When Freya forgets an anonymous letter in the library, she is beside herself. No one should ever have discovered it. Nobody should ever have read it. And even less should anyone have answered it. But Freya and the stranger start writing to each othe...
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"Freya Lacy Yaxley?" calls Snape, my sixty years old Potions teacher, over the chaos and I feel a twinge of pity for him. It's anything but easy to go through the attendance list during a raging thunderstorm.
"Here!" I shout once. Twice. 3 times. No luck. A minute later, Snape spots me in the crowd, nods briefly and puts me on his list. You're probably wondering how I ended up here? Outside, in the pouring rain? Where I freeze my ass off on the front lawn with the entire Hogwarts students?
I. Do. Not. Have. Any. Idea.
Phew, thank Merlin! Someone tugs on my sleeve and I spin around so fast that I lose my balance. It takes me a second to catch myself and see my best friend Pansy through the falling rain. She is completely soaked and her trademark black curly bangs hang straight down.
“I've been looking everywhere for you!” she shouts, pulling me into a hug so tight that the air is knocked out of my lungs. The only class Pans and I have together is potion, and of course the entire school had to be evacuated at that very lesson.
"What on earth is going on? The teachers don't tell us anything." I break away from her arms. "Is the school really in flames?"
"Probably" She shrugs her shoulders. Why otherwise would the fire alarm go off?" I nod and let my gaze wander over the building that houses Hogwarts. But I don't see or smell anything - no smoke, no fire, absolutely nothing.
There's a thunder in the distance and I scream and grab my best friend's arm. The sky is a dark, cloudy nightmare. Mother Nature lets us know in her own way, that she has only just begun.
"Do you think it's just a test?" I ask Pans.
A scoff behind us stops her from answering. We turn our heads and see a messy, soaked Lorenzo. Everyone calls him Enzo. A little advice: never use his full name.
Otherwise it could happen that he bites.
Like his friends from the quidditch team, is Enzo the typically quick-witted and popular asshole. You know, the "He's more attractive than good for him kind of guy." He's big, arrogant, thinks he's always right, and much to my dissatifaction I have to spend time with him every day.
“Did you want to share something with the class, Mr. Berkshire?” Pans sighs. "There's no way this is a fucking test," Enzo snorts.
"We already had one this year. Besides, they wouldn't do that during this flood." With a sweeping gesture he asks us to look around. Students are crowded together on the lawn in front of the school and we are all freezing. All soaked from head to toe.
