The Art of Magical Mayhem

A Siren in Silver

September 1933

My fingers fell against wood at an idle beat, a non-existent rhythm.

Clack,

Clack,

Clack,

The words printed upon the heavy tome sitting before me blurred when I tried to read them, so I stared at the table instead. It'd been a year since I entered this darn castle for the first time. You'd think I'd at least be able to identify the table wood by now but nooo! I swear the table changes colours every day. Either that, or regular woods and wand woods appear very different from each other, which would be kind of weird- honestly- though it might just be possible considering that most yew wands look nothing like-

The sound of excited chatter made me look up. Can't a girl read about goblin wars and contemplate tables—which were walnut, I decided, at least for today—in peace?

That was when I found the centre of the ruckus: a pale, bespectacled girl with dark, dark hair and a charismatic smile.

Ah. Emmerson. I should've guessed.

Vanessa Emmerson was the heir to the most influential old money (read: pureblood) family in Britain. They were practically royalty. In addition, the Emmerson family was notorious for producing a large mix of Gryffindors and Slytherins—of all houses—and only Gryffindors and Slytherins...

...so imagine the sheer scandal it caused when Heir Emmerson was sorted into bloody Hufflepuff.

After a mere one week after the Sorting, however, I don't think anyone could ever argue that Emmerson was anything but a Hufflepuff.

I glanced at the sizable crowd gathering around her.

Case in point.

Hufflepuffs were terrifying and far too underestimated, in my humble opinion. Honey badgers clean off a venomous snake for breakfast, after all... but only if the said snake was stupid enough to get caught in the first place.

Speaking of snakes, I believe it's about time I introduced myself.

My name is Annaliese Yueng, but everyone—in Slytherin, that is—calls me "Star." The nickname caught on in my first year and I haven't been able to shake it off since.

(And no, I am not telling you its origins. Alas, they are too traumatizing for me to relive. I fear I will forever be haunted by the memories...)

This is my second year at Hogwarts. Also my second year of regretting not transferring to Ilvermorny. Everyone in this school is a nutcase, I swear.

The buzz of conversation behind me suddenly rose in volume as someone laughed. I shut my book with an annoyed snap... then immediately checked to see if I'd accidentally folded any of the pages. With the racket Emmerson & Co. were making, you'd think they were about to knock over a bookshelf. The new librarian was being far too lenient. Old Madam Aster, bless her, would've chased them out like a raging hurricane.

I offered my book to the nearest shelf, and it disappeared into the countless stacks. I walked out of the library and into the drafty first-floor corridor.

Anyways, where was I?

My greatest passion is wandlore. I've been studying it since I was a mere child of eight years. Mother and Father, naive muggleborns they are, still treat it like it's a silly hobby. It's always "Oh, but you should become an arithmancer!" and, "The demand for healers is rising these days. Why don't I enrol you in a course this summer," and, "Everyone seems to be taking a Ministry job these days. Why don't you study law instead?" and-