❝ She isn't lost, she is just enjoying what it is like to immerse herself in a world that doesn't judge. ❞ —Gareth W. L. Egan

I woke up at the distant rays of the dawning sun peeking slightly over the horizon. The time on my wristwatch read five a.m. Odd of me to wake up so early, given that I was quite the sleepyhead. I lay in bed for a couple more minutes as the sunrise grew brighter and sharper, and watched my bedroom window slowly collect its pastel colors. When it became clear I was not going to fall back asleep, I jumped out of bed.

Tip-toeing out of my room so that I wouldn't wake mom up, I made my way downstairs. I could have prepared myself some early breakfast, but I wasn't quite hungry, so I decided to go outside and meditate in the garden.

I liked meditating. Though it didn't happen often, I appreciated those rare instances when I could just sit on the porch and enjoy the chirping of the birds in the empty streets as my unconquered curls danced on the early morning breeze. Usually the postman would stop by at 6.30 to bring the mail, but an irresistible impulse told me to go and check anyway. Trusting my instincts, I walked up to the mailbox and opened it slowly, thrusting my left hand inside.

Never did I expect to find there a letter. What's more, a letter written in emerald green ink on a piece of parchment paper, addressed to me. No one had ever sent me a letter. I mean, who even wrote actual letters anymore? Grandparents, sure, but I'd never known mine. I had no friends at school. None of my other relatives ever wrote to me.

Whatever relatives I had, anyway.

Mom's sister, aunt Camilla was the only living one I knew of, and her house was just next door. She came over every other day, spent the Christmas and Easter holidays with us, and I looked after her godawful dog whenever she went on vacation.

She had no reason to send me a letter when she saw me almost everyday. And it wasn't like she was that fond of me in the first place.

Glancing upwards instinctively, my eyes bulged at the sight of an unusual nocturnal bird, resting atop a road sign. It resembled a mass of fluffy brown feathers with a pair of huge eyes. An owl.

"Where on earth did you come from?" I wondered out loud. Were there even owls in Southern California?

Leaving no room for my imagination to run wild, I brushed off the sight of the bird and reached for the envelope with shaky fingers, ripping it open. The content of the letter wasn't something conceivable, something anyone could have guessed, something ordinary and predictable.

Written sloppily in emerald green ink were the words, You have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

▼

I reread the letter for probably the tenth time, feeling no less confused or thunderstruck than the first. My hands were frozen, my mind running in millions of different directions simultaneously. My eyes kept darting from a line to another like I was reading gibberish.

This couldn't be possible, it just couldn't. I was either dreaming or this was some sort of joke. I couldn't be dreaming, because descending the stairs that morning and going outside to meditate felt too real to be a dream.

The letter however, felt far from real. It must definitely be some type of prank.

Breathing out a long sigh, I picked up my mobile and rang Rochelle Underwood, my best — and only — friend. Who else knew me well enough to think pulling such a prank on me would be hilarious?

After several moments, she picked up.

"Polly Annabelle Kin, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up at 5.30 in the morning!"

I rolled my eyes, despite knowing she couldn't see me. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"Well, spit it out then. I was kinda in the middle of something—wait, what was it? Oh right, sleeping!"

"I also happened to be in the middle of meditating. But see, this certain someone thought it'd be very funny to mess with me by sending me this certain letter. Honestly, Roche, I have to give it to you. It was well thought out. How did you do it?"

"Huh? What are you on about?"

Although her confusion sounded genuine, I continued.

"Did you slip the letter into my mailbox last night or something? Oh, I liked the parchment, by the way; very witty of you! Where did you find it? And honestly, the green ink—"

"Okay, you know what?" she interrupted. "I have no clue what the hell you're on about, but next time I'd appreciate it if you didn't wake me up just because you had some weird ass dream. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to sleep." She let out a sigh, her voice softening. "I suggest you do the same, Sloth."

"Roche, wait—"

She hung up.

"Awesome."

I put the phone down and ran a hand through my hair, regretting it instantly when my fingers got tangled in my forever untamed curls.

At least now I knew that it wasn't Rochelle's prank. But if not hers, then maybe . . .

No.

My heart suddenly felt a thousand times heavier. The letter burned beneath my fingertips and I shook my head.

Not again, oh God, please not again.

Like a CD put on rewind, all the dreadful memories of freshman year started replaying in my head. Fingers pointing at the short girl with the frizzy hair who had strange powers to break glass, change the color of her hair and make insects appear out of the blue. The tornado of comments-insults related mostly to me but occasionally including my family too—where the most common ones were "freak" and "witch." All the unending taunts, harassment, name calling. The nasty stares by the teachers. Eyes sparkling with fear and rage. Everybody wanting me out of their way.

It was self-explanatory, really. Of course. How could I be so stupid to think, even for a moment, that this could maybe have been real? It was nothing but another joke on me and maybe they'd set up a camera in my house to get my reaction on tape, so that they could watch it over and over and laugh at me and mock me and—

My fingers found the point where the symmetrical line of the letter started and ripped it into two shreds. Then four. Then eight. Then more and more and more, until there were countless of tiny shreds of ink-stained parchment and one of my fingertips was bleeding from a papercut I got in the process.

I wanted to scream. It hadn't even been a week yet that school was out. Why couldn't they leave me alone? What did I ever do?

Existed, my subconscious lashed, you exist and that's the whole problem, Polly.

I wanted to cry. Couldn't my life be normal for once? I had never asked for this, never wanted to be born with these inexplicable, freaky powers. They were beyond my control. I needed a break, from everyone and everything.

A sharp noise from the kitchen, as if somebody had just pulled the trigger of a shotgun, interrupted my train of thoughts.

I drew in a breath, my heart freezing. What the hell? Should I have a look? Hell no! What if it was some heavily armed thief? I'd be screwed. But at the same time, I couldn't stay here and act like nothing happened either. They'd surely come in, shoot me and flee before I'd have time to blink.

I shrunk into the couch, hands trembling, heart hammering. Goddammit, why did they break in the kitchen, out of all possible rooms? That's where all the knives were. I had nothing to defend myself with here.

My mind was racing in billions of directions and so was my heart. My cell phone sat on top of the coffee table. Sure, I could call 911, but if I let out a single sound, I'd be dead before the cops would even have time to leave their office.

Think, Polly, think.

Dammit, could this day possibly get any worse? Or just life in general?

If I could knock the thief unconscious for a short while, just long enough for me to be able to call the cops—

I glimpsed at the coffee table again as realization struck me. That's it! I'd burst into the kitchen, catching them off guard while they were probably filling their bags with our fine china pots and champagne glasses, then fling the table at them, knock them out and run to the phone.

Crazy of a plan as it was, it was the best shot I had. I picked up the table, trying to keep my hands from shaking too violently. I approached the door of the kitchen, watching out for any furniture, so that I wouldn't bump the table against something and ruin the whole plan.

Relax, Polly.

Throwing every doubt out of the window, my hand reached for the doorknob. As soon as the door opened a little, I gave it the mightiest kick I could muster, holding the table to shoulder level.

My heart was thundering inside my chest.

"Don't attack!" a female voice sounded.

An urge to scream overtook my body but I swallowed it back. A woman? Wow, and mom had the nerve to tell me all women in our neighborhood were lovely when I started complaining about Mrs Bridget's insanely overpriced cookies.

I snapped out of my daze, closed my eyes, then hurled the table in her direction as forcefully as I could. I only had enough time to catch sight of a mass of sapphire-dyed hair, before turning around to get out.

The door slammed shut in my face.

"What the—"

"Do not move!"

My blood turned to ice. Oh God, I was so done for. Dammit Polly, why did you think this was a great idea?

I caught my trembling bottom lip between my teeth to keep myself from crying like a coward right there.

"I need to talk to you," the woman said, pronouncing each word slowly.

My heart froze in confusion. "W-What?"

I whirled back around. A scream caught in my throat when I saw the coffee table hovering in mid air, just few inches away from the woman's face. Did I do that?

"No, you didn't," the stranger answered my nonverbal question, and I let out a loud gasp. "Just calm down." She started walking towards me in small steps. "I need to talk to you."

"S-Stand back!" I threatened, but my voice betrayed me.

The blue-haired woman approached me in lazy steps and I felt my heart climb all the way up to my throat. She was taller than me by a head, olive-skinned, and a gothic choker encircled her neck, with spikes long and sharp enough to murder someone. I imagined them detaching from it and flying towards me like darts.

I flattened myself against the door for dear life, breathing heavily through my mouth. When she was mere inches from me, I shut my eyes, anticipating her next move-either a stab or a shot right through my chest.

"I am not going to hurt you," the woman said, as though she'd read my mind.

Tentatively, I opened my eyes, meeting hers which held a greenish-brown color. She tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing my face curiously.

"Who are you?" I plucked up the strength to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"My name is Breeze McBon."

Her gaze travelled from my face to the door of the kitchen. She pressed her palm against it. My eyes goggled when I saw the surface beneath her hand glow in a pale blue light before fading out entirely, as if it never even happened.

The woman turned on her heel, raising her hand once more. This time, the coffee table that was floating in the air lowered to the ground. She turned back around and looked at me.

"Who are you?" I asked again.

"I told you," she said calmly. "I am Breeze McBon."

"Yeah, well, that name doesn't ring any bells, sorry." I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice came out shaky. "Care to elaborate?"

The woman blinked twice, as if trying to understand what I was saying. Then, "I am the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I swallowed, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. My head spun as I thought back to the letter I'd received earlier that morning. At first, I thought it was nothing but a joke, a prank on me. But then I recalled seeing an owl at the exact same time the letter magically appeared in my mailbox.

And as if all that wasn't odd enough, a woman appearing out of the blue in my kitchen took the cake. Everything about her screamed strange, from her sapphire blue hair with turquoise highlights and black leather trench coat that seemed two sizes too big for her body, to the unusual powers her hands contained, which, unlike me, she was able to control.

I hesitated.

"Deputy headmistress?" I asked. She nodded. "Of Hogwarts? The Hogwarts?" She nodded again.

At last, Breeze McBon's face softened. She gave me a sympathetic look and sighed. "We need to talk, Polly."