Harry Potter Spotter

**Spotter**

_1.Acceptance_

Look was broke, hungry, and homeless. Standing out in the pouring rain with the wind practically tearing him from the ground, it wasn't shocking how easily this occurred to him. He had left a hard bed and terrible food, yes, but at least there had been a bed and food. A crack of lightning momentarily illuminated his features. Look was a small, lean boy of thirteen, with intelligent features muffled by wiry black hair that clung to his face and shoulders. He might have been somewhat attractive if not for the jagged scar that reached the middle of his forehead over his right eye and across his cheek. Currently, the scar was glowing an electric blue, so that it eerily reflected of the lightning that brightened it. His right eye was shining, too, a reptilian yellow in bright contrast to its brother, which was the clearest green. Turning his back to the whipping rain, Look stared at the monstrous gates that were his last hope. _Open_, he begged silently, _Please, let me in_.

Look knocked. The huge doors opened. Look bolted. As he tore down the muddy road leading back to town, he tried earnestly to wipe his mind of the obviously fantastic vision plaguing his mind. Had he not been totally sane, he could have sworn the gigantic gates had been opened, fittingly enough, by a giant. Had he been totally sane, however, he would never have heard the heavy footsteps behind him, or the rumbling howl surrounding him.

"Oi! Git back here! Yeh'll catch yer death o' cold, you liddle runt!"

Look stopped dead in his tracks, strangely calmed by the giant who wasn't there but apparently cared more for his welfare than any human being he had ever met. It was a good job, too, because the doorkeeper would have made a terrifying enemy. The giant—for that's what he was, at a full nine feet in height and what looked like all of four hundred pounds—had hopelessly tangled dark hair that obscured his features and small, beady eyes that seemed quite out of place on the face of such a fierce figure with their pure friendliness. The behemoth looked for all the world like some epic statue as he bent down and offered Look his trash can lid of a hand.

"You come with ol' Gibraltar. I'll get yeh safe."

Look stood in shocked silence, but another boom of thunder and a shiver down his drenched back seemed to answer the lingering invitation for him. Look placed his own hand in the giant's and was half-led, half-dragged back to the gargantuan gates. Stumbling along beside Gibraltar, Look noticed something large and dangerous-looking strapped to the great man's back. He could not be sure of what it was, but the obvious mass of it made him conscious of the ponderous object tied over his own shoulder. Long and thin, it resembled a crooked black staff. One end fluted outward while the other thickened to a mysterious opening. The strange object was all that was left of the family Look had lost; Madame had returned it to him when it was announced that he was leaving the orphanage. She had seemed glad to be rid of Look, now he thought of it…

Suddenly, Look couldn't think of it. All his attention was dominated by the unimaginable structure rising up before him through the sheets of rain. It was a castle of legendary size and grandeur, if anyone wrote legends anymore. Gibraltar noticed Look's wide-eyed wonder.

"That there's Avalon. I'll wager that's a sight yeh won't forget very quick, even wit this fraggin' rain." Gibraltar smiled down at Look, his teeth reminding the child of bricks. Look tried to smile back, but failed. Any reserves of courage he had once held were now drained in the sight of this purely royal dwelling. Surely he wouldn't be allowed to stay?

That question would soon be answered, as the unseemly pair stood before the castle's main gates. Look could have spent the entire night staring at the intricate carvings surrounding the high, arching, oaken doors, but Gibraltar had no intention of spending the night in a storm. He rapped the wood soundly, but instead of splintering and buckling inward, the double doors resounded with a booming sound not unlike the thunder they provided shelter from. After a short pause, the doors swung open the behest of a woman who appeared so singularly formidable that Look never questioned for a second her ability to push aside the massive doors.

"Goodness, Gibraltar, did you drag him out of the lake?"

"Naw, Distress, I picked 'im up at the front gates. Knocked on the doors as pretty as yeh please; it's a wonder I ever heard 'im. Heh, he ran at the sight of me, had to bring him back real gentle."

"Well. bring him in before he dies of pneumonia. The Filtering has already begun; we'll have to hurry."

"Then yeh think…?"

"Of course! Where else would a scar like that come from? It's not likely he's just a Sapien who got lost, is it? Hello, dear." The woman whose name seemed to be Distress peered down at Look. "I am Professor Hawke. I think you'll be seeing a lot of me."

Professor Hawke swept out in front of Gibraltar and Look, looking all the more severe as she untangled wire-rimmed glasses from her steely gray hair to clean them. Look had never heard his scar discussed without fear or disgust before, and it captured his curiosity even as he hurried along through the delicately set marble pillars lining the main hallway. Another set of wooden doors swung apart, and Look was struck absolutely dumb. Before him was a cavernous dining hall, set with four long tables seated with children of varying ages, all staring avidly a line of other eleven-year olds, shivering and wet just like him!

Look's attention shifted to a peculiar sight marking the line between the little ones in line and the children sitting down. A pair of silvery prongs rose from the ground, between them a fuzzy, semi-transparent wall of light. The whole thing reminded him of a force field from one of those science-fiction shows on the television. A student was standing between the prongs, shuddering terribly.

"What's your name, child?" Professor Hawke whispered in Look's ear.

"Look."

"First or last?"

"Both." The older woman turned her eagle-like stare on him now, regarding him with something bordering shock.

"You mean to tell me you've no proper name?"

"I am Look. I see…things, so that's what Madame called me," Look answered simply. Professor Hawke was clearly flustered, and drew him down the line of children with a firm but gentle hand, placing him at the end. It made perfect sense to Look to go last because he was so late, but he still didn't like it. He was deposited next to a girl roughly Look's size with bushy brown hair and half-frame glasses. The girl looked so severe Look thought Professor Hawke might have shrunken herself and stood next to him, but as he turned to make sure she was still behind him, he found her striding purposely to the far end of the hall. There, behind a wizened podium, was another long table at which sat what Look assumed to be the staff of Avalon. To Look's far right was Gibraltar, already seated on a rough, heavy bench. Gibraltar caught his eye and waved cheerily.

"Welcome to Avalon." Hawke in miniature was talking to him.

"Er…happy to be here."

"You should be, Avalon is the best school for Gifted this side of the Atlantic, probably in the world. This is Carvers Hall we're in; it can hold almost two thousand people and it's practically impenetrable—the safest place in Avalon."

"Really? That's interesting…um, why does a school need impenetrable doors?"

Mini-Hawke contemplated the question for a moment. "Well, I suppose it was originally to protect students from themselves; people's Gifts can get out of hand…oh, my manners! I'm Aeronautica Zephyr. Please call me Nautica." She smiled falteringly and extended a hesitant hand. Look shook the hand, returning the smile in kind. Both Nautica's brown eyes were trained on his yellow right one.

"I'm Look."

"Look what?"

"Just Look." There was that look of puzzlement again, but Look was quite used to it. "What is that gate thing for?"

Nautica followed Look's gaze to the silvery prongs, suddenly shaking visibly. "That's the Gift Filter. It sorts you into your Dorm according to brainwaves and body type." Noticing Look's utterly blank expression, she continued, "There are four Dorms in Avalon: Wyvern for the brave, Forelocke for the loyal, Psykeep for the wise," Nautica grinned and winked, "And Slighthand for the ambitious. Oh, dear, I'm almost up." A sizeable gap had opened between Nautica and the few students yet to be filtered. It was only when Nautica turned away to run toward the other students that he noticed something was strapped to her back.

"'Ey! Is that a sword?" It was, indeed, a longsword almost as long as Nautica was high hanging from its sheath across her shoulder. Nautica turned back to Look while he caught up.

"It's, um…been in my family for centuries. I see you've got one of your own…"

"What, a sword? Blimey, no, I've just got this thing the Madame gave me. It looks like a gun; I'd bet anything my father was a soldier or something." Look removed his black pole to admire it. Nautica reached out tentatively, testing the weapon with her fingers.

"You'd probably win, too. That's a sniper rifle, and it looks well used. Your father must have been an excellent shot…unless it was your mother's."

"My mum? What would she do with a gun?"

"Shoot it, I think." Nautica was suddenly cool. "Women can have a decent Channeler, too, you know."

"Channeler?"

"Oh, dear." Nautica looked highly affronted. "Are you sure you should be here? Both my parents are Sapiens, and even I know what that is."

Look made a mental note to ask her what Sapiens were later. "Well, tell me then."

"Your Channeler controls your Gift. It works like a conductor for electricity so that you don't…explode, or something."

"Explode? What kind of Gifts are we talking about, here?"

Nautica could say no more, as a clear, mechanical voice rang out over the Hall.

"Aeronautica Zephyr!"

Look was shocked to realize that the voice was coming from the gate, specifically from a silvery face floating between the prongs. Nautica looked hopelessly back at Look, crossing her fingers. She walked between the prongs, and the face disappeared to accommodate her. Look had not been paying attention to the Filter before, and was slightly worried about what would happen to Nautica. Her frizzy hair lifted comically, as if from static electricity, and there was a murmur of chuckling from the students. The Filter's response was almost immediate.

"_PSYKEEP!" _The silver face reappeared in the Filter as Hermione stepped out of it, heading toward a table of students that was suddenly standing to welcome her. Nautica turned to offer Look one last hopeful smile and a thumbs-up, and disappeared into the crush of students. Look found himself directly in front of the Filter. "Psst. Step forward kid, some people would like to eat!" Look could only stare wide-eyed at the face for a moment, and stepped into the talking machine with his eyes shut tight. The moment he touched the shining wall, he was filled with a rather satisfying fuzzy sensation. Look smiled weakly but kept his eyes firmly shut. The filter quickly solved this, though.

"Look!" Look's eyes shot open. Indeed, everyone in the room looked at him. He felt as if he was being stripped bare by a thousand prying gazes. It was then that he heard a voice, not with his ears, but somewhere inside his head.

"Don't really seem like the brave type…"  
"I am so!" Look whispered harshly.

"Alright, alright, keep your pants on…is that a sniper rifle?"  
"Eh? Oh, er, yeah, I think so."  
"I Filtered a bloke with one like it, once. Sharp fellow, he was, for a Wyvern."  
"My father?"

"Maybe. Who knows?"

"I do." Look had no clue how, and he didn't much care, but he _knew_ it was his father who had carried this rifle in Wyvern dorm. "I'm a Wyvern, like my dad."

"Are you absolutely sure?" The voice was uncertain. Look was.

"Filter me."

"Well, then, I guess that makes you a _WYVERN!"_

Look stepped out into a wall of applause from the table to his far left, and gravitated toward it. Welcoming hands dragged him into the crowd and patted his back as the Wyverns greeted their newest comrade. Look was finally pressed into a seat next to a tall, gangly redhead boy.

"Took you long enough! Did the Filter have a fit with you 'cause you were out of order?"

"No, actually, it just didn't have a clue what to do with me." The redhead didn't respond. He was staring shamelessly at Look's left eye, and it suddenly occurred to Look that the rest of the table was, as well. He began to wonder if he had only imagined that the Wyverns' applause had seemed…subdued. There was a clap of thunder from overhead, but the flash of light came from the far end of Carvers Hall. Look followed the gaze of his peers and beheld an extremely old, grandfatherly man. He was tall and lean, as if he had once been a soldier, and his pure white hair glowed in contrast to his tanned skin. The redhead next to Look let out a little gasp.

"Good evening, students. I am Professor Illuminati Philosopho Brian, your Commander Chief. As you all may know, we've been at relative peace for eleven years since the fall of Slypher and his Redhanded. Avalon is no longer a training camp for future soldiers at war, but a refuge where Gifted may discover and hone their many diverse abilities. I would prefer to keep it that way, so please, do not let the rivalry between your Dorms stop you from making friends. We are all only people, all flawed, all capable of great things. None of you is any less than any other, and none of you any greater. I look forward to watching you all grow and improve….No loitering in the Blackwood Forest, no drug, gang, or violence paraphernalia, Channelers only exception, no throwing food or carrying it outside of Carvers Hall, please leave all communication equipment in your dorms. Thank you, now let's eat!"

At these words, the most delicious food Look had ever seen sprouted right out of the tables. Look and the redhead tore into the food at the same time, both obviously famished. The redhead spoke while piling his plate with turkey, rice, rolls, and beans.

"I'm Don Fuego; my whole family's in Wyvern Dorm. Have you got any family members here, Look?"

"Haven't got any family at all. Nice to meet you, Don."

Don pulled his head out of his plate with a look of shamed horror. "Blimey, mate, I didn't know. I was just wonderin' if there were any others with your name…"

"Nah, who else do you know with a scar like this?"

Don relaxed a bit at Look's humor, and offered a gloved hand that sparked lightly. "A lightning scar and a redhead would stick out like a pair of sore thumbs, eh? Don't worry mate, we'll make the whole school look at us sure enough."

"Aye, we'll show them what Gifted really means…oh, by the way, what does 'Gifted' mean?"

And the two were friends, for God knows how long.


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Sci-Fi