Author's Note: Warning for bullying, racism and xenophobia.

oOo

Chapter Eight: Immigrant

Connie Maheswaran was six years old when she first moved to a new city.

She had been devastated when she was first told the 'exciting news'. She'd cried for three full hours, inconsolable. Her parents had tried everything to calm her down— promises of how fun it would be, how they'd live right next to a pool, how it would be some grand adventure.

None of it did any good. Connie hadn't wanted to leave her house, or her bedroom, her her school or her friends. She hadn't wanted to move to a whole new city. She wanted to stay exactly where she was.

But move to a new city, she had. Then a new state. Then another state after that, and another, and another. Her Dad was a security contractor, working primarily for beaches— he travelled wherever he was needed. Her Mom, meanwhile, was a highly successful surgeon. She could find work anywhere. Connie, of course, was just a little girl. She could attend any school, as long as it promised high quality education.

So Connie was moved from class to class, from school to school. She'd always been shy— always had trouble keeping names and faces straight, but it was a lot harder now, when she was barely ever in the same place for a full school year. New kids, all with their own social groups and cliques, who had already known each other since they were little kids… it was easier to stay at the back of the playground and read.

She did a lot of reading. Not just of storybooks and novels, but textbooks, too. Each school had a slightly different syllabus or curriculum. She would arrive in a new place, only to find her fellow classmates knee deep in a topic she'd never even heard about before. She had to work ravenously to catch up. And then once she had, she would just keep on working, until she outpaced her peers, because she never knew when that topic might come up at another school.

She got great grades. The teachers praised her. She had a schedule packed with extracurriculars, from tennis to violin. As far as her parents were concerned, Connie was doing wonderfully.

When she was nine (almost ten), her mother asked her how she would feel about moving to England.

Connie, who'd been anticipating an upcoming move anyway, figured there wasn't much difference between a new city and a new country, and made no complaints. It would be something different, after all. She could go visit Stonehenge and the Tower of London. It would be exciting. An adventure!

It wasn't, really. It was like almost any other move she'd ever gone through, only more drawn out.

Her mother went on multiple overseas trips beforehand, to look for apartments and scout-out schools. They had to pack weeks in advance, to give enough time for all their furniture to arrive; they lived for weeks in a near empty, bare-bones house. The trip itself was like any other of the airplane trips Connie had taken before, only they had to arrive at the airport earlier, and the flight itself was a lot longer. It could have been a boring experience, but Connie read most the way, and even managed to squeeze in a film and a couple hours of sleep before being woken up by the breakfast service. The worst part was probably immigration once they arrived, which involved standing in a very long line at Heathrow airport while her mother stressed and fretted.

There was a little time for sight-seeing, but mostly, that first month was spent preparing and unpacking.

Connie'd been prepared for her school to be majorly different to any of the ones she'd attended in America, but in reality, the differences were mostly superficial. The grades had different names subjects were slightly different; there were houses instead of homeroom; she had to wear a uniform every day. She still heard whispered comments and laughter behind her back, but whereas before they'd been mostly been jokes about her being a nerd and having an 'unpronounceable' last name, now there was also talk about her accent and how she kept calling trousers 'pants'.

She still took violin and tennis lessons.

Not much had changed, really.

At least until a Saturday morning in May, a week before her birthday, when there was an unexpected ringing of the doorbell.

oOo

"Hello! Is this the Maheswaran residence?"

"Yes, it is," Connie had heard her Dad say from the front hall, while she was finishing off her orange juice in the kitchen. "And I'm sorry— you are…?"

"Neville Longbottom," the stranger had said. "I'm a teacher, and I'm here to talk about your daughter, Connie."

Connie had sat up a little straighter. Her mother, who'd been reading the morning newspaper, did the same.

"Is she in trouble?" her father had demanded.

The man had laughed. "Oh, no! Not at all! I'm not one of her current teachers. But I do hope I'll get to be. You see, your daughter has been offered a position at my school. Would you mind if I came in, so that we could discuss it further?"

Connie could hear the flustered surprise in her father's voice, but he had agreed, asking the man if he'd like some coffee. "Tea would be wonderful," the man had said, as he'd been been lead into the kitchen. He was somewhat chubby, with tanned skin, and curly, brownish hair. He had smiled warmly when he spied her. "Ah, you must be Connie! Nice to meet you!"

"A pleasure," Connie had said in her most polite voice, and shaken his hand.

Looking him over as she did, Connie had thought he did very much look like a teacher. He had the right air about him. He stood like one, and spoke like one. But there was something ever so slightly strange about him. It had taken her a moment to place what.

His clothes.

He had been wearing a suit, a very nice one, quite professional, in fact. But it had looked… old. Not worn or aged, just about ten years out of fashion, which was funny, because the man only looked to be about thirty or so. There was also a distinct red shade to the fabric, which was unusual— red suits were not particularly popular. And his shoes; not traditional black leather, or even sneakers, or converses. They had been a bright, shiny red, with a weird curled point at the toes and old-fashioned gold buckles, like something from a costume.

There had also been a strange bulge in his right side pants (trouser) pocket. A cellphone, Connie had thought at first, but no, the shape was wrong. Too long, too thin.

Her father had gotten to work preparing the tea, but her mother had gotten right to the point. "What's this about about my daughter being offered a place at a school?"

The man nodded, and sat down. "Exactly what it sounds like. I teach at at an institution called Hogwarts, which specialises in students with very special talents and abilities."

"We never applied to a school by that name," Priyanka had said, frankly. "In fact, I've never even heard of the place, and believe me, I have done my research."

"You wouldn't have. And it's not the kind of school you apply to," Neville Longbottom had explained, a slight twinkle in his eye. And then he'd turned his attention back to Connie. "Could I ask you, Connie— have you ever done something strange, or unusual?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, something inexplicable." When he was still met by confused stares, Longbottom had continued, "It happened to me quite late. When I was ten, I got thrown out of a third story window— but instead of getting injured, I bounced right, right up, completely unharmed. Like a rubber ball."

It still hadn't quite made sense, but Connie had caught the electric undercurrent to his words, thought of the copy of The Unfamiliar Familiar sitting on her bedside table, and said, "You mean… like magic?"

"Yes."

There had been silence.

And then Doug had said, flatly, "You've got to be kidding."

Prinayanka had looked furious. "If you think," she had said, "That you can come into our home, and feed our daughter fantastic lies in hopes of scamming her, then—"

Longbottom had tried to speak over the protests, again and again, but couldn't get a word out. So instead, she'd reached for his pocket, and pulled out what was definitely not a cell phone, but a stick. Though stick wasn't the right word at all— sticks were what fell off trees, while this was polished wood, carefully carved—

He had waved it, said a couple of words, and made his tea cup float a few feet off the table. And while everyone was gasping and checking it for wires, he had pointed the stick at the small plant resting on the window sill, and made it burst into full bloom. And finally, he had turned one of the metal forks into glass.

No, not a stick. A wand.

oOo

Connie, it turned out, was a witch.

Her parents had been flabbergasted. Unconvinced. Disbelieving.

It had taken Connie a while too, but as she had sat there in the kitchen, thinking it over, stuff had started sliding into place.

She could remember things, things that hadn't quite seemed to make sense or match up, but which she'd always brushed off. All those times sitting on the playground, hoping that she wouldn't be spotted or bothered by the more popular kids, and they'd just passed her by as though she was invisible, leaving her to read in peace. That time she'd come back after trick-or-treating, only for her Mom to take away most of her candy, leaving her with only a hand-full… just to find the entire bag in her closet the next morning. How once she'd dropped her phone in the sink, certain that it was going to be completely dead—- yet, once she'd fished it out, discovered that it somehow hadn't even gotten wet.

Tiny things. All easily dismissed. Maybe the kids just hadn't noticed her. Maybe Mom had changed her mind, and given her the candy back. Maybe she hadn't dropped the phone, after all.

Or maybe she was magic.

oOo

The magical world, Neville Longbottom had explained, was kept secret from the rest of humanity. While wizards and witches were very powerful, they were only a small proportion of the human population; in the wake of prejudice and casualties resulting from inter-group violence, it had been decided that it was safer for everyone involved if the magical world went into hiding. With invisibility spells, ignore-me charms, and a vast network of international treaty, the existence of magic had faded into myth and the occasional urban legend.

Thankfully, after the demonstration, Connie's parents didn't need much more convincing. They were practical people, who believed in the evidence presented to them; they had realised it would take far more logical jumps to reject Longbottom's explanation than to accept it. "But how can Connie be… be a witch?" Doug had asked. "Neither of us have magic."

"It's not uncommon for magical children to be born into non-magical families. Muggle-borns, we call them."

Priyanka had looked deep in thought. "It must be recessive," she'd muttered. "Or polygenetic. I'd love to get a genetic analysis, work out inheritance patterns…"

Longbottom had seemed as confused by this statement as the Maheswarans were by the whole situation, so he had moved on. "Whenever a magical child is born, local governments automatically get a notification," he had explained. "When your family moved to Britain, the American wizarding government got in contact with our Ministry of Magic, who informed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I work there as the herbology professor— that's the study of the cultivation and usage of magical plants. I'm also the one primarily in charge of contacting the families of muggle-borns, and answering any questions they might have."

Connie had had so many questions. So many. They had rushed out of her mouth in a torrent, seemingly unending. What kind of things could magic do? Where was Hogwarts? When could she start school? Did dragons exist? How about zombies?

But even before she had opened her mouth, she had already been given answers. Finally, she had thought, things were starting to make sense. This was the reason she'd never fit in, why she'd always felt lonely, why she'd never made any friends. It hadn't been because there was something wrong with her. It was because she was magic! And now, she'd get to go to wizard school, with people just like her, and learn the secrets of the universe. This would be her adventure.

oOo

The day her family went to Diagon Alley for the first time was one of the greatest of her life. It had been like stepping into the Infinity Market; so many strange people and spells and powers, all around her. Flocks of owls, an apothecary stocked with dragon scales and threstal hair, a bank manned by goblins, a shop filled with flying broomsticks.

And there'd been a bookshop! That had been the most exciting stop of the entire day, aside from the trip to find her wand, of course. (She'd come away after twenty minutes with a handsome cedar wand with a unicorn hair core, one which felt light and comfortable in her hand). Her parents had piled her up with the required textbooks, and then allowed her to go wild with personal reading. Connie knew she had a lot of catching up to do. Most of her school mates would have been born into the magical world, already taught all about its histories and laws, its animals and plants. They probably could already do magic. She'd have to work hard to reach their level.

But hard work was something Connie was already accustomed to.

She was so excited by everything she didn't notice that she'd lost her bracelet until she'd gotten home that night. She hadn't really care that much. It had just been a cheap glow stick one; it would have stopped working in a day or so, anyway. And what was a glow stick when she now had lumos?

oOo

September came quickly, and it seemed as though no sooner had she finished her last day of primary school that it was the first of September.

The Maheswaran family had set out very early that morning, and arrived at Kings Cross Station station before seven. Part of that was her parents' usual strictness about being-on-time; part of that was because of paranoia. The instructions Professor Longbottom had given them said that to get onto the platform, they'd have to walk through an apparently impenetrable stone barrier, and they wanted as few people to see that as possible.

It hadn't really been a problem. It seemed that unless they were actively searching platform 9 & 3/4s out, a person simply wouldn't notice it— or the people vanishing through it. That was probably a deliberate enchantment.

Nonetheless, she was one of he first people on the platform for the Hogwarts express. She was also one of the first students on the train, after receiving one last round of lectures and hugs from her parents. They helped her carry her baggage to a carriage at the very back of the train— she had a lot of it, so it seemed best to put it somewhere out of the way. In addition to all the expected clothes, toiletries, books and stationary, Connie had been ladened with enough medical supplies for a small clinic. The only reason her parents hadn't packed a defibrillator as well was because electronics ceased working inside of Hogwarts' strong magical field. The Maheswaran parents had been understandably disturbed by this discovery, and it had only been after a great deal of reassurances from Professor Longbottom— that the school did have an excellent medical wing staffed by an experienced and professional healer, and that communications could be maintained by owl and floo— that Doug and Priyanka had reluctantly agreed to allow their daughter to attend. Nonetheless, Dr. Maheswaran had still wanted to ensure that Connie kept healthy, and made sure she had an entire suitcase filled with vitamins, disinfectant, bandages, heat and cold compresses, painkillers, antibiotics, antacid, aloe vera, etc, etc.

Her parents had taken a pretty cheerful approach to the 'no electronics' thing, actually. "Kids spend too much time on the internet these days, anyway," her Mom had said. Connie disagreed, and was secretly lamenting that it would now be even harder for her to keep up with Under the Knife.

But still. A small sacrifice, considering that she was going to learn actual magic!

Connie had barely been able to sit still as the train had rolled out of the station, the busy brick buildings and skyscrapers of London giving way into rolling green country side. Connie had been completely alone in the compartment— no one to disturb her as she savoured the view and dug into the next chapter of The History of Magic. Nobody was there to watch her when the snack trolley came by, and she used a few sickles from her small allowance to buy some wizard candy. She knew she wasn't really supposed to eat sweets, but her Mom had said to keep eating healthy at Hogwarts, and she wasn't at Hogwarts yet, was she?

Besides, they had chocolate frogs that jumped!

oOo

For all the reading Connie had done since discovering she was a witch, she'd actually read very little about her new school itself. She had a book titled Hogwarts: A History, but it had fallen to the wayside in between all the other books about monsters and unicorns and prophecies and duels.

She knew the bare bones about the House system. She knew there were four of them, each named after one of the Hogwarts' founders. She knew that Professor Longbottom was head of Gryffindor. She knew that the majority of a students' classes and spare time was spent with their housemates. But for the most part, she'd simply assumed they were like houses at the ordinary English school she'd attended— that they were superficial categorisations, used mostly for organisation and to foster friendly competition.

She hadn't realised there was a personality test involved.

So as she had stood in the Great Hall, listening to an ancient, sentient magical hat sing of the virtues of all the houses, her first reaction had been panic. How could she not have known? What was she going to do? What if she wasn't good enough for any of them?

Her next reaction was determination. If she was going to be placed into a House, which one would be best?

She was still thinking this over when the Sorting Hat was placed on her head and whispered in her mind, Well, let's take a look, then, shall we?

The Hat's song had still been ringing in her head. Did she want to go to Hufflepuff, the place for people who were steadfast and fair?

You have an inherent sense of justice, the Hat had said. And I see that you are a hard-worker.

Connie had made a face. She already knew she was a hard-worker. She'd never had any other choice.

The Hat had given a scratchy little laugh. Very well. Perhaps Ravenclaw, then?

The song had described that as the House knowledge, logic and artistry. Well— artistry was stretching it, she felt. She loved a good story, and enjoyed playing violin, but she didn't feel like she was much of an artist. She'd been raised to value knowledge and learning but—

But did she want to be in a House where that was all anyone cared about? Where everyone was obsessed with high marks and intelligence? How would that be any different than her own home? Sometimes— sometimes she just wanted— wanted to have fun.

The Hat had hummed, thoughtful. Defiant, I see. You'd do well among Gryffindors.

Daring, gallant, valiant, brave. Connie wasn't sure if any of that truly fit her— magic or not, that was something for heroes, not nervous girls who couldn't even stand at the front of the classroom. Hard work and intelligence— those were both important, but Connie already knew she had both in abundance. She was smart and logical, and would focus on her schoolwork no matter where she was sent.

But she had wanted something new, something different, something that she didn't already have.

The Hat's words had echoed, dully, reminding her of her old, old loneliness, and suddenly, Connie had known exactly what she wanted.

In Slytherin, you've heard it said,

Beyond ambition's trend

Their cunning and their cleverness

And fiercely faithful friends

So she had said, Put me in Slytherin.

For a long, long time, the hat had been silent, considering. Connie had been able to feel the Hat in her mind, peer through her memories, her thoughts, her fears, her desires, and she had shivered. It was a haunting feeling. And just when she was beginning to wonder if the Hat would ever be able to decide, it had announced her choice to the entire hall.

Flushed with victory, Connie had ran to the Slytherin table, eager to be accepted by her new house.

Immediately after the Sorting and speeches were finished, and a wonderful meal had appeared before them, it had seemed to Connie that she'd made the right decision. Older students congratulated the ones on their placement, smiling warmly and shaking hands. "We're definitely the best house. I'm not being biased. It's just objective."

Laughter had gone up. "Gryffindors, you see— too rash for their own good. Always getting in trouble."

"Ravenclaw is pretty good," someone else had conceded.

"Ah," a third-year had said, "they're smart, sure, but all they know is books. We know how to be practical."

"And Puff?" another student had said, to be met with another chorus of giggles. "That's just where they put the kids who aren't good enough to go anywhere else."

There had been something a little… disconcerting about that, which made her feel uncomfortable. Surely they wouldn't have an entire house just for that? The Sorting Hat had sung about loyalty and kindness, and those seemed pretty important to Connie. But she'd been willing to put that all aside, and struck up a conversation with some of her year mates.

There were two sitting next to her; a boy named Caelum Carrow and a girl called Regina Goyle. There had been introductions all around, and it hadn't taken long for the boy to ask the obvious question. "So, where are you from, anyway?"

"America," Connie had said promptly, having expected the question. "I only moved to the UK last year."

"But where are you from from?" Caelum had stressed.

Connie had known what he meant— everyone always assumed she must have been born in India, just like her Mom— but she tried not to look frustrated. "I was born in Colorado, but my family moved around a lot."

"Cool," Regina had said. "I've never been outside of Europe. Are there are lot of wizards and witches in the US?"

"Quite a lot," Connie had said, because she'd done her research. The North American magical community was large and well-established, but also very spread out, and less controlled by a single governing body, so exact numbers were hard to determine. "I've never met any of them, though. I only discovered I was a witch after moving over here."

There had been a stiff silence. Caelum had suddenly become very interested in his mashed potatoes. Voice pinched, Regina had said, "So your parents are muggles then?"

Feeling cold, Connie had answered, in a voice as level as possible, "Yes."

Neither of them had spoke to her for the rest of the meal.

oOo

The Slytherin Common Room was beautiful.

Connie hadn't been expecting it, as she'd travelled with the rest of her housemates into the castle's depths. Down in the dungeons it was dark, the hallways lit only by flickering torchlight. There was cool, moisture clinging to the stone walls; every 'classroom' they passed had large doors which in ancient times had instead held prison bars. Connie had felt her hair stand on end, and fought the sudden urge to bolt back to the bright lights of the Great Hall.

The house prefect Buck Dewey had come to a stop in front of what seemed like a completely ordinary stretch of wall. Then he had said the password— "asper"— and the wall had retreated, leading into the secret Slytherin common room. Eyes wide, Connie had seen that it wasn't some damp, musty dungeon after all, but rather like something out of a dark fairy tale. There were tall arching ceilings, gothic carvings and old armchairs made from mahogany, covered in shimmery green linen. Along the walls was tapestry after tapestry, depicting what could only be famous past Slytherins performing mighty deeds— one locked in the middle of a duel, another flying through a terrible storm on a magic carpet, a third battling a creature like a winged lion, only with the horns of a goat and a snake for a tail.

There had been a fire burning in a grand fireplace, its warmth banishing the dungeon's creeping cold, but it was not the primary source of light. Instead, glowing green glass orbs floated through the air like will'o'the'wisps. Light streamed in from windows too, which was strange since it was so late at light. Doubly strange was the that the light which came through was an ethereal, watery green. When she had been lead to the first year girls' dormitory and turned a corner, Connie had discovered why.

The common room was under water.

That corridor's wall was not built of stone, as every others' was. It was glass. Thick, thick glass, like the kind found in an aquarium. And on the other side of it was the lake. It was night, and the water was inky black, but staring out through the darkness, Connie had thought she could still see the wave of seaweed, and the flicker of fish swimming past. Maybe even the twitch of a tentacle.

After that, the dorm room itself was something of a disappointment. Yes, it was very nice, in its own way— with its magnificent four posters with green silk sheets and silver pillows, and its circular carpet depicting a snake twisting around itself, each scale woven from a different colour of thread. But all of that was rather humdrum, after getting to look out into lake that was filled with giant squid and merpeople.

And then there were her dorm mates.

Connie had picked up on Regina's animosity during the feast, but had been doing her best to remain positive. Conversation was muted as they all changed and crawled into bed, but Connie hadn't thought much of it— it was late, they'd all had a long day, and everyone was tired. That excuse hadn't existed the next morning, though, when everyone had been buzzing with eagerness and excitement, chatting cheerfully with each other— but not with her. None of the other girls had quite met her eye, none of them asked what class she was looking forward to, none of them even said good morning. It had been like they were deliberately ignoring her.

Confusion had turned into annoyance, which had turned into hurt, which had turned into frustration, and finally, Connie had put her foot down. After flocking to the loo, the girls had begun standing in a thick pack around the sinks, blocking Connie from washing her hands or brushing her teeth. Connie eyed Christine, the only girl who'd given her a smile all morning. "Excuse me," Connie had said, voice tight but perfectly polite, "Could I squeeze in?"

"Oh— oh sorry," the girl had said, and begun to move aside.

But Regina had stopped her before she could get very far. "Come on, you're a Greengrass," she'd said. "You don't have to listen to a mudblood."

Christine Greengrass had blushed, and looked away; the other girls had laughed mockingly; and Connie had stood, frozen, in the toilets until they all left.

oOo

That had only been the beginning.

Sneers shot at her across hallways. Muttered comments whenever she passed. Pointed silence whenever she spoke. Bowls of food being passed away from her at meal times. Being last pick every time they were asked to partner up in class.

Connie had experienced bullying before, but never as bad as this. And never before had she lived with her bullies.

She'd dug into her history books— the ones she'd stored away for 'later', in favour of ones about dangerous monsters and exciting spells. In her other reading she had come across the occasional mention of muggle/witch tensions, about concerns of lineage and blood purity, but only ever been in passing, so Connie hadn't thought much about it. She'd figured it was some footnote in history, some issue long passed.

But she had learned the truth. Learned that 'mudblood' was considered one of the magical community's worst slurs. Learned that Salazar Slytherin had been one of the most (in)famous blood purists in history. Learned that just over a decade ago, Wizarding Britain had nearly been torn apart by a war waged against half-bloods and muggle-borns.

She didn't tell her parents about any of it. They wouldn't just worry— they would freak. And then they would pull her out of Hogwarts and she'd never get to learn magic!

And she did want to stay at Hogwarts, she did! She could— she could deal with the insults and the taunts, with being ignored. It would be hard, but she could do it. Magic was worth so much worse.

Because despite everything, Connie enjoyed Hogwarts— she loved it, even. She loved the long, rambling corridors! She loved the constantly moving staircases, and the portraits that flitted from frame to frame! She loved standing before the great underwater window and staring out into the depths of the lake! She loved flying on a broomstick! She loved her classes, even History of Magic, because while Mr. Binns could drone on and on, he was still a ghost, and he could tell her first hand accounts of everything he talked about! She loved Charms and Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the sheer thrill of power that raced through her every time she cast a spell correctly.

And that was the truly infuriating thing. She was a good student and a good witch. Connie knew it. She always paid attention in class; she got top marks on all her assignments; she was always one of the first to cast a spell correctly. But none of that had stopped the others from sneering, from saying she wasn't actually worth anything at all.

Connie had considered, once or twice, going to a teacher and asking for help. But the person she was meant to go to was the Head of Slytherin— and if Slytherin was the most racist, elitist of all the Houses, surely Professor Magpantay was bound to be the most racist, elitist of the teachers? Sure, she had always seemed nice enough in potions class— a bit strict, but not unkind— but what if—

And even if Professor Magpantay did want to help her, what could she do? She'd take her year mates aside and give a lecture about bullying. Everyone would nod and murmur insincere apologies, and the second the professor was out of sight, strike it up again three-fold.

No. Connie would deal with it herself. That was the only option.

oOo

There weren't a lot places Connie could spend her free time. Meals were often a fight to get as much food on her plate as quickly as possible, and she rarely stuck around after finishing her final bite. The dorm room was intensely uncomfortable; even if she drew the curtains around her bed, Connie couldn't block out the sound of the other girls happily carrying on without her. She mostly used it as a place to sleep and store her stuff. The Common Room itself was somewhat more tolerable— she could find a corner far away from her fellow first years, and the older students were generally less antagonistic. Some of them could even be kind of nice, like Buck Dewey. But they were all teenagers, and she was only eleven, so for the most part they ignored her.

Connie had taken to spending a lot of time in the library. It was quiet and secluded and nobody ever bothered her there. (Aside from the librarian, Ms. Prince, who seemed to regard all students as potential trouble makers).

It got boring, though, sitting at the same table every day, breathing in the dust of ancient tomes, feeling like she had no where else to go. Sometimes, she wanted fresh air.

Which is why Connie had found herself wandering the Hogwarts grounds, looking for somewhere tucked away where she could enjoy her book in peace. Eventually, she found it. A nice patch of grass in the shade of the Astronomy tower, to keep the sun off her eyes. It was a pleasant day; the warmth of summer was still hanging around, there was a pleasant breeze, and the lake and forest in the distance made a beautiful view. Connie had sighed with relief as she pulled a book out of her bag.

Not a textbook. Not one of her fantasy novels, either. That day she had wanted something with absolutely nothing to do with magic at all. She had begun reading To Kill a Mockingbird.

She had gotten through less than two chapters when she suddenly heard somebody screaming at her — looking up, she'd had just enough time to see a boy running at her in a tackle, before a bright pink light surrounded them and there was a loud crash above her head.