Cassia's POV

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

I yawned, reaching over and switching my alarm clock off to stop the beeping. I pulled the covers off my body and slipped out of bed. As much as I wanted to go back to sleep – because I am not much of an early riser – I couldn't. My karate team had practice at ten o'clock today; we had a big tournament coming up on Monday night, and we had spent the last several days getting in gear. Today's practice was no exception, given that we had the day off tomorrow—our coach (or "Sensei Alex", as we referred to him) never scheduled practice on Sundays.

I had started taking karate lessons when I was six—since I was in kindergarten. One day, I'd seen flyers all over the hallways, advertising karate classes, and I got a little curious and decided I wanted to try one out to see if I liked it, so I took one of the flyers and stuck it in my backpack, to take home with me. When I got back from school, I showed the flyer to Uncle Ted and Auntie Andy and asked them to sign me up for a class. They had said yes.

That Saturday afternoon, I attended my first karate class with Sensei Alex. It was me and four other girls, and five boys. Sensei Alex was surprised at how quickly I picked up the moves; martial arts and hand-to-hand combat just came naturally to me, I guess. Halfway through the lesson, he had us all pair off and spar with each other. We'd have to fight each other one-on-one, and after three minutes, we'd have to pick a new partner to spar with—somehow I managed to win against all but one of the other kids. When the class was over, Sensei Alex approached me and asked me to join his competition team—I said I would talk it over with my aunt and uncle and let him know my decision within a few days.

My family was ecstatic when I told them about the offer to take up competitive karate; particularly Aunty Andy and my adoptive sister Nymphadora (though I called her Dora because she hated her full name—if anyone dared to call her Nymphadora, she'd blow up at them.). Dora was on board because it was "a good way to show some girl power." Uncle Ted liked the idea of me doing competitive karate because it would be a good experience. Aunty Andy had said that continuing the training might help me to control my magic.

See, ever since I was a baby, I'd been causing all sorts of odd things to happen—well, they weren't odd to my family. I had seen Uncle Ted, Aunty Andy, and Dora all using a wand on multiple occasions, though at the time, I didn't know that they were wands; me being a tiny, little girl, I had just wondered why they were waving sticks in the air. It wasn't until I was five or six that Dora took me aside and explained that she and Aunty Andy were witches, and that Uncle Ted was a wizard.

"Those sticks we use are called wands," she had said.

"That's how you have your magic?" I had asked.

Dora went on to tell me that magic didn't come from the wand itself; it was inside a witch or a wizard, and usually starts to show early on in their life.

Then I asked her, "Is that why your hair changes color?"

She shrugged. "Yes and no. My hair changes because I'm a Metamorphagus. That means I can change what I look like if I want to."

"So if you wanted to impersonate Aunty Andy, you could turn into her?" I asked eagerly.

"Mm-hmm." She nodded.

I was enthralled by this information, though at the time, I had yet to realize that I too was a witch, and that I was also developing my powers.

Once, when I was three years old, I had accidentally caused a power surge; I had woken up from my nap and started crying because I'd just been dreaming about something that had really scared me. I didn't know why, though; all I remembered was a thunderous boom, a flash of green light, and a woman's frightened screams. As soon as I started screaming, the lights in my room had started flickering wildly—and then they just went off. The lights downstairs had gone off, too, along with all of the major appliances in the house. It took four to six hours to fix it; lucky thing Uncle Ted had studied all those preservative charms, otherwise we would've had to completely empty out the fridge. I thought Uncle Ted and Aunty Andy would be angry with me, but they weren't—on the contrary, they were proud.

"It means you're growing up, little one!" Uncle Ted had exclaimed as he spun me around in his arms.

When I was around six years old, I was helping Aunty Andy with the dishes and was reaching up toward a very high cabinet to put a glass away. As I was leaning up, the glass suddenly slipped from my grip. For a minute, I was terrified it was going to fall to the ground and break, but it didn't; it just floated upward, into the cabinet, settling on the lowest shelf. Aunty Andy then sat me down at the kitchen table and broke the news to me that I was a witch, just like her, and that the glass floating back into the cabinet was a sign that my magic was growing.

Then when I was eight, at dance class, I was practicing my routine for an upcoming recital; I was dancing a solo to the song "Bella Notte", from one of my all-time favorite movies, Lady and the Tramp. While I was waiting for my dance instructor – Miss Dwyer – to come in and cue the music up, I decided to practice the routine alone one more time, just to make sure I had it down. It was only once I'd finished my last turn and fell into my ending pose that my magic started acting up again. I snuck a glance up at the mirror, and was surprised to see that my leotard had changed into a beautiful two-piece costume, with a midnight-blue, rhinestone-studded halter top, and a short, flowy skirt of the same color.

When Miss Dwyer came in and saw me sitting on the floor in the costume, she spent five minutes just staring at it in awe. She asked me where I had found it, since it didn't belong to the studio. I insisted that I had no idea how I got ahold of it, only that I was practicing alone and I had only seen that I was wearing it after I'd completed my routine. Miss Dwyer just shrugged, figuring either I or Aunty Andy must have brought the costume from home, so I got off the hook.

Hopefully today goes without a hitch, I thought, changing into a pale yellow tank top and a pair of gray gym shorts. I folded my Gi and my blue belt, placing them on top of my bed—I didn't want to chance getting my Gi all messy by eating in it.

Harry's POV

"Up! Get up!" the shrill voice of my Aunt Petunia woke me up. She knocked hard on the door of my cupboard. Then I heard the latch being opened. "Now!" she said insistently, banging her hand one more time against the door. Her heels made muffled clacking sounds as she walked away, heading back into the kitchen—then I heard her slamming the kitchen door.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position and pulled the switch to turn on the singular bulb above my head. Now the cupboard was full of light, but I couldn't see anything; the room was blurry. I reached over to the shelf on my left and grabbed my glasses, slipping them up against the bridge of my nose. Much better.

The quiet was soon shattered by the booming sound of my bratty cousin Dudley's footsteps on the stairs. He stopped right above my cupboard and started jumping up and down on the stairs. "Wake up, cousin! We're going to the zoo!" he shouted excitedly. The ceiling shook with every motion, little clouds of dust falling around me and settling atop my bed like a layer of snowflakes.

I lifted the blanket and got to my feet, ducking my head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling; standing upright in such a small space was easier said than done. I pushed open the door, but right before I could even take one step out into the hallway, Dudley shoved me back into the cupboard on his way into the kitchen; I heard him kick the door behind him, slamming it shut on me again. Caught off guard by the sudden motion, I fell back, bumping my head on a part of the wall. Ouch.

I clambered back onto my feet, holding a hand to my slightly aching head as I opened the cupboard door again, trudging into the kitchen.

Aunt Petunia practically had stars in her eyes as Dudley came running into the kitchen. "Oh, here he comes, the birthday boy!" she cooed.

"Happy birthday, son!" Uncle Vernon said merrily from his spot at the dining room table.

Oh, did I forget to mention today was Dudley's birthday?

Aunt Petunia gave Dudley a big kiss on the cheek, rubbing her nose together with his in a loving manner. "Why don't you just cook the breakfast, and try not to burn anything," she said, giving me a pointed look as she stepped past the stove.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," I said, holding back an exasperated sigh. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always had me cook their meals every day; I learned the hard way not to burn any of the food. Let's just say it meant I'd be on the receiving end of somebody's short temper. Keeping a close eye on the frying pan, I got started cooking the eggs and bacon.

Aunt Petunia got behind Dudley and covered his eyes. "I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day," she said eagerly, leading him into the dining room.

The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to me, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise—unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was me, but he couldn't often catch me.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but I had always been small and skinny for my age. I looked even smaller and skinnier than I really was because all I had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than I was. I had a thin face, knobby knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. I wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched me on the nose. The only thing I liked about my own appearance was a very thin scar on my forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. I had had it for as long as I could remember, and the first question I could ever remember asking my Aunt Petunia was how I had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions—that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

With the eggs now finished (and thankfully, cooked just right), I started getting the bacon onto a plate; considering how little room the piles of presents provided, it wasn't easy, but I managed.

"Hurry up! Bring my coffee, boy!" Uncle Vernon snapped, getting restless.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," I said quickly. I put the frying pan in the sink and grabbed the coffee pot, holding it carefully with both hands so I didn't drop it (and so I didn't accidentally burn my hands with how hot it was).

Aunt Petunia removed her hands from Dudley's eyes, clapping with excitement once he started looking around the room. "Aren't they wonderful, darling?" she asked.

Dudley was silent for a few seconds as he looked around at the numerous packages wrapped in vibrant colored paper. A frown started to appear as he turned toward Uncle Vernon. "How many are there?" he asked, anger edging into his tone.

"Thirty-six. Counted them myself," said Uncle Vernon, grinning proudly.

Apparently, that wasn't a good enough answer for Dudley. "Thirty six?! But last year – last year, I had thirty-seven!" he nearly yelled. I rolled my eyes as I poured the coffee for Uncle Vernon. He is so spoiled. And it seemed like it got worse with every birthday and Christmas that passed.

"Er – er, yes, but – but some of them are quite a bit bigger than last year's –" Uncle Vernon said, in an attempt to calm him.

"I don't care how big they are!" Dudley cut in, clearly not wanting to listen.

Aunt Petunia stepped in. "Now, now, now, this is what we're going to do. When we go out, we're going to buy you two new presents. How's that, pumpkin?" she offered.

Dudley huffed, but nodded, accepting the compromise.

Even though I was annoyed with how bratty he could be, at the same time, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy; part of me wished that I could have at least one person – anyone – to wish me a happy birthday. Most of the time, on my birthday, the Dursleys just treated it like it was just another day.

Cassia's POV

I headed into the kitchen, where Aunty Andy was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. "Good morning, Cassia," she said, "Someone's a little eager today..."

I giggled. "Only eager to kick some butt Monday night!" I looked around, noticing Dora's jacket was gone from its place on the rack. "Where's Dora? I thought she had today off?"

Dora had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the previous year, and she was spending the last several years training with the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic. Or as she and I called it, the "wizard police."

"One of her fellow trainees called in sick, so she offered to cover for them in the office," said Aunty Andy.

"Oh," I said.

"But she does have the day off on Monday, so she'll be with us in the front row at the tournament, cheering you on," Aunty Andy added.

I grinned. Dora loved martial arts; even though she lacked the coordination to do it, she was always on the sidelines at every one of my team's matches.

"Your Uncle Ted had to go in early this morning – urgent call from the Admissions Department – but he'll be back right around the time we get home from your karate practice," Aunty Andy said, spooning some pancakes onto a plate. The smell of blueberries wafted into my nostrils—blueberry pancakes were my favorite!

"Can't wait for Monday night," I said, grabbing the nearby bottle of syrup and drizzling it over my pancakes.

Aunty Andy chuckled. "You're not alone there," she said. "I know you'll do great."

"I hope I do too," I said. Just last year, I had received my purple belt; I was crossing my fingers that, if my team won the upcoming tournament, I'd be another step closer to moving up to a purple belt.

"Well, just remember—either way, whether you win every match or you don't, I'm so proud of you. We're all proud of you."

I sipped some of my orange juice. "Thanks, Aunty Andy."

Aunty Andy patted my shoulder. "Now, if you want to kick the boys' butts at practice, you'd better eat up."

I dug into the silver dollar-sized pancakes, the topmost one nearly drenched with syrup. As far back as I could remember, blueberries were my favorite fruit; Uncle Ted had mentioned in passing that my mum had had constant cravings for them when she was pregnant with me. I felt a pang in my heart, remembering that it was one of the only details I knew about my parents. Well, that, and when I was nine years old, Aunty Andy very briefly explained to me that my parents were no longer alive. All I managed to get out of her was that they died when I was a baby, but that they died trying to protect me. I had a hunch, if they had been willing to risk their lives to protect their daughter, they must have been amazing people. If only I could have known them.

Five pancakes and a glass of orange juice later, I was feeling very full, so I put my plate in the sink. I checked the clock on the oven; the time read quarter to eight. Okay, I have practice at ten, and we have to leave at nine forty-five, so I have a good amount of time before I have to get ready. I decided to read.

I went back into my room and scanned my shelves, looking for a good book to read. My eyes fell on one that I'd received for Christmas last year, but hadn't opened until now: Locked in Time, by Lois Duncan. Dora had given it to me; I had an affinity for mystery novels, so according to her, this novel was "right up my alley."

Hopping up onto my bed, sitting atop the comforter, I leaned against my pillow and opened the book, soon growing immersed in the story.

Harry's POV

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley." He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while me and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in my direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but my heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parent took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, I was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. I hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made me look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at me as though I'd planned this. I knew I ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when I reminded myself it would be a whole year before I had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

The Dursleys often spoke about me like this, as though I wasn't there—or rather, as though I was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend—Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," I put in hopefully (I'd be able to watch what I wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," I said, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "...and leave him in the car..."

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone..."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying – it had been years since he'd really cried – but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I...don't...want...him...t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot me a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang – "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically – a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

We headed outside to the car, Dudley and Piers looking especially excited about this year's birthday outing. They all but leapt into the back seat, behind Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon stopped me right as I was about to squeeze in next to Dudley. "I'm warning you now, boy, any funny business – any at all, and you won't have any meals for a week," he threatened.

"I'm not going to do anything," I said, "honestly..."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe me. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around me and it was just no good telling the Dursleys I didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of me coming back from the barbers looking as though I hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut my hair so short I was almost bald except for my bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at me, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where I was already laughed at for my baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, I had gotten up to find my hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. I had been given a week in my cupboard for this, even though I had tried to explain that I couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force me into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over my head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit me. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to my great relief, I wasn't punished.

On the other hand, I'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing me as usual when, as much to my surprise as anyone else's, there I was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from my headmistress telling them I had been climbing school buildings. But all I'd tried to do (as I shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of my cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. I supposed that the wind must have caught me in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, my cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

"Get in," Uncle Vernon said, sounding less than patient.

I crawled into the back seat of the car, not wanting to irritate him more.

Cassia's POV

I propped myself up on an elbow as I flipped another page in the first chapter. Why did I wait until now to open this book? It's amazing!

Since the age of five, I had been quite the bookworm. Despite my full schedule with school, karate practice, and dance class, I always managed to make time for reading a book. Adventure and fantasy books were my favorite, although in the last several months I had developed a passion for the mystery genre. A particular favorite of mine was The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

As I continued through the first chapter of Locked in Time, I couldn't help but wonder, had my mother been as much a fan of reading as I was?

Knock, knock. Guess the wondering about my mum will have to wait, I thought, bookmarking the page I was currently on. I set the book down beside me and looked up at Aunty Andy, who had just entered the room. "Hi, sorry to interrupt your little reading session, Cassi...I just came to tell you it's time to get your uniform on, we're leaving in ten minutes," she said.

"All right. Thanks, Aunty Andy," I said, placing the book on my nightstand and grabbing my Gi. I slid my arms into the sleeves of the white top, folding both sides of the fabric over my torso. Then I grabbed my blue belt and fastened it around my waist, tight enough to keep my Gi securely wrapped but loose enough so I didn't feel uncomfortable. I grabbed the matching white trousers and pulled them on over my gym shorts. I slipped my feet into a pair of tan flats; with karate, we were usually fighting barefoot, so I'd just leave my shoes in my cubby when I got there.

I went into the bathroom, flossing and brushing my teeth thoroughly and spitting out the toothpaste when I was done. Then I grabbed an elastic from the small pouch I always kept in the bathroom for hair accessories, slipping it onto my wrist; I'd just tie my hair back on the way to practice. Heading back into the room, I grabbed the small, green shoulder bag that I always used to carry my dance shoes in.

"Ready!" I said, giving a thumbs-up as I came back into the kitchen, with the green bag slung over one shoulder.

Aunty Andy chuckled as she glanced at her watch. "And with three minutes to spare," she said. She grabbed her purse from where it sat on the counter, and we went outside to the car.

I hopped in the back, sitting behind the passenger's seat, and buckled my seatbelt. Aunty Andy slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition before putting her seatbelt on too.

"Are your teammates getting excited for Monday?" Aunty Andy asked as we pulled out of the driveway.

"Mm-hmm," I hummed in response, combing my fingers quickly through my black hair. I took a few small strands and wove them together, starting to make myself a quick French braid. That way the hair would be out of my face and off my neck.

"I bet," said Aunty Andy.

"Sensei Alex is giving us our tournament lineup at practice today," I said, pinching the end of my now-finished braid between two fingers. I slipped the elastic off of my wrist and looped it around the tip of the braid four times; at the very least, the style would stay in place until practice let out. My side bangs still needed to be pinned back, though; they always fell in front of my face and nearly blocked my eyes because they were starting to grow out. I unzipped one of the pockets on my bag and pulled out a black barrette. I twisted my bangs back with one hand, reaching up with my other hand to clip the barrette in place. My bangs now curled across the top of my head, looking like they'd been twisted backwards into the braid.

The drive down to Mason Lawrence Martial Arts Center usually took around ten minutes, barring traffic; if there was traffic on the road, the drive would be between fifteen and twenty-five minutes. But luckily for us, there were very few cars on the road, so we got there fairly quickly.

Aunty Andy pulled into the parking lot, snagging a spot close to the front entrance of the building. Once she'd shifted the car into park and turned off the engine, we unbuckled our seatbelts and got out, carefully crossing the parking lot.

The girl at the desk – Leah, I remembered her name was – smiled warmly at us as we entered the building. "Here for morning practice, I see," she said.

"Mm-hmm." I nodded.

"You can go join the other kids in the dojo," said Leah.

"Thank you," I said.

Aunty Andy led me to the door of the dojo where Sensei Alex usually ran practice. She bent down in front of me. "Be good and do your best, all right, Cassi?" she asked.

I sighed, partly from excitement but also from nerves. "I'll try," I said. Let's just hope I don't accidentally have a 'magic burst' in the middle of practice.

"I have to run some errands while you're at practice, but I'll be back to pick you up at twelve-thirty," said Aunty Andy

"Okay," I said, hugging her.

She kissed me on the forehead, and then she rose to her feet again and walked back to the door, heading outside to the car.

I walked over to the row of cubbies built into one of the walls, quickly spotting my cubby. It was two spaces to the right and one below, with a strip of masking tape along the bottom that had my name written on it in black marker. Holding one hand against the wall to keep myself balanced, I slipped off my shoes and stashed them in my cubby, along with my green bag. Then I hurried back over to the door of the dojo. Taking a breath to ease my nerves, I reached out and turned the knob, pushing the door open. I stepped into the dojo, still feeling a little anxious, but ready to give practice my all.

Harry's POV

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, I thought, licking it as we watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blonde.

I had the best morning I'd had in a long time. I was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting me. We ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and I was allowed to finish the first.

I felt, afterward, that I should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch we went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can -- but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined.

Uncle Vernon looked up from the guide pamphlet he'd been rifling through off and on throughout the day. He rapped on the glass, trying to wake the animal up. "Move," he said gruffly.

Dudley banged his fist hard against the glass. "Move!" he yelled, the sound nearly hurting my ears.

"He's asleep!" I snapped, feeling more than a little aggravated with my cousin.

"He's boring," Dudley huffed. He trudged off; the others followed behind him, leaving me to stay in front of the glass.

I sighed, leaning further against the railing, as I watched the snake. "Sorry about him...he doesn't understand what it's like; lying there, day after day, watching people press their ugly faces in on you."

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with mine.

My eyes widened. "Can you hear me?" I asked.

The snake flicked its long, forked tongue at me as it bobbed its head up and down in a nod.

Whoa. "It's just—I've never talked to a snake before," I said. "Do you –" I glanced down for a moment, and then made eye contact with the snake again, "Do you talk to people often?"

The snake flicked its tongue at me again, this time shaking its head back and forth.

"You're from Burma, aren't you?" I asked, remembering from the information sign on the wall that this was a Burmese python. "Was it nice there? Do you miss your family?"

The snake tilted its head back toward the wall. I looked back at the sign; right below it, written in bold letters, were the words "Bred in captivity." So it probably didn't get the chance to even meet its family.

"I see," I said, feeling empathetic for the reptile. We were in the same boat, in a sense. "That's me as well. I never knew my parents, either," I admitted, wishing that I could have known my family; my mum and dad had died when I was a baby, and as far as Aunt Petunia was concerned, I had no siblings.

"Mummy! Dad! Come here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!" Dudley's voice echoed throughout the reptile house as he ran back over. With a hard shove, he sent me sprawling to the floor. He leaned forward, his face nearly touching the glass as he stared at the snake with wonder in his eyes.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, glaring at the back of Dudley's head. I've had it with him! What gives him the right to treat me like I'm a punching bag?!

My aggravation with Dudley didn't last very long, though; just seconds after he'd shoved me, the glass in front of him suddenly disappeared. Because Dudley had been leaning so far forward, when the glass disappeared, he fell over the railing and landed in the little pool on the floor of the enclosure.

I stared in shock at the spot where the glass had once been. How did that happen?! Oh, no—did I somehow make it disappear?!

The python slithered out of its enclosure, dropping to the ground in front of me. "Thanksss," it hissed, flicking its tongue at me again.

"Any time," I said, my mouth slightly agape. Somehow I'd managed to set a giant snake loose, without even trying.

The snake got low to the ground, starting to slither its way out of the reptile house. "SNAKE!" I heard someone yell. A huge panic spread amongst the other visitors; they all screamed and ran in different directions, trying to get as far away from the snake as they could. But the snake seemed less interested in the people and much more intent on getting out of the zoo.

Dudley got to his feet, soaking wet from head to toe. Amid all the chaos, the glass had somehow reappeared, trapping Dudley inside the enclosure. He freaked out, banging on the glass. "MUM! MUMMY!" he cried.

Aunt Petunia screamed when she saw Dudley stuck behind the glass. "My Duddy-boy!" she exclaimed, putting a hand up against the glass.

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it. Seeing Dudley get a taste of his own medicine was so satisfying. And it only took, what, ten years?

But the grin left my face the minute I saw the angry look on Uncle Vernon's face. He knew I'd caused it. I'm in trouble.

Once we got back to the house, Aunt Petunia took Dudley upstairs to his room so he could dry off, leaving me alone in the hallway with a furious Uncle Vernon.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair. "What happened?!" he demanded.

I fought back the urge to cry at how harshly he was pulling at my hair; it felt like he was going to rip it out at any moment. "I swear, I don't know!" I exclaimed.

Uncle Vernon growled—my answer seemed to only anger him more.

"One minute, the glass was there, and then it was gone! It was like magic!" I cried out, wincing at the pain in my scalp.

Uncle Vernon opened the cupboard door and threw me in, slamming the door behind me and locking it with a click. He leaned close to the small vent in the door and hissed in a low, threatening voice, "There's no such thing as magic!" He slammed a hand on the vent, making me jump back in fear.

Cassia's POV

I bent backward, dodging another jab from my opponent. It was the last few minutes of practice; so far, I hadn't had any, er...incidents...and I wanted to finish strong today.

My sparring partner in these last few minutes – Jack, a tall, freckle-faced boy with dark blonde hair and greenish-brown eyes – was proving to be a challenge. Not that I was complaining...it just meant he was becoming a better fighter. Like me, he was also hoping to progress from a blue belt to a purple belt.

"HUH!" he grunted, sending another chop my way. But I stuck my hand out and blocked his attack.

Pivoting on my right foot, I grabbed his left hand, catching him off guard. "HA!" I shouted, finally flipping him.

"Excellent work, Cassia!" Sensei Alex praised.

I bowed my head in response, then reached a hand down to help Jack to his feet. "Nice moves," he complimented.

"Thanks," I said. "Not too bad yourself."

"All right, guys, excellent job today. I think we've got this match in the bag. The lineups are posted along the wall to your right," said Sensei Alex. "Get some rest tonight and tomorrow night—you'll need it."

"Yes, Sensei!" we all exclaimed.

On my way out of the dojo, I headed over to the wall and looked at the paper that read our lineup for Monday night. We were competing against Swan's Self-Defense Academy; it looked like I was going to be in four one-on-one matches against students from that school. I couldn't be more excited!

I headed outside to the row of cubbies and quickly slipped on my shoes. I slung my bag back over my shoulder and headed out to the desk, where Aunty Andy was already waiting for me.

"Hi, Cassia!" she said, kissing me on the forehead. "How was practice?"

"It went good, me and Jack were sparring together in the last few minutes before Sensei Alex dismissed us. He's gotten so much better. I think he'll do great on Monday," I said.

Aunty Andy chuckled. "That's my team player," she said, patting my shoulder as we headed outside to the car.

"When did Dora say she'd be home by?" I asked.

"I just got off the telephone with her—she'll get off around five-thirty or six. She offered to pick you up from dance class on her way home," said Aunty Andy.

I had dance class at around three-thirty today. We were starting rehearsals for a competition happening at the end of the month. If I'm being honest, dance wasn't as enjoyable for me as karate was; while my karate teammates were friendly and supportive, my dance teammates at Dancers' District was another story. When Miss Dwyer wasn't in the room, most of the other kids teased me to no end, and it only got worse as I got older and my magic started to show. Elise Hale was the worst.

Elise Hale was a year older than me, with short brown hair and big, brown eyes. She was very arrogant, always walking into the studio with her nose in the air. She also had a knack for causing me trouble in class or right before a competition. Sometimes she'd mess with my belongings or my costumes, and other times she'd just say horrible things about me behind my back. Every time I walked into the den to warm up before class, I'd hear several of my teammates – Elise included – whispering about how horrible of a dancer they thought I was.

"I just hope Elise keeps the comments to herself today," I said, buckling my seatbelt once we got in the car. "I'm not in the mood to put up with her shenanigans today."

Aunty Andy buckled her seatbelt and turned the ignition. "Well, if she does, just pull Miss Dwyer aside and tell her what's going on," she advised, shifting into reverse and starting to back out of the spot she'd parked in.

"I tried that already—several times. Elise just doesn't want to stop. I don't know what I did to her, but she's got some sort of beef with me," I said.

"She's probably just insecure about herself, Cassia," Aunty Andy suggested, pulling out of the parking lot.

I sighed. "That still doesn't give her license to ridicule me..."

Aunty Andy turned left, getting back onto the road and starting our route back to the house. "You're right, sweetie. It doesn't," she said. "There are just some people in the world who think it's okay to do that to others. But let's not think about that too much right now. Uncle Ted should be getting home soon, and I'm sure he's dying to know how your practice went."

I smiled. "I bet you're right..."

<><><><><>

Monday came and went surprisingly quickly. All I had been able to think about at school was the four one-on-one matches I had with the students from Swan's Self-Defense Academy that night. I got my homework done in record time that afternoon; in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been so eager to get it done, because I was left with way more downtime than I actually needed before it was time to meet my teammates at the dojo.

We ended up winning the tournament against S.S.D.A.; I ended up winning three out of my four assigned matches. I was a little bummed about losing the last match, but at the same time I was proud of myself for the effort I'd given in the other three. Dora was probably the most proud of me; she'd been practically screaming from the sidelines every time it was my turn to take the floor. Sensei Alex was so happy with how we'd done in all of our one-on-one matches that, come Wednesday afternoon, he'd cancelled practice that day and took us all out for ice cream.

The following months also passed by much faster than I'd expected; before I knew it, summer had arrived, which meant I had a nice, long break from school, and my karate season was finished. Unfortunately, it also meant my dance team had Nationals coming up, and that meant I had to spend more time with Elise Hale. I did my best to just block her out and focus on my dancing, and for the most part, I succeeded...up until the last competition before Nationals. That's when the animosity between us came to a head.

For our last pre-Nationals competition, Miss Dwyer had planned a group routine and a duet. Our group number was an upbeat jazz dance to the song "Greased Lightnin'" from the movie Grease. There were two boys on the team, and they were supposed to play the drivers, while the rest of us were acting like part of the pit crew; each of us was "assigned" to be on one of their teams for the dance. At least one member of both groups was supposed to be holding pom-poms.

Me and Elise's duet was also a jazz piece, albeit a bit slower tempo than the group dance; the duet was choreographed to the theme song from the movie The AristoCats. Yeah, Miss Dwyer had a big movie theme going on for that particular competition. So we each had cat tails and rhinestone-studded cat ears, and we both wore black shorts and matching crop tops, with embellishment all across the front.

On the day of the competition, our duet was supposed to go on first, and then the group dance would happen later on. The duet went okay, except for when I fell on my walkover halfway through. Somehow we managed to land third place despite that slight error; Elise kept her mouth shut about it since we landed in the top three. In addition to being a major thorn in my side, she was also a very sore loser.

The group dance was where the real problem happened. Halfway through the dance, we had to move into two straight rows onstage, surrounding our two male dancers. I was in the front row; the dancers in the front were supposed to turn, but right as I went into my turn, Elise swept her leg behind me, tripping me. I fell back on my bum, in front of the whole audience. Out of all the things she's done to me—and with Nationals right around the corner! Her little stunt landed us in second place. And guess what? She actually tried to pin the blame on me! I was beyond mad!

Miss Dwyer didn't believe her, though; she'd seen it happen from her spot in the audience. She cut Elise from the team, but Elise refused to accept the punishment unless I was off the team, too. Miss Dwyer responded that Elise wasn't allowed to dictate who should and should not remain on the team. Before Elise could open her mouth to argue against her, I stepped in and said I'd decided to quit the team. Elise had pushed my buttons a lot, but that was the last straw. I was done with her, and done with dance; she'd ruined it for me.

The morning after the competition, I had just come downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, trying to rid my mind of the incident with Elise. Uncle Ted was cooking breakfast, while Aunty Andy sat at the kitchen table, reading a book. "Where's Dora?" I asked.

"Oh, she's just checking the mailbox," said Aunty Andy.

Just after he'd spoken, we heard a shriek coming from the hallway.

"What was that?" I asked.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was Dora," said Uncle Ted.

Dora came running into the kitchen, clutching a slightly-yellowed envelope in her hand. She was grinning from ear to ear, her hands trembling as she held the envelope.

"What's going on?" Aunty Andy asked.

"What's got you so excited, Dora?" Uncle Ted questioned, turning off the stove for a moment.

"Cassi, look what just came today!" she exclaimed.

"What?" I asked. She handed the envelope to me. On the front of the envelope, written in bright green ink, was my name and address:

Miss C. Potter
First Room on the Left
131 Everdeen Street
Devon

Wait a second, I've seen this kind of envelope before. Well, actually, I'd seen it multiple times when I was a little girl; the first time was right before Dora's eleventh birthday. And I'm turning eleven next month...

"I-Is this – is this what I think it is?" I asked, looking up at Dora, who had a mile-wide smile on her face.

"Open it and find out!" Dora said.

I sat down at the table next to Aunty Andy and carefully peeled open the envelope, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Dora sat on my other side, and Uncle Ted came to stand behind my chair. Unfolding the parchment, I laid it on the table in front of me and read it silently to myself:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress

I gasped. "Oh, my gosh..."

Dora grinned, nudging me in the ribs. "I knew it. I knew they'd accept you—they'd be idiots if they didn't, with magic like yours!"

"Congratulations, Cassia," said Uncle Ted, leaning down and kissing me on the forehead.

Aunty Andy reached over and patted my shoulder. "I'm so proud of you, Cassia!"

I couldn't believe it. I'm going to Hogwarts!

Harry's POV

I was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.

This was why I spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where I could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came I would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in my life, I wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. I, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told me. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," I said. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it—it might be sick." Then I ran, before Dudley could work out what I'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving me at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let me watch television and gave me a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. I didn't trust myself to speak. I thought two of my ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

<><><><><>

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when I went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. I went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" I asked Aunt Petunia.

Her lips tightened as they always did if I dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform," she said.

I looked in the bowl again. "Oh," I said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

I seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. I sat down at the table and tried not to think about how I was going to look on my first day at Stonewall High—like I was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's school uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

We heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

I dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and— a letter for me.

I picked it up and stared at it, my heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in my whole life, had written to me. Who would? I had no friends, no other relatives—I didn't belong to the library, so I'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, my hand trembling, I saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" he chuckled at his own joke.

I went back into the kitchen, still staring at my letter. I handed Uncle Vernon the bill and postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard. "Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk..."

Dudley suddenly sprang from his chair and snatched the envelope from my grasp. "Dad, look! Harry's got a letter!" he exclaimed.

I tried to reach for it, but just this one time, he was too fast for me. "Hey, give it back! It's mine!" I exclaimed.

"Yours?" Uncle Vernon said with a laugh as he took the envelope from Dudley. "Who'd be writing to you?" He turned the envelope over, but his eyes grew as wide as saucers when he saw the seal on the back. He shared a nervous glance with Aunt Petunia. Then they both turned to me, looking like they'd just seen a ghost.

I gulped. Why were they looking at me like that? And what did the letter have to do with it?

It wasn't the first mysterious letter; and, as the Dursleys soon discovered, it wasn't the last. In the following days, more of the yellowed envelopes came in the mail, all addressed to me. Uncle Vernon tried everything to stop me from getting to even one of the letters. He moved me into Dudley's second bedroom; that only gave the senders another line to put on the address. He took to camping in the hallway, right in front of the door, to get the letters before I could. He even went so far as to board up the mail slot one day. None of his attempts seemed to stop the letters; if anything, it just made the senders more determined, because more and more letters kept coming to the house.

It was on Sunday that the letter-sending had reached its peak—and when Uncle Vernon reached a breaking point.

"Fine day, Sunday," Uncle Vernon said as they all gathered in the living room for an afternoon tea. I saw he was smirking beneath his mustache. "In my opinion, best day of the week. Why is that, Dudley?" he asked, turning toward Dudley, who sat on the sofa beside Aunt Petunia.

Dudley merely shrugged, before taking another biscuit from the serving plate I'd been holding.

I knew the answer, though. "Because there's no post on Sundays," I said, bringing the plate of biscuits over to Uncle Vernon.

"Right you are, Harry," said Uncle Vernon, grabbing a biscuit off the plate. He never called me by my first name; it was usually "Potter!" or "Boy!" coming from him, and more often than not, it was very aggressively directed at me. He smirked. "No post on Sunday, ha! No blasted letters today! No, sir, not one single bloody letter—not one!"

A birdlike shriek from outside caught my attention. I slipped over to the window to see what it was. Peering out of the window, I could see owls completely surrounding the house. There were dozens of them—maybe even a hundred, I couldn't keep track. This isn't going to end well.

"No, sir, not one blasted, miserable –" Uncle Vernon's joyful rant was cut short by a letter flying through the chimney, narrowly missing his face. We all stared at the chimney; it started rumbling, and soon letters came flooding into the living room.

Dudley screamed. "Make it stop! Please!" he exclaimed, panic building in his voice.

Aunt Petunia sounded like she was trying to keep from screaming, though I could tell she too was frightened by the massive amount of letters fluttering throughout the room.

Uncle Vernon tried to shield his head with his arms, growling angrily as he did.

Dudley hopped onto Aunt Petunia's lap and they hugged each other, screaming in horror as more letters poured into the room.

I couldn't have been happier. There were so many letters coming in—I'd definitely get to open one of them! I jumped as high as I could, stretching my hands to the ceiling. Yes! I cheered in my head as I managed to grab one.

Uncle Vernon growled angrily; I heard him haul himself up onto his feet. "Give me that!" he roared. "Give me that letter!"

I made a break for my old cupboard. It was the closest place I could reach to open the letter alone. I almost reached the door, when Uncle Vernon grabbed me from behind, trying to force the letter out of my grasp. "Get off!" I yelled, trying to fight him off; he was a surprisingly tough opponent to break free of. But I wasn't giving in so easily. "They're my letters! Let go of me!" I grunted, trying to twist out of his grip. In the corner of my eye, I could see the board of wood blocking the mail slot breaking; letters were now flying through both the chimney and the mail slot.

"THAT'S IT!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "WE'RE GOING AWAY! FAR AWAY! WHERE THEY CAN'T FIND US!"

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" I heard Dudley ask from where he now stood in the doorway of the kitchen, the fear in his voice now turned to shock.