The Art of Magical Mayhem

10A

September 1932

I flopped back onto neatly pressed, emerald sheets.

It had been a couple days since I'd left the comfort of London. Most of the house was still downstairs. They were quite content to ignore me, a first-year with no significant surname nor incredible wealth. It suited me. I'd grown up an only child, and the complete change in setting from London to Hogwarts was overwhelming.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was dazzling. I'd never been surrounded by so much magic. Not even a toaster would work in this place.

Even the dark dungeons were wonderful, like something straight out of an adventure fantasy novel. The dorm, like the common room, had a window looking into the Black Lake, albeit much smaller. As a result, the whole room was filled with a green haze when not lit by firelight.

My solitude was quickly interrupted. The door opened, and I sat up in alarm. A girl with a head of dark, braided hair peeked in. She caught my gaze and entered the dorm.

"Hi," she greeted shyly.

"Hello," I greeted back.

She, like me, hadn't socialised much with our housemates. I caught myself staring for a second too long, coughed, and picked up one of the books I'd piled on my bedside table. Sitting back, I flipped open to a dog-eared page. I had no idea which book I'd even picked up. I wasn't very far in, and felt too awkward to check the cover.

Skimming over the page, I realised this was a book I'd already read before. It was a copy of The Secret of the Old Clock, the first in an eight-book series. I knew it by heart.

"Is that a muggle book?" my dorm-mate suddenly asked.

"Is that a problem?" I retorted.

Her eyes widened. "No! Of course not. My mother was- is a muggle. Not that I remember her much."

I went back to reading. Hearing about a stranger's parental issues was absolutely not on my agenda today. I dearly hoped she wouldn't see the need to elaborate.

The girl opened her mouth, again, to my silent displeasure. "So... what's your name?"

I glanced up. "I don't know, what's yours?"

At that, she became flustered, wide eyes blinking in surprise. "Oh, um, I'm Anemone."

"I'm Annaliese."

Anemone grinned, and there was hope there, hope which made annoyance rise deep in my gut.

"I hope we can become good friends," she said.

I returned to my book, not bothering to reply.