Confessions of a Real-Life Witch

A thin sliver of moonlight pierced the dull darkness that pervaded the room. The silence was unnerving, but I still had to finish writing my e-mail home before I went to sleep. To be honest, I had already begun to think twice about whether I really should be typing away in the darkness of the dorm. The light from my computer screen, small as it was, seemed to illuminate the room, bathing it in a soft, greenish light. My typing sounded like the cracking of huge willow branches in the wind -- which is not a good idea when the people in the room with you are a) light sleepers and b) have nine a.m classes the next day.

At the foot of the bed of polished oak that I now sat cross-legged on was the ancient trunk that currently held almost all my wordly possessions. The plane journey from Hongkong had taken a lifetime and a half, and right now my body clock was all messed up. That was probably the reason why I was up at this time of the night trying to make myself go to sleep somehow. Obviously, it was a poor attempt to do so on my part.

Eventually, I shut down my laptop and flopped back on my bed, pulling the bedcovers close to keep the encroaching cold out. Getting some sleep now seemed like a good prospect - I had a feeling my brain would thank me in the morning for it.

--

To everyone who doesn't know me, the name is Meng Ting. That's Ting - my name I mean. Born and bred in Hong Kong, halfblood, likes to work with small animals and children, that sort of thing. Introductions are never easy and I think this one is going to be anything but. For the record, the reason why I'm getting some sleep at the moment is so that I can make a fresh start tomorrow - the first day of my last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You must be thinking, Hogwarts, where have I heard that name before? I have to tell you, all that Harry Potter business passed some ten years ago, and yes, that probably was where you heard the name of Hogwarts (strike cue: Hogwarts, hoggy warty hogwarts, and so the song goes on...). Thing is, nary a day goes by when the story of the Boy Who Lived (who now has the extra words 'Lives Again, and Lives Now' added to the end of his glorious title there) doesn't pervade our senses. I guess it's fair enough: without him, none of us would be here now. That's the reason why I respect good old Harry, a proper hero of the wizarding world, but call me jaded - sometimes it just gets too much, so here I am, with a view of what really goes on behind the non-apparating walls of Hogwarts, in a time when the hero has not yet passed into legend, but passed instead into a nice estate in Kent, and the rest of us who have grown up living in his shadow live his dream the best ways we know how.