily just to make it to the surface.
I'm not really into fan fiction. I don't like reading it and I don't like writing it. I suppose I can understand the appeal, but I've never felt the urge to take established characters and tell stories with them. It feels very restrictive to me, and - I think, most importantly - if they're stories that I love, I'm just never going to feel like I can do those characters justice.
That said, occasionally I'll take on a Harry Potter-related prompt because 1) I feel marginally comfortable creating things in that world, and 2) nothing I write could be half as garbage as The Cursed Child.