There was nothing but darkness. It took me a moment before I realized that I had closed my eyes. I opened them and blinked, my heart still pounding, my wand pointed off in the wrong direction. My feather sat in the same place on the table in front of me, fluttering slightly with the flow of air through the classroom.

I felt relief and disappointment simultaneously—relief that I had not done magic; disappointment that I had failed to do magic. The contradictory feeling settled from my stomach down into my shoes, and my feet tingled like they were waking up from a long nap.

I aimed my wand at the feather and tried again.

 

“Wingardium Leviosa!�

 

A glow flickered at the end of my wand; the feather slid half a centimeter to the left. Still, it did not levitate. I thought, breathlessly, that perhaps my magic was malformed, unable to do more than make things explode. At first it was another wave of relief. Maybe I could leave Hogwarts and the crazy Slytherin House behind. But then I realized I could be doomed to causing destruction and pain wherever I went for the rest of my life—if I got angry, lights could explode, bones could break. I had to get control over these… powers.

I bit into my lower lip and tried again, multiple times, still not managing to move the feather beyond sudden jerky twitches. I looked around and saw others were having similar trouble; a few students though, had managed to get their feathers to fly.

 

Professor Flitwick appeared at my side.

“Ah, Michelle Coplin,� he said in a low voice that nevertheless could probably be heard all over the room. “I’m so pleased to see you’ve finally made it to Hogwarts.�

“Finally?� I said, ceasing my futile attempts to levitate the feather and looking at the diminutive teacher.

“Ah, yes,� he said smiling. “I don’t suppose your parents told you. When your letter first went out, I delivered it personally, as is the normal situation with all Muggleborn students. Your mother and father were, well,� he glanced away. …�quite hostile to the idea of you learning magic.�

 

I gave a sympathetic expression that felt something like a grin wrestling with a frown, and nodded.

“At any rate, we continued to send letters and eventually the Headmaster himself paid you a visit, as I’m sure you’re aware. But you still did not attend last year.�

“It took a bit of convincing,� I said with no small amount of embarrassment. “I’m still anxious about it all.�

 

“I can tell,� Flitwick said. “I noticed you were having trouble performing the spell. Your form is perfect and you are pronouncing the incantation correctly. I’m prone to guess that your problem is a matter of will.�

I blinked. “Will?�

“Indeed,� Flitwick said. “Will is a key component of any spell, and is usually the most intuitive part. However I’ve on occasion known students who were hesitant to use magic, whether for religious reasons or simple fear.�

I made my wrestling-face again.

“Nothing that can’t be overcome, now,� Flitwick said. “Now, Miss Coplin, raise your wand. Now, as you say the incantation, imagine the feather rising. Will it to happen. Let go of your reservations.�

 

I swished and flicked again, this time imagining that the feather was rising as I spoke. I don’t even remember hearing the words as they rolled off my tongue, just buzzing in my head and the flow of warmth from my shoulder to the tips of my fingers.

 

And the feather hovered off the table, drifting to the left and right as I moved my wand back and forth. I stared, my mouth hanging open, until my own incredulity swallowed up the magic and the feather fell.

 

“Very good!� Flitwick said. “Excellent work, Michelle. Five points for Slytherin.�

The diminutive professor moved on to the next table and began aiding another student who was having difficulties, a Ravenclaw with dark curly hair. Meanwhile I sat in silence, occasionally giving a half-hearted swish-and flick of my wand, muttering the incantation. The feather would flicker and dance a bit and settle again when I lost concentration. So this, this was what it felt like to do magic: strangely unremarkable after all the fearful build-up that had accrued in my mind. And, having done it, I knew I’d cast my innocence of witchcraft aside. I was now no longer just magically gifted: I was a witch.

 

That day we learned several other easy spells like Lumos and Nox, then listened to Flitwick lecture a bit about Charm Theory. I wasn’t really sure what to make of any of it; I tried to scribble some notes with my quill onto parchment, but found that the ink was unruly and my notes ended up covered in blotches. The ambivalent, light-headed feeling that came with learning my first spells was leaning towards the unpleasant by the time class was over.

 

The very next class I had was Potions, which took me back down into the dungeons of the castle. There was no professor at the head of the classroom when I entered, but soon after I found my seat near the tall American boy, a billowing cloud of robes topped with shiny black hair strode into the room, each step accented by what seemed like a purposefully loud tap against the stone floor. The entire room went silent, our first-year-Gryffindor rivals on the other side of the room seeming especially frozen in place. At the head of the room, he whirled around on one foot; I expected some intimidating broad-jawed Adonis to present himself. Instead, the man before me was thin, pale, and dour, with a nose that hooked like Dumbledore’s. The sheen in his hair that I had attributed to a good shampoo seemed, in light of the lack of care he had for his appearance, to morph before my eyes into a layer of dripping grease. I stared for a moment as I realized that he was the same man who had purchased items from Aunt Amanda during the summer. Amanda had told me that he was a teacher here, but with… so many other things on my mind, I had forgotten.

 

So this was the head of our house, ‘Mister Snape’…

 

I’d also seen him the previous night, but far enough away that he hadn’t triggered the memory. The impression of him in robes, glaring at us from behind a desk was it was oddly comical, as if he thought we should be intimidated on the virtue of his poor hygiene. Snape looked over the room with a sneer, taking roll. He gave a brief introduction to his lessons, and then waved his wand, magicking instructions for a potion onto the blackboard.

 

The class proceeded about as one would expect. The McFly twins both blew up the contents of their cauldrons halfway through the potion, but it was not until an explosion from the right side of the room shattered some beakers that Snape whirled around, his gaze severe. At the center of the explosion sat a small red-haired girl who stared self-consciously at the warped cauldron, apparently not noticing a small cut on her cheek.

 

“Ginevra Weasley,� Snape spat. “Clearly you share the same ineptitude for potions as your imbecilic brothers.� Snape waved his wand and the beakers and cauldron fixed themselves. “Ten points from Gryffindor.�

 

I stared at the professor with my mouth hanging open and then started to speak up, but the American boy next to me grabbed my arm and squeezed it tight. I looked over at him, and he shook his head mouthing ‘no’.

 

My teeth grinding, I raised my free hand.

“Yes, Miss…� Snape glanced at his roster again. “Ah, Miss Coplin.�

 

“Why did you take points from her when both Artemis and Apollo blew up their potions and you didn’t take any points from Slytherin?�

 

Snape’s eyes seemed to bore into me, and I suddenly understood what was so fearsome about him—he had a furious temper that made his appearance seem like a trivial detail. I shrank back slightly.

 

“If you wish points taken from your own house,� he said tersely, “then so be it. Five points from Slytherin.�

 

At that point I sat in silence, staring at my finished potion until Snape inspected it and declared it ‘below average’.

 

Not long after, we were gathering our things to leave, when Snape approached me from behind, towering over me. I finished packing up my things before acknowledging his presence—more out of fear, I suppose, than out of resentment.

“Miss Coplin,� he said, “I understand that you had an unpleasant experience this morning. I would first of all like to apologize for Daniel Rosier’s lack of discipline.�

And utter depravity, I thought.

 

“As well,� Snape continued, “His prefecture has been revoked, and he will be serving multiple detentions with me, as will his partner in crime, Timothy Shepherd.�

 

“Um, thank you, Professor,� I said, not entirely sure if I meant it.

“As for you, Miss Coplin, I feel it would behove you to learn to respect those in authority. Perhaps you’ll find that if you do, your fellow students will be less hostile. You are, after all, an outsider to this world.�

 

After that, I felt ill; I walked out of the Potions classroom without another word as soon as the bell for lunch rang.

 

0000

 

After my classes were over I strode back into my room clutching my bag to my chest and fighting back tears. Horrible people, I thought. All these witches and wizards are horrible people. As I stuffed my books into my luggage bag and removed the ones I’d need for the next day’s classes, a muffled voice echoed up from the sketchbook somewhere in the stack. My voice.

 

I pulled it out and opened it to Copi’s page.

 

“What did you say?� I growled.

 

“I just said that not all of them are terrible,� Copi said, raising her arms and cringing as if she anticipated a punch. “Professor Flitwick and Josie were nice. And that green-haired girl got the guys that levitated you in trouble.�

 

“Yeah, but Snape practically told me I deserved what happened to me,� I said. “How can he be allowed to teach here?�

 

From across the room, Sypha chimed in. “My dad said Snape is the best teacher at this school.�

“Your dad’s a moron!� I shouted back, a calculated counterstrike. Sypha’s eyes grew even wider, if that were possible, and then she looked away, trying not to show me her face. I hoped that she was trying to hide tears.

“That wasn’t nice,� Copi said halfheartedly, as Emma pounced on to my bed and began looking over my shoulder.

“Is that a talking sketch? Wicked! My brother used to send me those when he worked on founding a Wizarding School in the Congo. They’d dramatically reenact all the things he was doing with the locals, like the time some real-live Witch-Hunters came to the village.�

 

“I’m more of a conversation-oriented sketch,� Copi beamed.

 

“So. Cool.� Emma squealed. “Will you teach me how to do that?�

I frowned. “I’m not sure how I did it myself.�

 

“You probably would be if you paid more attention during the Charm Theory lecture,� said Copi. “I would advise taking pencil and Muggle paper next time. Forget the quill-and-ink business.�

“Noted,� I said, glancing sidelong at the chin digging painfully into my shoulder. “Emma, do you mind?�

 

“Sorry, sorry!� Emma hopped off the bed and darted off so fast I thought she must have used magic, and I was left alone with my talking sketch.

 

“Why don’t you write a letter to Amanda?� Copi said as soon as Emma was gone. “You’ll feel better getting your words down on paper, and you’ll be able to get some advice from someone who knows stuff you don’t.�

 

0000

 

I had finished the letter before I realized that suggestions from myself might not be all that reliable. But then, Amanda had told me to write as often as possible. At the top of the stairs that led to the Owlery, I held up the letter to a window and read it through once more.

 

Dear Aunt Amanda,

How are you? Good, I hope.

 

Amanda, things here are terrible so far. I’ve met a few nice people, like Professor Flitwick and Josie Cohen, but some of these wizards are outright awful. A boy named Daniel Rosier and his mate whose name I can’t remember, Tom Riddle or something, threw me around the common room this morning. And you were wrong, I‘m not in Ravenclaw, I’m in SLYTHERIN.

 

They both got punished for it, but later Professor Snape practically told me I was asking for it because I didn’t ‘respect authority’. I hadn’t done anything to upset them. They did it because I’m a ‘mudblood’ which I guess means Muggleborn. But I don’t even think Snape meant what he said as such… He was just angry with me because I pointed out he took ten points from a Gryffindor student for blowing up her potion but didn’t take any from two Slytherins who blew up theirs. How am I supposed to live here when the head of my house is a spiteful prat?

And all that on top of the fears I had going in, Amanda. I did witchcraft today. I know you don’t think that’s bad, but my mum and dad do, and I’ll be an outcast from them forever. I wonder if I shouldn’t hate myself now.

 

I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t really want to be anywhere.

 

I rolled the letter up and put it in a small tube for the owls that Josie let me borrow. Inside the Owlery, my nose was assaulted by the stench of cages that hadn’t been cleaned, the walls lined with them containing owls on one side that belonged to students and on the other side that belonged to the school. I stepped over the skeletons of small rodents as I made my way across the room and found a friendly looking school owl; I awkwardly attached the tube to its talons.

 

Okay, I thought. Now the part where I talk to an owl and expect it to understand me.

“Um, Amanda Vanir,� I said. “Can you please take this to Amanda Vanir?�

The owl trilled happily and launched off through the open windows. I backed out of the room, eager to rid myself of the smell, and ran down the stairs into a fifth-floor corridor, looking back and forth for the stairs I’d walked up via. Emma had mentioned that the stairs in Hogwarts liked to move, and I hoped that hadn’t happened while I was in the tower. I continued down a corridor, at some point removing my wand; I began tapping it against my palm nervously.

 

Around a corner heard muttering. I approached the mutterer hoping to ask for directions—and stopped dead in front of Daniel Rosier. Rosier stopped too, stared down at me scowling for a moment. Then his face twisted into an even deeper scowl.

“You, Mudblood!� he growled. “You’ve just walked into a fat lot of trouble after you ratted me out to Snape.�

“I didn’t—� I stammered. “Arianna Davis asked—�

 

“I don’t give a damn!� Rosier reached for a wand. “This is my last year and I have to spend every Saturday of the term in detention all because you don’t know your place, filth.�

He grabbed me by the left shoulder and his other hand went for his wand pocket. I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever horrible curse he was planning to cast, and my fist was already clenched tightly around my own wand.

“Wingardium Leviosa!� I shouted at the top of my lungs, doing a vague wrist-wobble—the closest my nerves would get me to a swish and flick under the circumstances. Rosier shot straight up, slamming into the stone ceiling; I darted.

The next memory I have was that of a furious thumping in my chest as I ran full bore down an entirely different corridor, rounding yet another corner before sliding behind a colorful and thick curtain in the middle of the hall. There was a window with a ledge behind it and I pulled myself up onto that ledge, then held my breath and tried to remain still. Rosier’s footsteps thundered through the hall, catching up, and I flicked my wand towards a suit of armor on the far end of the corridor, wishing, willing with all I could muster for it to move. My wand sparked brilliantly and the armor flew backwards and slammed into the wall, the crash catching Rosier’s attention more than whatever jittery motion I was imparting to the curtain. He blazed on by me and then, by the sounds of it, down a flight stairs, cursing at me the whole way.

 

I finally let out my breath out when I was certain my lungs wouldn’t last another second, and continued to huff and puff. As my lungs started to ease off, and my breathing slowed, I finally took note of something: there was a second sound of breathing on the window ledge beside me.

I looked to my left, my eyes saucers, now making out a three-dimensional shape against the stone.

“You still smell of fear,� the shape said.

 

I leapt, face first into the curtain, and spilt out onto the floor; friction mercifully slowed my fall a little bit. I crawled way from the window as my senses finally began to reorient themselves.

“Danesti!� I blurted. “You bloody creep—are you stalking me?�

Grant hopped down out of the window and his colors returned to normal. He walked over and offered me a hand.

 

“I’m not touching you,� I hissed. “You just tried to give me another bloody heart attack and you’re insane and you tell people they smell like fear and I hate you.� I caught my breath. “What were you doing back there?�

“Making sure you were okay,� he said. “I saw you run off with a letter. I overheard Rosier say he was heading to the Owlery to collect some skeletons for potions. I didn’t want a repeat of this morning, though from the looks of things you handle it fine yourself.�

 

I blinked. “You were trying to protect me?�

 

I thought back to that morning, and how Grant had been the first to stand up to the prefect and his squad of sycophants, and then of my Bible passage, the one I’d reading when the whole thing began.

 

Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall be called the Children of God.

 

“I’m sorry,� I said after a moment. “I don’t hate you, not really. You just gave me a fright. Why do you keep saying ‘I smell of fear’?�

 

“It’s unusual,� Grant said. “Most people aren’t afraid. Not nearly enough for their own good. You’re smart to be afraid. It keeps you sharp, and people aren’t sharp enough these days. I see it in Muggles, but it’s especially bad in Wizards because we think we’re invincible. We think so, until the day comes that we’re not.�

 

“That’s deep,� I said.

“Not really.� His red eyes looked to the side.

 

“It’s not really a smell then?�

“No, but it’s a ruddy effective metaphor.� Grant started walking towards the stairs and I followed him.

“Do you think maybe we could stick together?� I said after a moment.

Grant nodded. “That sounds good.�