❝ True beauty is not of the body or of the face, no, it is a thing of the soul — of fire and air, breath and spirit, something brave and unafraid. ❞ — Segovia Amil

After an hour of talking and cracking jokes while enjoying the sunset, Sibi, Mike and I finally picked up our schoolbags and headed to the library. It was just the first day and we didn't have much work to do (thankfully), but we spent two hours in the library nonetheless, just because I couldn't bring myself to leave that place.

   The library was enormous, containing tens of thousands of books and tomes on thousands of shelves, all separated into their respective sections. Being the huge bookworm that I was, I couldn't leave without having a look around (and by 'a look' I mean going through as many books as my friends allowed me to). When we eventually left — much to my disliking — Sibi and Mike sighed audibly in relief, saying that if I continued behaving like this each time we'd be going to the library, they'd think twice before deciding to come.

   The amount of homework we received the following day was pretty much the same and the day wasn't very eventful. Nothing worth being mentioned happened, well apart from the Quidditch tryouts in the afternoon. Mike had his first tryouts for the new year because he had been Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team the previous year, but that didn't guarantee whether he'd keep the position this year too or not.

   Since I had always been a big lover of this wonderful wizards' sport, I followed him down to the Quidditch pitch, leaving Sibi alone in the common room. We told her to come with us but she found Quidditch a 'waste of time' and the only times she did come to watch her best friend playing was during matches.

   The captain of the team, Coby Stanley, was a sixth-year boy who was also the Keeper of the team. Although Mike told me he was quite trained, hard-working and a very good player, there were many traits of his personality that annoyed the rest of his teammates, such as his obstinate persistence, his short temper, and obnoxiously excessive ambition that always put others under major pressure.

   I wanted to try out for the position of a Chaser since I was a huge Quidditch lover and I felt as though this position was perfect for me. I loved scoring goals, being in control of the Quaffle and I was a pretty agile flier too.

   Mike fortunately made it into the team this year as well, managing to keep his position as Quidditch Seeker. But there'd be no reason not to give Mike the position, after all — he was a fast flier, had a very sharp eyesight and also the ability to fly no-handed, which made him simply superb.

   When I tried out for the position of a Chaser, my heart was threatening to crack my ribs with its violent beat, my palms sweating copiously. However, it either was my lucky day or I was just simply being extremely fastidious and attentive, because I managed to score nine goals out of ten, missing only once. This certainly impressed Coby Stanley and when he asked me for my name, I could swear I saw something close to a smile tickling at the corners of his lips.

   The other two Chasers were my roommates, Christine Cole and Rosalinda Moon. They congratulated me warmly for making it into the team, Christine throwing an arm around my shoulders and stating how pleased she was that she was no longer the only short member of the team. I should've been offended — I was self-conscious of my height enough as it was without others mentioning it — but right now I felt too elated for making it into the team to care.

   An urge to facepalm came over me when I noticed that Alex was one of the Beaters of the team. He'd told me this fact the day we met at the ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley, but I blamed my short-term memory for having temporarily forgotten it. It wasn't anything important to be kept in mind, anyway; I just would have prepared myself mentally to face him on yet another place.

   "Just admit it already, Polly," he teased me, smirking smugly. "You're obsessed with me, I know it. First you follow me in the Arithmancy classes and now even in the Quidditch team? Damn . . . I mean, I know I'm gorgeous, but there's no need to make your obsession so obvious."

   "Don't live in illusions, Alex, they say it's unhealthy for a person's psyche," I answered back sarcastically, scoffing at him before heading out of the pitch together with Mike.

   I had to admit that I was quite contented with the team quality. Stanley was a very good Keeper, in spite of his pissy attitude; Mike was a brilliant Seeker and quite skilled with the broom; Christine and Rosalinda were the best girl Chasers anyone could ever ask for, both light fliers and resourceful; Alex was an incredible Beater, as much as I hated to admit this — so proficient with the bat in an almost mind-blowing way, and even the second Beater of the team, Bryant wasn't nearly half as adept as him.

   Even I made it into the team, which meant that I was good enough to be playing with such amazing players like them.

   "So, what do you think of the team?" Mike asked me as we were walking toward the castle.

   "It was amazing!" I exclaimed truthfully. "I don't think I could ask for better teammates. You were brilliant, Mike."

   "Thanks," he smiled. "You were great also. Have you been playing Quidditch during the summer?"

   "I have. Besides, I knew the basic rules and such before even arriving at Hogwarts."

   "Really?" asked Mike, sounding both very interested and surprised. "How come?"

   "Er . . ."

   Think, Polly, think. Should I just tell him that I knew all about the existence of Hogwarts and the wizarding world from the Harry Potter series?

   Absolutely not!

   But wait, why not? It was not a secret, was it?

   Joanne K. Rowling was just a witch who volunteered to drop hints about the existence of the wizarding world to muggleborn wizards by writing a series of supposedly fictional books. Everybody knew that . . . right?

   For some reasons that even I myself couldn't fully comprehend, I decided not to say a word about this whole thing yet.

   "I visited the Quidditch shop in Diagon Alley everyday!" I suddenly blurted out. Mike raised an eyebrow quizzically at me and I mentally slapped myself. Idiot, what does that have to do with anything?  "Er, I mean . . . that man who worked there, h—he taught me the rules of the game, the tactics and even told me a bit about the history of Quidditch. Yeah, that's pretty much it."

   "Oh," nodded Mike. "Well, I'm glad you made it into the team. With a captain like Stanley, a lot of fantastic players were rejected."

   "Maybe I was just lucky," I smiled, feeling somewhat proud of myself, but very relieved at the same time that Mike didn't get suspicious, although I had lied to him.

▼

   The first week of school flew by faster than I thought it would and definitely faster than I wished it would. I was beginning to get used to the new school routine as a witch — writing essays on parchment paper with a quill instead of a pen; using magic spells and charms with a real wand; learning about magical creatures and herbs instead of the ordinary ones we used to study about in the muggle world; learning about goblins, elves, vampires, werewolves, centaurs and merpeople instead of sword-fighters, kings and emperors.

   Even the uniforms were more epic; the way students worked hard to gain house points was exciting, yet challenging at times; and knowing that this castle was for us a place to study, a place to sleep, to eat, to read, to explore, to entertain ourselves, to make new friends — was just what made Hogwarts a second home for me and for probably every other student.

   But no matter how intriguing and informative the lesson hours were, there were even ones that I barely could stand.

   Transfigurations was a perfect example.

   From the very beginning I knew that I wouldn't like this subject very much because of everyone's negative opinions of professor Rollick, but never did I think I'd dislike it this much. Although he was more tolerant with us the first day of school (and only because it was the first day), as time went by, he showed his true demeanor more and more.

   One evening, I stayed up till late to finish my homework, no matter how exhausted I felt from two hours of restless Quidditch practice that had prevented me from finishing them earlier that day. Stanley could seriously be a pain in the ass.

   So the following morning in the Transfiguration class, while professor Rollick was blabbering about Animagi, the thought of my fluffy bed in my common room made my eyelids slowly, unintentionally close.

   Next thing I knew, Rollick was glowering at me while all eyes in the classroom were focused on me. Some of the pupils were snickering or giggling.

   "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" professor Rollick drawled, his voice intimidating, like a villain who had just caught their pray. "Taking a nap, aren't you, Ms. Kin?"

   "Oh, I-I'm sorry," I mumbled sheepishly. "I was very tired the other day and didn't have enough sleep at night so—"

   "I DON'T CARE!" Rollick interrupted harshly, his voice filled with so much rage it made me shudder. I cursed internally. "So, you think you're cleverer than the rest of the pupils, don't you, ms. Kin?"

   "I didn't—"

   "You think you already know all we're talking about so you don't find it necessary to listen, eh?" he carried on, his austere black eyes glaring at me behind his rectangular glasses.

   "No, sir, I—"

   But this time it wasn't professor Rollick who interrupted me, but the chime of the bell that signaled the end of the lesson. The students immediately leapt to their feet, stuffing their textbooks inside their bags and rushing out of the classroom before professor Rollick would turn around and give them homework. But as much as I wished it would be like that, our professor wasn't the forgetful type.

   "Everybody sit down!" he ordered. The students who were preparing to leave fell back on their seats with a groan. "For homework, I want you all to write a 1,500-word essay related to . . . the topic we discussed about today. And ms Kin," he continued, turning to me with a contemptuous smirk on his face, "can very well write an essay twice as long, since she already knows enough when it comes to Animagi that she doesn't find it essential to pay attention in class."

   My jaw dropped in shock at his words, but professor Rollick just gave me a self-satisfied look, one that said 'I dare you to fall asleep in one of my lessons again'. Then, he finally turned his back on me and dismissed the class.