Tunnels are dark

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I may not have been around for almost 70 years, but I can still recognize the stereotypical wizards and  witches of today. Magic hasn't changed much in the last century. I would know.

The only difference, is that in the present, I'm less likely to be stoned for witchcraft. Still, I doubt that the public would take kindly to a secret population of wizards living under their noses.

I'm surrounded by at least two hundred of them. They're all around my age (except for the teachers of course), so I'm guessing this only a secondary school. Who knows how many of them there really are.

Once I realize they're calling us up by alphabetical order, I quickly come to the conclusion that I'm next. With one last glance at Frank, I let go of his hand, which I'd been holding throughout this entire process, and make my way to the stage.

You're not quite like the others. You don't belong now. But you'll fit in quite well here.


The table underneath the badgers breaks out into celebration. Huh, that's ironic. Badgers.

Hopefully I won't have to find my way out of any more tunnels this year. Even the daughter of Pluto can't survive underground forever.

I would know.

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