Lane Fenwick

A tawny girl hunched over the test on her desk, scrawling her name. Her razor-sharp nose was only an inch or so away from the paper. Deep breath. Wide mouth screwed up in what appeared to be concentration, she glared down at the first question.

When were the wizards driven out of North America?

She looked up, a bead of sweat gathering at her temple. All around her she heard the scratching of pencils. Chewing on the least decimated nail of her left hand, she turned her eyes back down to the paper. It's ok, she told herself, second question. I can come back to that one. It wasn't that she hadn't studied for this test. She usually kept up with the news outside of the curriculum requirements. It was, for the most part, that the material was putting her far more on edge than she had ever expected.

Who was Scorpius Malfoy? Answer in full sentences. Include in your answer a) when he died, b) for what is he most famous.

I don't know. I just don't know.

All around her were rows of plastic beige desks, a student hunkered over a test on each one. Everyone wore similar teal blazers with the Hawksi Prep Academy patch sewn on the left lapel. It was standard fare for all students. At one point in the past the boarding school had been rich enough to coordinate a full set of uniforms for its students. Nowadays though, with many material industries tied up in war efforts, the only garb linking the students were those blasted blazers. Fenwick winced under the glare of artificially bright lights and the judging gaze of a graying teacher staring her down from two rows up.

"It would do to keep your eyes on your own page, Ms. Fenwick. I trust you've studied enough, seeing as you've known this test was coming for two weeks now. This current events class is honors level, and I expect honorable behavior from every student in here."

Ms. Cross's voice, as always, sounded pained in its shrill tones. Lane theorized it was either the tightness of her bun, or perhaps the maintenance of her rather permanent grimace, that gave her that sound. Jittery with test anxiety, Lane flicked her eyes back down to her paper obediently. There were damp marks on the edges of her test, where her sweaty hands had left a bit of an imprint. In a bit of a panic, she began to flip the pages, running her eyes over each of the questions. Her brain picked up on bits and pieces, words and names.

The Exclusion Act…ethical dilemma…Huffinger's Rebellion...media hype…Phenotype...outsiders…Search and Seizure Amendment….Containment Law…the last of the dragons… Extermination of—

Her pencil, which she had been gripping tightly in one slippery hand, snapped. Her mouth and throat where dry. Drawing in a raspy breath, Lane stood up from her desk.

"I-I…I'll just. Water." She managed to stammer out, before sprinting for the door.

Her feet brought her quickly to her dormitory. The room was a rosy wood, insulated with thick red curtains and carpeting. Small but cozy, there was barely room to walk between the four beds and four dressers. They had one small mirror hammered into the wall to share, and that's where she made a beeline. Taking short shallow breaths, she stared at her reflection. With her wide grey eyes and whimsically tousled sunbleached chestnut hair, she looked nothing if not frazzled. Running her eyes across her face, she frantically searched for something that made her different. Something that gave it away. When she found nothing it took all her strength to keep her from smashing the glass.

Striding over to her dresser, she pulled open the first draw and groped around in the multitude of socks until her hands curled around a smooth, handle. Yanking the knife out, she placed her left hand out on the top of the dresser. She'd stolen it from the kitchen during chores last evening. Tears made her vision blurry, but she tried to steady her hand. It was her left hand that had caused a book to fall off the shelf in response to an absent gesture from her. It was the same hand she'd pointed, right before Mildred's skirts had caught fire. She was horrifying. Disgusting. An animal. And she knew she ought to cut it off.

If she cut it off now, perhaps the Inquisition wouldn't find her. She'd be safe and magic free. Care free.

The knife landed with a sickening thunk.