Remedial Magic

When the sixth graders taking their SPAWNs returned from lunch, Mrs. Middle had been joined by three other teachers. Two of them had been among those seated at the podium with Ms. Grimm during the assembly, including the scary-looking woman in black leather. She squinted at each of the students as if looking for some defect. Alexandra stared back at her unflinchingly, and was surprised when one corner of the woman's mouth twitched upwards, just for a moment.

“Each of you will meet individually with Mr. Grue, Mr. Hobbes, Mr. Newton, and Ms. Shirtliffe to demonstrate your knowledge of charms, transfigurations, alchemy, and basic magical defense. I assume you all have your wands with you, so – ” She paused as Alexandra raised her hand. “Yes, Miss Quick?”

“If none of us is supposed to have ever used magic before, we just got our wands, and most of us grew up as Muggles, then how are we supposed to have learned any of that stuff?” Alexandra asked.

Middle smiled, though she looked a little thrown off. “Well, I'm sure you've done some magic growing up, that's what makes you a witch, after all! And children who've grown up in wizarding households usually get a basic education in spellcraft at home before they're sent off to school. Don't worry, Miss Quick, you won't be expected to know as much as other children. This is just a standardized test to establish a baseline.”

Alexandra had heard that before, and it still sounded like officious grown-up talk for pointless testing. But she resolved that she would do as well as any of the other kids; she was tired of being treated as if having grown up “Muggle-born” were a handicap.

She took out her wand while she was waiting in line to see Mr. Grue. Hickory with chimaera hair, Mr. Finsterholz had said. It felt good in her hand, and she knew now what Constance and Forbearance had meant by knowing when a wand was right for her. But it was still a mysterious and untested instrument. She began rehearsing rhymes in her head, trying to guess what she might be asked to do. Transform animals? Start a fire? Make it rain? And “magical defense”? Did that mean she'd have to fight?

She was surprised when Mrs. Middle pulled her out of line and said, “You can go ahead and see Mr. Hobbes now, dear.”

“I thought Mr. Grue was supposed to test me on alchemy,” she said, looking at the other kids.

Mrs. Middle smiled benignly. “After reviewing your score on the alchemy section of the written test, it's apparent that won't be necessary.”

Alexandra bit her tongue, but her expression was stormy as she shuffled through the door into an empty classroom. “It's just as well,” she thought, “since my cauldron is still lying somewhere on the valley floor,” but it was one thing to know she really didn't know anything, and another to be told that she was so unknowledgeable that they weren't even going to bother testing her.

Mr. Hobbes was an older man with frizzy white hair. He looked a bit like a mad scientist in green robes. Even his smile was eccentric, lopsided and showing too many teeth. “Alexandra... Quick, is it?” he asked, reading from a scroll. “Come in, come in!” He beckoned her further into the room. She saw that on the table in front of him was a glass of water, a rock, a stick, and a small white mouse in a glass cage.

“There's a good girl,” he wheezed, as she walked over to stand on the other side of the table from him. “Now, don't worry a bit if you're not actually able to succeed at any of my simple tests. Transfigurations are very difficult, very difficult! One third of the sixth-graders I test can't even manage a single-element inanimate-to-inanimate transfiguration.”

“Oh,” she said, not feeling reassured, and definitely not wanting to be in that one-third.

Hobbes pointed at the glass of water. “Let's start with a basic liquid transformation. Turn this glass of water into milk, if you would.”

Compared to what Alexandra now knew was possible with magic, this seemed like a trivial test, but she'd never attempted anything like it before. She licked her lips, looking at the glass of water, and she was silent for several moments.

“That's all right, my girl,” Mr. Hobbes started to say, but she shook her head.

“No, wait, I can do it.” She frowned in concentration and said:

“Water's cold and clear and cheap,

Turn to milk as white as sheep.”

The glass of water clouded and turned white.

“Oh dear,” tutted Mr. Hobbes, making a note on the parchment. Alexandra's triumphant smile faltered. “What's wrong?” she demanded. “I did it!”

“Yes, yes, certainly,” he said, with the same soothing tone he'd used when he thought she wasn't even going to be able to attempt it. He waved his wand over the glass and the milk immediately turned clear again. “That wasn't really a proper transfiguration, but certainly you've demonstrated the raw ability.”

Alexandra tried mentally transforming her face into stone so she wouldn't glower. How was it not a proper transfiguration if she transformed it? She waited for Mr. Hobbes to give her her next test. He pointed at the rock.

“I'd like you to transform this rock,” he said, “into anything you please. A piece of candy, a dandelion, even a change of color if that's all you can manage. Now, if you can do something more impressive, such as, say, enlarging it or making it vanish... but almost no one your age is that accomplished, and you, ah –” he caught himself, because Alexandra did glower that time, but then he just smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead, whatever you can do, my girl.”

She stared at the rock, and thought about all the things that rhymed with rock – lock, chalk, stalk, clock, sock – but then wondered if she'd get any credit if she transformed it with another rhyme. She took out her wand instead. If Mr. Hobbes could transform things just by waving his wand, then it was possible.

But she had no idea how. She imagined it turning into a mouse like the one in the cage, and waved her wand, but nothing happened. She screwed up her face in concentration. She'd turned cookies into worms without making a rhyme, but that had just sort of happened, like a lot of the spells she'd cast back home, and suddenly what came naturally without thought back in Larkin Mills seemed enormously difficult with a teacher watching her. Mentally, she begged, pleaded, and threatened the rock, but it remained unmoved and untransformed.

Alexandra would have stood there trying to transform it long past sunset, but Mr. Hobbes finally cleared his throat. “That's all right –”

“No! I can do it!” she insisted.

“Well, we don't have unlimited time,” he said gently, and Alexandra snapped her wand in the rock's direction again in frustration, and it jumped and then a shower of rocks flew in all directions, bouncing off her and Mr. Hobbes, raining down on the table, knocking over the glass of water, and hitting the mouse's cage hard enough to crack the glass and send the poor creature running frantically around in circles.

Embarrassed, but relieved and proud at the same time, she looked up at the teacher. “There! See?”

“Mmm, hmm, yes,” he mumbled, brushing a rock off his sleeve and then making a note on the parchment. “We're going to have to do something about that wild magic of yours. Unpredictable and uncontrolled transformations can be very dangerous, you know.”

Alexandra bit her tongue and clenched her teeth, as he calmly waved his wand and conjured a small broom out of thin air, and directed it to sweep up the extra rocks. Then he righted the glass, refilled it with water, and repaired the mouse's cage, all with similar casual wand gestures.

He smiled at her. “Now, my girl, you're doing just fine, given your previous education.”

She was becoming accustomed to feeling insulted by attempts to reassure her, so she just stewed while Mr. Hobbes said, “Next, if you feel you're up to it, see if you can make this stick grow legs and walk.”

Alexandra didn't waste time. She stared at the stick, and composed a silent rhyme in her head. But try as she might, waving her wand this way and that, it lay on the table motionless. She ignored Mr. Hobbes's several attempts to persuade her to desist, and finally he coughed and said, “For your final test, Miss Quick, I'd like you to transform the mouse.”

She paused, but Mr. Hobbes misunderstood the reason. “Now, living creatures are the most difficult subjects to transform, so there's no need to exert yourself or spend too much time if it's too difficult.”

“What if I hurt it?” she asked, looking at the mouse. Alexandra was neither squeamish nor particularly soft-hearted, but she'd never used her magic maliciously on animals before.

“Oh, I have a cage full of them!” Hobbes replied cheerfully, gesturing at a larger cage on the floor behind him, which Alexandra now saw was indeed full of more white mice just like the poor creature in front of her. “But don't worry, I can undo most damage you might do to it.”

Alexandra sighed, and considered the mouse for a moment. Then she held out her wand over it. The mouse looked up at her. She waved the wand, but nothing happened.

“Guess I suck at transfiguration,” she said, and dropped the wand back to her side.

“Tut, tut! Language, my girl! Don't feel bad, as I said –“

“Yeah, transformations are very difficult,” she said, a little sullenly, thinking about all the transfigurations she'd accomplished in the past without knowing how difficult they were supposed to be. She looked at the mouse, which she had not even attempted to transform. “I hope you appreciate it,” she thought, but the mouse merely scampered about its cage, oblivious.

By now, Alexandra was wondering what they did with witches they decided were too “wild” or “uneducated.” Would she be sent back home, or to one of those “day schools” she'd heard about? In the hallway, Mrs. Middle pointed her to the next room, where she was to be tested in charms by Mr. Newton.

Newton was much younger than Hobbes, though he had prematurely graying hair. He also wore large, thick spectacles, and he peered at Alexandra almost suspiciously. He had no props on the table in front of him, only a stack of parchments.

“Name?” he asked.

“Alexandra Quick,” she replied.

He pulled a new sheet of parchment off the stack and scribbled on it, with a frown.

“Let me see your wand,” he said.

She held it out to him, and he inspected it.

“Good.” He handed it back to her. “Now, are there any charms in particular you have learned previously and might be capable of performing?” His quill hovered over the parchment.

“Well, I jumped off the roof of a house and landed without getting hurt, I've made birds and butterflies and chipmunks and plastic toys appear, I pushed a kid off the swingset once from across the playground, but he deserved it, I made my Splendid Stars Space Robot walk across my desk and jump off it, I open and close my bedroom window without getting out of bed, I can unlock doors, umm, I know I'm not supposed to,” she added a bit sheepishly. “I tried making a computer give me a password but that just killed it. I turned cookies into worms but I guess that's transfiguration, and I don't know why that shouldn't count for the SPAWN. Oh, and I made a branch shoot fireballs. A wet branch! And I cast an Engorgement Charm on my raven.”

It was a pretty impressive list, she thought, and surely Mr. Newton couldn't claim that all those spells didn't count, but he just frowned and scribbled a few words on his parchment. “Any standard, approved charms?” he repeated.

“Well, if we're underaged and been living with Muggles and haven't been in school before, then aren't all charms 'unapproved'?” she replied crossly.

The teacher finally looked up at her. “Don't be smart, Miss Quick. All young wizards and witches can cast spontaneous charms even without education, but learning how to perform magic in a consistent, reliable fashion is why you're here.”

Alexandra thought and said, “I know what a Confundus Charm is, and a Silencing Charm, and an Apportation Charm –“

“I didn't ask for a recital of charms you've heard of. Can you perform any of them?”

She thought back to the letter she'd received from Ms. Kennedy at the Trace Office. “I can do an Unlocking Charm.” Then added, “And I did an Engorgement Charm too.” That's what Anna had called it, anyway.

“Indeed?” He waved his wand, and suddenly a padlock appeared on his desk. “Please.”

She pointed her wand at the lock.

“This is something I know how

To do so padlock unlock now!”

The padlock popped open. Mr. Newton frowned and scribbled on the parchment.

“What's the difference between using a rhyme and using Spanish or Italian or whatever you use for charms?” Alexandra demanded.

Mr. Newton looked up at her again. His eyes narrowed. “Most incantations are derived from Latin or Greek, and if you pay attention in your Magical Theory classes, Miss Quick, you will learn why true wizards use incantations that have been perfected for centuries, not doggerel verse.” He gestured with his wand again, and this time a feather fluttered out of its tip and landed on his desk.

“Let's see how you do with a very simple charm that many students already know before coming to school. The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa. If performed correctly, you should be able to levitate this feather into the air. Like this.” And Mr. Newton gestured with his wand and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and the feather rose straight into the air almost to the ceiling, and then gracefully fluttered back down to the desk.

Alexandra was sure she could do that with her usual method, and thought she might even be able to do it without saying anything, but apparently she was being tested on her ability to do “proper” charms. So she tried to move her wand exactly as Mr. Newton had done, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Nothing happened. Mr. Newton scribbled something on his parchment. “Too much emphasis on the first syllable and it's obvious you've never used a wand before. That's all right, Miss Quick. That's why we have remedial magic classes.”

Alexandra was gaping at him, outraged, but Mr. Newton didn't seem to notice. He made a dismissive gesture, and said, “That will be all, Miss Quick.”

She stomped out of the room, and almost ran into Mrs. Middle. “Finished already?” the teacher said, sounding surprised in a way that suggested that finishing so quickly wasn't a positive sign. “Well then, I don't believe there's anyone waiting yet to see Ms. Shirtliffe. You can go get your Basic Magical Defense practical out of the way.”

Alexandra stalked into the next classroom, already glowering, and stood in front of Ms. Shirtliffe defiantly. Shirtliffe wasn't as old as she'd first appeared, but her short, severe haircut and serious expression made her seem older. Her black leather jacket, jeans, and leather boots were incongruous at Charmbridge; she looked less like a witch than a biker. Alexandra noticed the teacher wore a pair of earrings set with blood-red stones.

Surprisingly, the teacher gave Alexandra an amused smile. She was leaning against the desk with her arms folded across her chest. Alexandra didn't see any props here either; in fact, there was no table to separate the teacher from the student being tested as there had been in the other two classrooms.

“Not having a good day?” she asked. “You're Alexandra Quick, right? The girl who fell from the Invisible Bridge.”

“The bridge disappeared,” Alexandra said. “And these tests are bogus!”

Shirtliffe arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I've done lots of magic!” Alexandra said heatedly. “I've even fought redcaps and a kappa, and when the Invisible Bridge disappeared, I saved myself and David by making Charlie, my raven, big enough to carry us! Mr. Hobbes said transfigurations like that are so difficult most students can't do them when they come here. But everyone keeps telling me I'm 'uneducated' and not casting 'proper' charms because they're not 'derived from Latin or Greek.' How about if you drop all the other sixth graders off the Invisible Bridge and see how many of them can save themselves? That would be a practical test!”

To Alexandra's amazement, Ms. Shirtliffe laughed. “Yes, I guess it would, but I don't think the parents would approve.” She pulled out her wand. “Have you ever been jinxed, Alexandra?”

“Umm, no.” Alexandra eyed the teacher's wand warily.

“λαγκας!” said Shirtliffe, flicking her wand, and Alexandra hiccuped violently. “Hey!” she exclaimed.

“Geeyuvlok!” Shirtliffe said, and this time her wand moved more lazily in a circle. Alexandra's mouth stretched open in an enormous, involuntary yawn. “Knock it off!” Alexandra protested.

“You were just bragging about fighting kappas and redcaps,” Shirtliffe replied. “Surely you can deal with schoolyard jinxes?”

“Worms,” Alexandra thought, and pointed her wand at Ms. Shirtliffe. She poured all her concentration into the stream of worms she wanted to make pour out of the teacher's nose.

Shirtliffe held her wand up at an angle, and for a moment something twitched and roiled in the air, like a barely-visible squirming mass, and then it faded.

Shirtliffe smiled. “Hah! The best defense is a good offense,” she said. “But most children learn basic counter-jinxes to deflect or reflect the jinxes their friends put on them. You've only learned how to go on the attack.”

“I learned all by myself,” Alexandra said. “And I've never been attacked with magic before. I'm tired of being told how much more I'd know if I'd grown up with wizards!”

“Well, it's true, you would have learned more growing up with wizards. But that doesn't mean you can't learn as well as any other student here.” Shirtliffe pulled out a roll of parchment that had been tucked into her jacket, and instead of a quill, a fountain pen floated out and began writing on the parchment, without Shirtliffe holding it.

“That's it?” Alexandra protested. “Did I fail this test too? You hardly even tested me!”

“Who said you failed anything?”

Alexandra scowled. “All I get are stupid questions about things I don't know, then I do some magic and get told it's not the right magic. I hope this isn't how you usually teach.”

Shirtliffe raised an eyebrow again. “Do you talk to your Muggle teachers like that?”

“Sometimes,” Alexandra said, after a pause, and Shirtliffe laughed.

“I'll bet you do,” she said. “And I suspect you're going to see more of Dean Grimm than you'd like.”

“I've already seen more of Dean Grimm than I'd like,” Alexandra muttered.

“Have you?” Shirtliffe replied. She grinned toothily. “Yes, you're definitely going to be one of those students every teacher knows by name in a hurry. I look forward to seeing you in class, Alexandra.”

Alexandra wasn't sure what to make of Ms. Shirtliffe, and wasn't sure if she was looking forward to seeing her in class. She shuffled out of the room, and saw that all the other students were in line to see one of the four testers. She was the first one done.

“How was it, dear?” asked Mrs. Middle, ambling over with her hands clasped at her waist and a fatuous smile on her face.

“A waste of time!” Alexandra proclaimed. Middle's smile faltered.

“Why, Miss Quick, how else can we know where to place you if we don't test what you know?”

“But you already know I don't know anything! So what's the point? You just give me stupid tests you know I'm going to fail!”

Middle frowned. “But it's a standardized test, dear,” she said, very slowly, as if Alexandra's comprehension abilities were uncertain. “That's the point, you see.”

Alexandra didn't see the point at all. Middle, nonplussed, conjured a hall pass and sent her to the library, telling her to return to the study lounge in Delta Delta Kappa Tau Hall by four-thirty.

The Charmbridge library was enormous. Like other spaces Alexandra had seen, the inside of the library was much larger than it seemed from outside. In particular, its shelves stretched up to head-craning heights, which should have put it well into the third floor of the halls above and maybe through the roof of the building. Alexandra also noticed, as she walked around the library, that different sections had different views out the windows. The desks closest to the main entrance were beneath windows looking into Charmbridge's interior courtyard, and opposite them, across the library, were windows on the other side with a view of the vast grassy lawn that stretched to the woods surrounding the academy. But when she went between the stacks in the “History and Social Wizardry” section and emerged into a somewhat smaller study area with fewer desks, the windows had less light pouring through them, because outside was a dark, tangled forest that didn't look at all like the woods Alexandra had seen on her way from the Invisible Bridge.

She wandered around, looking at the bookshelves. Most of the books were wizardry-related. The categories dividing the rows bore no resemblance to the Dewey Decimal System the Larkin Mills Elementary School librarian had spent one tedious afternoon explaining to the fourth grade. However, in a section titled “Muggle Literature,” Alexandra found an assortment of books and magazines that seemed to have been culled from Muggle libraries. Alexandra pulled a few off the shelf at random, and discovered that that was how they seemed to have been shelved – at random. Or if there was any order to them, she couldn't figure it out. A high school science textbook from 1963 was surrounded by paperback romance novels, and there was a pile of fishing magazines next to a volume of the complete works of Shakespeare. They all had a musty, unread smell.

She shoved the science textbook back onto the shelf, and went looking for the librarian. She found a stocky woman with pale yellowish-gray hair tied up in an enormous bun, pushing a cart at a clockwork golem. “You can't sort books by color!” she said disgustedly. She swished her wand back and forth, and labels appeared on each book. “Just put each one on the shelf according to its label,” she sighed. “And pull the labels off first!” The golem jerked backwards, pulling the cart with it.

“Awful, just awful!” the librarian moaned. “They can manage well enough at cooking and cleaning, but Clockworks don't belong in libraries! They don't even understand books, let alone appreciate them!”

“Then why use one?” Alexandra asked.

“It's all that nonsense from ASPEW. They've been pressuring us to stop using elves altogether, but the Dean reached some sort of compromise with them. So now our library elves have to stay out of sight during normal library hours!”

“You have elves who work in the library?”

The librarian looked close to tears. “Poor Bran and Poe are only allowed to work in the library when you children aren't here. Of course they've always stayed out of sight, but now they have to do nothing for most of the day! It's awful for them, simply awful!”

Alexandra considered that, and then the librarian wiped at her eyes and sniffed. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“Well, actually, I wanted to find out how you find things here, and how to check books out.” Alexandra started to tell her she was Muggle-born, but then decided not to. Surely even kids from wizarding homes didn't automatically know how to use a wizarding library.

The librarian brightened. Alexandra read her name from a plate on her desk: Mrs. Minder. She seemed genuinely pleased to have a student wanting to know more about the library. In short order, Alexandra had a library card, and had been taught how to use the Card Catalog, which was a tall, polished wooden cabinet with dozens of little drawers, each full of small white cards.

“It's only as helpful as your instructions,” Mrs. Minder said. “If you say something vague like 'Quodpot,' you're going to get a whole flock of cards that you have to narrow down.”

Alexandra faced the Card Catalog, and said, “Books about kappas and redcaps in America.”

At Alexandra's words, half a dozen drawers opened and closed, and several cards flew out of them and fluttered in front of her nose.

“Why, I don't believe there are any kappas in America,” said Mrs. Minder. “They're Japanese water demons, if I recall.”

“Yeah, so I've heard,” said Alexandra. She was reading the titles of the books and tapped two with her wand. Immediately those cards began flying off towards the shelves, while the Card Catalog opened its drawers and the remaining cards flew back inside.

“Thanks, Mrs. Minder!” she said, and ran off after the cards.

“Don't run in the library, Miss Quick,” Mrs. Minder called after her.

Alexandra spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, reading about kappas and redcaps and other magical beasts. There was no explanation for how a kappa could have found itself in Old Larkin Pond, though; the only kappas previously seen in the United States had been brought to the West Coast by some Japanese wizards in the 1930s, and by 1950 it was thought the Department of Magical Wildlife had rounded them all up and either disposed of them or shipped them back to Japan.

It was past four-thirty when Alexandra realized she was supposed to have returned to the study lounge, so she hastily stacked her books on a table and ran out of the library, down the halls, past the entrance to Delta Delta Kappa Tau Hall beneath the scowling wizard, who looked particularly disapproving as Alexandra sped past below him, and into the study lounge she'd been told was where sixth graders came to do their homework. She saw that all the other sixth graders who'd taken the SPAWN with her were already there. Mrs. Middle frowned at Alexandra as she took a seat at the end. “Four thirty means four thirty, not four forty, Miss Quick,” she said. She cleared her throat.

“As I was saying: your teachers and the Vice Dean will be scoring your SPAWNs now. There are only a few of you, and we need to give you your class schedules, so they should be done by dinnertime. Thus, you will all return here after dinner to receive the results of your SPAWN and your schedules for the coming year.”

Alexandra walked with David to the cafeteria. “Where did you go when you finished your test?” she asked.

“Outside. They've got a bunch of athletic fields, and some wicked broom games,” David replied. “I think I'm gonna try out for Quodpot. I wish they had Muggle sports, though.”

“I was in the library. It's huge! You know, they have elves who work in the library too. Mrs. Minder, the librarian, says they like working here.”

David glared at her. “Sure, slaves love being slaves. That what you learned in your history classes?”

“I'm just saying... well, house-elves aren't exactly human, are they? Maybe it's not quite the same. I mean, you wouldn't call those clockwork golems slaves, would you?”

“Those golems aren't alive!” David snapped. “They don't have feelings. They're just a bunch of metal parts held together by magic. You want to tell yourself house-elves don't mind being slaves 'cause they're not human, go ahead! I'll bet your great-great-great-grandfather said the same thing about mine!”

“I just meant –” Alexandra paused, as David angrily picked up his pace, leaving her behind. She sighed. She wasn't sure David was right, and she wasn't sure he was wrong.

By the time she caught up to him in the cafeteria, he was seated at another table, talking to some older students. The group he was mingling with was multiracial, a striking contrast to Charmbridge Academy overall, which was, she realized suddenly, awfully white. Larkin Mills was not exactly a diverse town, but there were many more blacks, Hispanics, Asians, and other minorities at her elementary school than she had seen here.

“David hasn't been here for a week and he's already associating with radicals,” said Angelique. “Really, I don't see why just because someone is Muggle-born they have to make a fuss about it. We're all equal.”

“Really?” Alexandra said. She had heard this often enough that its repetition was making her skeptical.

“So how did your SPAWN go?” Anna asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Alexandra shrugged. “I don't know Latin or Greek. I'll bet I can do magic as well as any of you, but since I haven't learned the proper incantations, they said something about remedial classes.”

Anna, Darla, and Angelique all looked at her with exactly the sort of pitying expression she hated.

“I'll bet they do that with all Muggle-borns!” she said hotly.

“Well,” Angelique said, and exchanged looks with Darla.

“Not really,” Anna said quietly. “I mean, if you studied for the SPAWN beforehand...”

“I didn't have anything to study!” Alexandra said hotly. “I keep saying that! I didn't even get the study guide David had! How am I supposed to know... wingardium leviosa or whatever it is?”

Her plate rattled and shifted an inch in front of her.

“Well, that wasn't bad,” Darla said, apparently trying to be placating. “I'm sure you'll learn it quickly and be out of remedial classes in no time.” Her smug smile, however, made Alexandra want to levitate the plate into her face.

Alexandra ate the rest of her dinner in silence, listening to Darla and Angelique prattle on endlessly about classes, extracurricular activities, and boys. Anna was also quiet, but she usually was. After they finished, she caught up to David again as he was walking back to the sixth grade study lounge.

“Look,” she said quickly, before he could cut her off or speed ahead. “I wasn't saying house-elves aren't enslaved or that it isn't wrong. I just meant, maybe you should actually talk to one before you assume you know how they really feel?”

He looked at her, and for a moment she thought he was just going to snort and turn his back on her again. Finally he said, “Maybe,” grudgingly. “But do you think you can just go ask a slave 'Hey, do you like being enslaved?' and expect to get a straight answer? When you're one of the enslavers?”

She thought a moment, and said, “No, I guess not.”

“You have any black friends back home?”

“Not really.”

“You think I'm making a big deal?”

She hesitated. “No. But I still want to talk to some elves.”

“Good luck with that. I hear the staff tries to keep them away from the students. Guess if they're not seen and not heard, no one has to think about them too much.”

They arrived at the lounge once more. Mrs. Middle was there, with a row of parchments lined up on a table. The students all sat down.

“When I call your names, please come forward and take your scroll, which has both your SPAWN results and your class schedule,” said Mrs. Middle. “And remember that the SPAWN is purely an evaluation tool. It says nothing about your intelligence or your desire to learn. It's only natural some of you will start out with certain... advantages others do not, but you will all be taught to the same standard here at Charmbridge, and we expect all of you to excel!”

David folded his arms and waited, stonily. Alexandra narrowed her eyes a little, unconvinced by Middle's cheery tone, and glanced at the other kids, most of whom were Muggle-born as well. They all looked nervous.

Middle began calling them forward, in alphabetical order by last name. When she got to “Quick,” Alexandra went to get her scroll and walked back to her seat without looking at it.

“Well?” David demanded.

She frowned at him, and opened her scroll while turning towards him so he couldn't see it.

Sixth Grade Level Standardized Practical Assessment of Wizarding kNowledge

Assessee: Alexandra Octavia Quick

Academic Assessment

Section One: Magical Theory H
Section Two: Alchemy and Herbology M
Section Three: Arithnomancy and Geomancy M
Section Four: Wizard History M

Practical Assessment

Transfigurations U
Charms U
Alchemy H
Basic Magical Defense A

Explanation of Scores:

Superior (S): Student performs one or more full levels above grade.

Excellent (E): Student performs above average grade level.

Average (A): Student performs at grade level.

Underperformer (U): Student performs below average grade level.

Hocus Pocus (H): Student possesses only rudimentary knowledge or ability.

Muggle (M): Student shows no discernible knowledge or ability. (Squib testing recommended.)

Alexandra wanted to crumple the parchment up and throw it away, though she was pleased that at least Ms. Shirtliffe hadn't rated her badly.

“It's stupid for them to test us on things we haven't even started learning yet,” she said to David, but then David was being called up to receive his results. When he returned, he opened it and his face fell.

“See?” she said. “Of course we'll score the same as a Muggle when we've lived as Muggles all our lives!”

He looked at her. “You got Muggle scores?”

She flushed slightly. “Only for history,” she said quickly. “I mean, I didn't have your study guide to read.”

“You had the books you bought at Boxley's,” he said, then shrugged as Alexandra glared at him. “Anyway, I guess two remedial classes for a Muggle-born aren't that bad,” he said, pronouncing “Muggle-born” with the same distaste Alexandra felt for the phrase. She looked at the second slip of parchment rolled up with her SPAWN results, which had her class schedule.

Basic Charms (Remedial level)

Basic Transfiguration (Remedial level)

Basic Alchemy (Remedial level)

Basic Principles of Magic (Remedial level)

Wizarding World History (Remedial level)

Practical Magical Exercise

“How many remedials did you get?” David asked.

“A couple,” she mumbled.

“I've never really practiced charms or transfigurations,” he said, “so I guess it won't be too bad learning the basics.”

“Haven't you been doing magic since you were little?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “though I didn't know it was magic until we got the owl from Charmbridge. Me and my parents just thought I was incredibly lucky. I mean, I never realized I was actually making things happen.”

Alexandra wondered about that as they walked back to their dorms. There was obviously a big difference in how she and David had experienced their magical gifts. He had used his magic unconsciously; it had never occurred to him he was a wizard. She had known at a young age what she was doing, and as far as she was concerned, she'd been learning spells for years, even if they weren't what the Charmbridge teachers considered “proper” spells. Yet David had obviously scored better than her on the SPAWN. She didn't think that made him a better wizard, especially since he'd had a study guide and she hadn't. Who had saved whom at the Invisible Bridge?

The unfairness rankled, as did the constant reminders that being Muggle-born was supposed to be a disadvantage. When Anna asked about her scores and what classes she was taking, Alexandra gave her a scathing look and then said haughtily, “I think standardized tests for witches are stupid! If you ever get attacked by redcaps, they're not going to ask what you scored in Magical Theory on your SPAWN!”

“Attacked by redcaps?” Anna repeated.

Charlie made a harsh croaking sound, and Alexandra held out her hand. The raven flapped over to land on her wrist and peck at the bracelet around it. She smoothly reached out and snatched her locket, and Charlie cawed indignantly.

“If I can outthink a kappa, I can outthink you, birdbrain,” she said, in the same haughty tone, but then her face broke out into a smile she couldn't help, and she stroked the raven's feathers affectionately. Charlie only seemed slightly mollified, but allowed her to continue the petting.

Anna just looked at Alexandra, with an odd expression. She didn't ask her anything more that night.

Remedial classes indeed! Alexandra went to bed still simmering, with both indignation and determination. The next morning, she rose with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove, and went to breakfast prepared to show her classmates, her teachers, and even Dean Grimm that there was nothing “rudimentary” or “remedial” about her.