The Shooting Star
There are many children throughout this world, all struggling to get through their lives without discomfort. Unfortunately, not many succeed. It's more like an array of problems stacked onto each other than anything else. But hey, that's life. And that's school, no matter what school you go to. In school, you have your teachers...your administrators...and most importantly, your janitors–I mean the students. And the Laveau School of Magic was no different...
* * *
It was 5:00 AM, Eastern time, at Michelle Cassia's house in Florida. A tall, silver haired, fourteen year-old girl awoke from her bed. The Laveau School boat, the Shooting Star, would be arriving soon. Michelle's arms were long, and they stretched far beyond the frame of her elegant silver bed. Her face seemed to radiate a kind of heavenly glow, even at this hour. Michelle sighed to herself. The boat was scheduled to arrive at seven, and she only had two hours to get there. She had missed so much last year, holed up in her studies and not socializing, at which she was a natural. I regret the things I didn't do last year, but this year I shall be regretting what I did do, she told herself. She was looking forward to the things she would do this year...how she loved New Orleans. Its atmosphere...the mood...it was all there. Michelle knew this year would be great, except for one thing: the prejudice Veelas received at school. True, America was not half as harsh on Veelas as the rest of the world; but there was still prejudice in the country. Michelle could control her magic; that was good. She shrugged it off. She had a fun year ahead of her.
But now, she had to get all the rest of her stuff together.
* * *
Jason woke up at 5:21, Eastern time, in a small trailer in a cruddy trailer park in an Orlando suburb. He was a small boy, with ruffled brown hair and a freckled face. He was twelve years old. This year would be his second year; he was a year behind Michelle. He could hear his father banging on the door.
"Get up, Jason! Now!" he said. Jason arose from his small bed, which he had outgrown a year ago.
"I'm coming, I'm coming..." Jason said as his tiny feet hit the ground. Jason yawned, and he heard the rustle of keys from his dad's pocket.
"Be thankful you've got a scholarship since you're so freaking talented!" his dad said as the key went into the lock. Jason quickly grabbed his wand and locked the door magically. Only use magic in emergencies, he told himself with a slight grin.
* * *
In a small Louisiana town called Bayou Foster, a boy woke up at 4:31 Central time. He was an early bird. The boy reached onto his cabinet and grabbed two different jelly beans: cypress wood and boiled shrimp. He immediately spit out the cypress one, but he savored the shrimp one. A rare find. This boy's name was William; and he was thirteen, entering his third year. His red hair seemed rather nice after the two and a half hours of sleep he had gotten. He was too excited, and he lived close enough to the Laveau School to drive there in less than ninety minutes. He had to pass the time till he would leave with his parents for the school. He looked at his collection of DVDs–the ones he hadn't packed in his bag already–and decided on Rushmore, which he would have to pack after watching.
He grabbed it off his shelf and put it in his computer, ready for a good laugh.
* * *
Michelle fixed her hair. Jason tried to fix his mirror. William laughed at the events on the computer monitor. All of them had something to do with each other, and they weren't the only ones. The Shooting Star would touch many more people...
* * *
In a small house in North Carolina, Emily Sanders, thirteen, entering her third year at the Laveau School, woke up at 5:33 AM. She yawned and pulled a mirror from under her pillow. Her red hair was long, flowing down to her back. She hated it. Maybe she could dye it...she tried a blonde...ack, no good...then she tried a black. Perfect. She'd be the talk of the school, and she would most definitely be the target of Michelle's envy. Absolutely perfect.
The Shooting Star would be arriving in less than an hour. Emily quickly ran out her bed and began to dress. She rubbed her eyes while she picked out a pretty yellow skirt; she'd change on the boat–even though you had the option to wear your robes to the harbor. Yes, she looked good...
* * *
Seth Amberson, fourteen (fifteen tomorrow) and a fifth year, woke up with a groan. He was in Georgia; the time was 5:34 AM, Eastern time. His pillow vibrated angrily. He did not want to go to school, and he hated riding on the Shooting Star. It was a rather boring ship, in his opinion. They just sat there on a large ship and went over the waves and flew over the sky.
Seth took his mind off it. The Laveau School of Magic was the best in the United States, and you had to be either very talented or very rich to get in.
Seth could see the people on the boat now: the Veela girl (America didn't treat Veelas with half as much disrespect as the Brits.), her rival, the genius boy, the film geek, the writer girl, the bookworm...it went on. Seth rubbed his eyes and scratched his dark brown hair. The nationwide heat wave was going around, and it was most likely worse in Louisiana. Not to mention the dry spell around the country. If there was one place in the world Seth Amberson did not want to be at in a few hours, it was most definitely the Laveau School of Magic.
* * *
Ashley Hart, a seventeen year-old seventh year at the Laveau School, awoke from her slumber in a Virginia cottage at 5:42 Eastern time. Her face was fair, perfect. Her hair was a light brown, and she was just under six feet. She also had perfect grades and was at the head of her class.
This year was going to be tough. She had stiff competition with the smartest boy, Kyle Boudreaux. Kyle was a cunning, athletic boy with a knowledge of useless information (also known as trivia) and a witty sense of humor. He also hated to lose, which he had shown last year after breaking out into a fit when he and Ashley tied for the highest grade in the class. What a jerk, she had told herself when it happened. Well, she was about to break into tears when it had happened, too...
No! Get that out your head, girl! You've got to be as competitive as him. Ashley loved to talk to herself. It gave her that competitive edge. And she had a feeling she would be talking to herself a lot this upcoming year...
* * *
Interesting, you think? Personally, as the Narrator, I think it is. People seem to do the same things in the mornings, but what's going on in their heads is the exciting part. You'll never find as diverse a group as what you have here...
* * *
At 5:03 Central time in Mississippi, an alarm clock rang. A small thirteen year-old girl, Delia Robertson, woke up and banged the clock, which stopped its ring. She pulled off the sheet and stretched. Then she grabbed her notebook and began to write about her dream she had...this would make a good short story...
The girl sat in her bed, staring at the ceiling above her. She began to doze off...
The girl found herself in another world, with clowns hanging from the sky and green trees growing upside down. And the trees' leaves didn't seem to be completely green; was that a hint of orange she saw there? Nah, it couldn't be.
And Delia continued to write, relaying the story of the dream she had just experienced last night to her notebook...
* * *
In New Orleans, Louisiana, at 5:14 Central time, a boy woke up. He was Frank Mackay, a sixteen year-old sixth year. His abnormally bright yellow hair was long, falling to his shoulders. Frank stared at his bookshelf across this large room. On his bookshelf was a collection of his favorite books: the works of Frederick Forsyth, Agatha Christie, Tom Clancy, John Grisham, Greg Bear, Carl Sagan, and many others.
Frank stepped out of his bed, turning away from his bookshelf and staring at the ground. The floor was a fake vinyl that looked like wood. Frank sighed and walked over to his closet, grabbing his robes. He was too close to the school to go on the Shooting Star, its much known way of transporting students by way of ship.
Frank grabbed a duffel bag off his desk and closed his eyes, grabbing random books off the shelf. Maybe he would find one he hadn't read...
* * *
Kyle Boudreaux, seventeen and a genius, woke up at 5:16 Central time in Jackson, Mississippi. He had but one thing on his mind: Ashley Hart. Kyle had blonde hair and was rather tall, just over six feet.
He stepped out of his cypress frame bed and onto the carpeted floor. Kyle smelled his armpits, frowning. He would need a stronger deodorant this year.
He knew, since after tying for the highest grades in his class with Ashley, that he'd have to concentrate on his studies. It was going to be tough, playing in the Quidditch tournament (which he had to win) and concentrating on his studies.
The Shooting Star would be coming soon, and Kyle would have to make it to the harbor. But first, he began to work out...
* * *
Ah, yes, the writer, the reader, and the all around boy. Each unique (and alike) in their ways. But now, let me tell you the story of the inventor, the nervous girl, and the boy with a secret...
* * *
John Reilly was already awake at 6:17 Eastern time in his middle class home in North Carolina. He was meeting his friends in Mississippi for the voyage on the Shooting Star.
He was staring at his old wand through a magnifying glass, which he had snapped in half last night. It was a wand made of oak, a hard oak. It had certainly taken a while to snap in half, and it hadn't broken evenly.
John grabbed a cypress rod off the table and began to insert the unicorn hairs into the wand. Then he found the dragon's heartstring he had bought and inserted that into the formerly hollow rod. John finally inserted the seed of a magnolia tree, from which would grow the most magical flower of all.
John closed the wand tip and stared out the window, putting the wand on the desk. He could see the specks of sunlight, and it looked to be heating up already.
"Here goes," he said. John clapped his hands twice, and the lights went off. He picked up the wand and said, "Lumos." There was a small speck of light from the wand.
"Yes," he told himself. He set the wand on his desk and clapped his hands twice once more. The lights came on; and John walked to his closet, grabbing his equipment bag.
His mother had always told him to pack a spare wand...
* * *
The girl had to be woken up by her mother at 5:23, Central time in a house in suburban Alabama. "Jamie, wake up," she said. Jamie Rodriguez was a petite eleven year-old with short black hair. She stared into her mother's gray eyes, her mouth wide open.
"It was all a dream," Jamie told her mother. "I never got a letter from the Laveau School of Magic. There's no such thing as magic; you said so yourself."
"Well, I was wrong, dear. Now do get up, or we're not going to be able to make it to the harbor so you can catch the boat," Jamie's mother said.
"Okay, Mom. Lemme just get dressed," Jamie responded. Her mother left the room, and Jamie pulled back the covers. The air conditioning was on full blast. Jamie rubbed her hands together and grabbed her some clothes, a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
It was all a dream. Magic doesn't exist. Mom told you so. This is just some kind of early birthday present, she told herself. Very early, she added. She read the letter she had received in June to herself. Yes, the term started on September 1...yes, she'd be fitted for supplied there since she was new...yes, it was all there.
But it couldn't be real now, could it?
Enclosed with the letter was a book, The Newcomers's Introduction to the Magical World. She had read through it, learned all about the history of the world, which she had determined only a fantasy writer could dream up. She wondered what exactly the author's name would be, but it had to be a Brit. It just had to be.
Jamie set the letter down on her night stand and sighed. It was too early in the morning to wake up, even if it was school. She walked to her closet and pulled out a white dress. She was going to look her best on the Shooting Star, fictional or not.
* * *
The large twelve year-old, second year, in a house in Mississippi, rolled around in his bed. He was still asleep at 5:28 Central time. He was having a nightmare. And it repeated itself over and over:
He would be in class, Transfiguration. Professor Thornton would be showing the class how to turn a chicken into an egg.
"Josh Ross, it's your turn to turn the chicken into the egg," the old professor would say before falling into his chair. An odd echo would bounce around the classroom; it would get louder and softer.
Josh would nod. "Yes, Sir," he'd say and break out his wand. He'd give himself a pep talk and begin to recite the spell. Nothing would come out of his wand.
He'd try again. Same result. It was useless. He'd repeat it over and over until the end of time.
The dream never ended until Josh would wake up. Then it would start again when he went back to sleep.
Josh woke up with a scream. His father came running in the room, turning on the lights."What's wrong?" he asked his son, who could just stare blankly at the wall in a cold sweat, breathing hard.
"Dad...Dad..." he said. Josh's father looked around. Where was his son's inhaler?
"Where's your inhaler, Josh?"
"Dad, it's not that," Josh said in between breaths. "It's something worse.
"What?" his father asked. "What's wrong?" His son was too young to have heart attacks, right?
"Dad...I don't know how..." Josh began, starting to cry.
"What?" Then it settled in on Dad...the accident with the wand on vacation...
"Dad, I'm a Squib."
* * *
The sad thing is all these stories are true. And it'd have to be some fantasy writer to think of a world like this, eh? I too wonder what her name would be...but of course, we could all be wrong; and it could be a he...hmm...now, hear three more stories, which I won't tell you anything about...
* * *
For Jackie Smith, fifteen years old and a sixth year in South Carolina, the world had no sound. Her pillow vibrated, and she woke up. She wished she could hear the world, hear the familiar sound of the alarm clock she was used to until two years ago, when a first year named Michelle had lost control of a spell she was trying to do during break and hit Jackie, disabling her hearing until she was seventeen, for that was how long the curse lasted. Michelle had messed up on the words, but she had been concentrating on the spell so hard it had worked.
Michelle had learned sign language to cope with her hearing loss. She just had two years to go, but it would seem like forever.
The door opened without a sound. "It's 6:30," her mother signed. "Get out of bed."
Jackie nodded and got out. She smiled to her mother, who was obviously thinking of the dreadful letter that had come, informing her that her daughter had temporarily lost all hearing.
"Mom, give me some privacy," Jackie signed. Her mother nodded and smiled, shutting the door. The tall fifteen year-old began to dress.
* * *
The radio woke up Michael Clark in Houston, Texas. "Good morning, it's 5:45 and hotter than–" the announcer said, before getting interrupted by the sound of a censor. "Anyway, that heat wave's still goin' around, so I suggest you rent Fargo sometime to remind you that yes, snow still does exist...but for now, here's the song "White Christmas," which seems oddly fitting for today."
Michael was a buff boy of fourteen, easily the most talented Beater at school, Kyle Boudreaux's right hand man at the sport, entering his fourth year. Michael pulled back his sheets, almost ripping them with his incredible force.
"Michael, are you awake?" asked his mother from outside his room. "You said to wake you up at this time." Michael made a few deep breaths.
"Yes, Mom, thank you!" he replied. The door opened, and his father's head appeared in the crack.
"You up?"
"Yes, Dad," Michael replied.
"Just making sure..." The door closed, and Michael made his bed. He never usually did this, but he figured it was a nice way to tell his parents he actually was responsible. Last year he couldn't wake up at all in the morning and had received detention at least once a month for waking up far too late. He wasn't going to do that this year.
After making his bed, he grabbed the radio alarm clock and took out the batteries, a trick for traveling he had learned from his father. He packed it in his duffel bag and then pulled out his Quidditch trunk.
Inside it was the secret to his success: Viktor Krum's Broomstick Enhancement Kit, the infamous illegal broomstick (and Quidditch) aid.
* * *
Gilderoy Webb woke at 5: 48 Central time in a New Orleans hotel. He was a seventeen year-old, and exchange student from the Salem School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Why did I do this? To suck up to my teachers? It's impossible to suck up to the ones at home, and I heard teachers here don't like suck-ups at all...
Gilderoy Webb sighed to himself and stared at the smiling and waving picture of Gilderoy Lockhart his mother had brought; Gilderoy was currently trying to regain his memory in an undisclosed location, though rumors had it he was in Realm 19, the Ministry's place for those that had lost their mind.
Gilderoy Webb wanted to punch the picture of the man he was named after rather hard.
But he shrugged that off. His mind really wanted to focus on one thing: the Laveau School. He couldn't transfer to Hogwarts, and he had to settle for the second best school in the world. But the Europeans do things rather differently, he told himself. The American style of magic was not half as conservative as the European style; Americans liked to take the offensive with an all-out attack, while it seemed the Europeans took the opposite side. Gilderoy preferred his offensive, thank you very much.
He stared at his mother, sleeping on the other bed. She was obsessed with Lockhart, and her obsession with him had grown after her husband had died.
She called her son "Gil" to distinguish her obsession and her son. Gil walked over to his mom and woke her up.
"Mom, it's 5:48," he said. His mother groaned.
"Son, we're in New Orleans. Can't you just go back to bed? The people from the school are gonna pick you up at 10:00," she said, going back to sleep. Gil nodded and went back to bed...
* * *
Well, now...you've just heard the stories of the deaf girl, the cheater, and the exchange student named after the worst possible person, in my opinion. But hey, that's just me...my mother bought ninety copies of Magical Me when it came out, and she sent them to all her friends. Ugh. You probably have no idea what it's like to be known as the "Child of the Lockhart Lover," but I know Gil does. Anyway, listen to these final stories...
* * *
The sweet smell of breakfast woke up Frederick Sean, a fifteen year-old fifth year in Texas at 6:00 Central time. He got seasick all the time, and his family preferred to go directly to the Big Easy.
Frederick was short and stout, almost like a fifteen year-old teapot with orange hair.
He stared up at the top bed; he was in a bunk bed. Was his twin brother Elijah in bed? He got out of bed and stared at the empty top bunk. The bed was made. Suck-up, Frederick thought.
"Breakfast's ready, honey!" Frederick's mother called. "Come and get it; your brother made it!"
Frederick groaned. His athletic brother, the short and skinny and speedy and Seeker, Elijah, was always beating him at everything except academics. But his father was the former Quidditch player Zechariah Sean; and he didn't give a care about academics, just Quidditch.
"Coming, Mom!" Frederick called, getting dressed. He dressed in an untucked navy blue polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and walked out the room. His brother's matching orange hair was a lot thicker than Frederick's buzz cut.
"Honey, don't you think you should wear something more formal to the school?" his mother asked. Frederick could smell the sweet smell of fresh bacon and croissants.
"Nobody's gonna notice, and it's too hot to wear what Eli's wearing." He pointed at Elijah's tie and slacks. "Do you know how humid New Orleans is? How hot?"
"You are a mature young adult, and you shouldn't worry about those things. Now go change your clothes," his mother ordered.
Frederick grumbled and walked back into his room.
* * *
Torrie Thomas was shaken awake by her panicking mother at 6:12 Central time in Arkansas. "What?" Torrie asked. School was a place she did not want to be at today, considering she was repeating her third year, making her fourteen years old. Her jet black hair was very similar to Harry Potter's (her idol), and she prided herself for that. Even her glasses (on her night stand) were similar to the famous wizard's.
"Torrie, it's time to wake up. School," her mother said. Torrie groaned and took off her covers.
"Thanks, Mom," she said.
"Now remember the talk we had last night about working hard in school and paying attention," her mother said in her calm tone. "I don't want you repeating a year; school costs money, and I don't want to send you to a Muggle public school."
"Yes, Mother." Torrie's mom left the room, and Torrie began to dress. She was not going to regret this year...
* * *
Madame June Laveau, descendant of the voodoo queen Marie Laveau and headmaster of the Laveau School of Magic, awoke with a smile at 7:00 Central time at her house next to campus. She was a tall woman with (seemingly) taller hair.
Maintenance on the school had been completed just a week ago: walls were repainted, floors waxed, specters trapped until later today. The library had forty new books.
She dressed and walked out her house, viewing the magnificent mansion (a former plantation house) that housed the facilities. It had a very Southern feel to it, not to mention the eerie feeling it always gave her. Voldemort was on the rise, and rumor had it he was coming to the school to recruit people in secret. She imagined the horrible Death Eaters sitting behind a table, asking people to sign up.
"DEATH EATER SIGN UPS TODAY" said the poster hanging down from the table.
She knew it wouldn't be that obvious, trying to discover just who was in on it. But it would be difficult...
All she could do was wait...wait for the Shooting Star...and wait to see just what would happen this year...
Author's Note: I really hope you enjoyed this. This is my entry for Flourish's Challenge. I may do more like these, though I will probably extend the storylines and not do as many characters. And also, this is not my dark fic. That one's still in the pipeline; I'm still writing it, and I want to probably post the chapters all at once - so as not to leave you in suspense for the cliffhangers; it's a drama/thriller. And this story was my first try at writing JUST drama and nothing else to go along with the story; so in other words, it's a flat out drama. Thank you for reading, and I know this was different. Leave your comments at the bottom, and feel free to critique this story to death. Thanks!