Declan never expected that his headmaster would be the one to destroy him.

Yet here they were. The room sat in stunned silence. Seventeen-year-old brains struggled to interpret what they had just heard. Declan Moore, their celebrated classmate, the great-great-grandson of famed war hero Arman Moore, had exactly zero magical Potential.

Declan had spent his whole life spinning an elaborate web of lies to cover his shameful truth. And now Headmaster Leed had announced it to the entire senior cohort. Three rows back in the windowless homeroom, Declan sat frozen, mouth agape, while molten dread burned a hole inside him.

“Master Moore,” Headmaster Leed repeated, shuffling through his clipboard, unaware of the utter ruin his words left in their wake. “Please join the other LAMP students in classroom eighty-eight.”

Declan hated that acronym. LAMP. Lacking All Magical Potential. The headmaster’s words were like a wasp sting on his soul, and those words gave life to a chorus of whispers.

“Declan’s a LAMP?”

“He can’t do magic?”

“But, he’s a Moore?”

“No way! A Moore with no Potential?”

Headmaster Leed looked up from his notes. “I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my list of delegates. Please remain seated while I organize a replacement.” His stern gaze fell onto a raven-haired girl in the front row. “No nonsense while the room is unattended.”

He left through a glass door at the front of the room. As soon as it closed, the raven-haired girl spoke. “I knew he was a fraud.”

The words made Declan’s spine go rigid. Spoken with such venom, they could only come from Lyle Arthur. Her soft voice filled the room like a noxious gas. “This explains everything.” She turned to face him. “I wondered why you never came on college tours, or why you never mentioned your Potential. Everyone thought it was because you didn’t want us to feel small compared to the great Declan Moore.” She laughed; her petite features twisted in a cruel mask. “You’ve been leveraging your famous surname for popularity points this whole time, haven’t you?”

Declan’s face burned. He dropped his gaze to the floorboards, tears pressed against the backs of his eyes.

“Oh, and now he’s blushing.” Lyle’s voice rose. “Sweet boy,” she said, “you shouldn’t be embarrassed. We need LAMPs to sweep our streets, fold our clothes, make our coffee.”

Pockets of students chuckled at the remark, then cut short as the headmaster reappeared at the door. Declan clenched his fist. He wanted to throw something at her. He wanted to throw something at the headmaster. He wanted to—

Ace followed Headmaster Leed into the room. At that moment, Declan would have wagered his family name that every student had the same thought. Does Ace know his best friend is a fraud? 

“Take a seat, Master Marley,” Headmaster Leed said. Ace slipped into the chair beside Declan, but Declan didn’t dare look at him. The headmaster tapped on a clipboard. “We were discussing today’s change of schedule. Students with Potential will meet with college delegates in the main hall. All others will be supervised by..." he checked his notes. “Mr. Hern in classroom eighty-eight.”

“That’s you, Dex,” Lyle said in a carrying whisper. Declan kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

Headmaster Leed ignored her, or perhaps didn’t hear. He scanned the room and his expression transformed into one of stern authority. “You will have the morning to resolve any queries you have regarding Mag-Ed and the enrolment process. College applications are due tonight. It would be foolish to leave school today without a clear idea of which college you think best suits your Potential.” His ancient eyebrows drew together. “This goes without saying, but I will say it. You are representing Arman Moore’s Preparatory School. I expect you will represent it well. Dismissed.”

The senior cohort stood up. Ace nudged Declan’s elbow. “What’s up?”

“Oh, don’t talk to him,” Lyle said. She’d appeared at Ace’s side before Declan could open his mouth. “He’s off to eighty-eight with the other LAMPs, aren’t you?” She looked from Declan’s hunched form to Ace’s perplexed expression and cackled with glee. “Oh, you didn’t know?” she grinned. “Seems the famous Declan Moore has some explaining to do.”

“Hey, Lyle,” Ace said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Go away.” Ace’s deadpan voice carried only the smallest hint of annoyance. It was enough. Everyone knew Ace’s Potential. He was scores more powerful than Lyle, even without college instruction. She winked and joined the mass of students leaving the room.

Declan tried to control his breathing. The entire room rippled, folded, seemed to turn. He was going to be sick.

“They found out, did they?” Ace whispered.

Declan blinked, then swallowed. He waited until he was certain words, and not vomit, would leave his mouth. He looked up. “You knew?”

Ace nodded. “It wasn’t hard to put it together.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Master Moore,” interrupted Headmaster Leed. “You are supposed to be in room eighty-eight. Master Marley, you should be in the main hall. Kindly save the gossip for the schoolyard and go to your appropriate destinations.”

“Of course, sir.” Ace rolled his eyes so that only Declan could see, then dropped his voice. “Survive the morning, Dex, I’ll see you at lunch.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and rushed out of the room, leaving Declan alone with the ancient headmaster.

“Is there a problem Master Moore?”

Yes. And you bloody well caused it, Declan thought. “No, sir.” He rose slowly on unsteady legs. “No problem at all.”

* * *

“You’re late, Moore.”

The crease in Mr. Hern’s forehead appeared deep enough to hide loose change. It seemed he was not impressed to be babysitting the handful of LAMP students whose non-magical parents could afford Arman Moore’s Preparatory School.

“Sorry, sir,” Declan said from the doorway. The students stared at him in blatant confusion.

“Well?” Mr. Hern said. “Are you waiting for a red carpet?”

Declan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Find a book.” Mr. Hern gestured to the bookcase running alongside the room’s windows. “Then find somewhere to read it.” A hand went up to their left. Mr. Hern sighed. “What is it, Gibbons?”

“Giddons, sir,” said the girl. Her lip quivered. “That’s…. That’s Declan Moore. He should be in the main—”

“He’s right where he needs to be. Don’t need any more questions then that.” Mr. Hern raised an eyebrow at Declan. “Come on now. Just because your surname is on the gate doesn’t mean you can ignore instructions. Get a book. Get a seat.”

A tense silence filled room eighty-eight. Declan refused to look at anybody. He grabbed the first book he passed and collapsed into a chair at the back of the room. The other LAMPs stole glances at him, no doubt second guessing everything they knew about his famous lineage. He could imagine them rehearsing how they would tell their parents. By dinner time everybody in Tamhill would know the Moore family secret.

Mr. Hern cleared his throat. “Save the chit-chat, boys and girls, you should be reading.” He leaned back in his seat as a slender, dark-haired woman appeared at the entrance. She knocked on the open door and Mr. Hern straightened at once. “Uh, hello, Mrs. Winter. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mrs. Winter smiled. “I’ve been sent to relieve you.”

“Already?” Mr. Hern glanced at some papers on the desk. “The timetable says I’m here until—”

“Headmaster’s request,” Mrs. Winter said. Her gentle voice held little room for argument.

“Oh… Not to worry then.” Mr. Hern seemed uncertain if this was a good or bad thing. “Uh, yes, very well. Thank you.” He left the room awkwardly.

Mrs. Winter roamed the room. Declan liked her. She was an excellent teacher, stern but fair. He wondered if she knew his secret. A pang of embarrassment followed the thought and a fresh wave of heat prickled his neck. As Mrs. Winter grew closer, Declan opened his book, An Encyclopedia of Euryma’s History, and pretended to read. She passed without a word. From the corner of his eye, Declan watched her circle to the front of the room and sit.

They read in silence. The morning’s disaster played over and over in Declan’s head. For thirty minutes he sat, book in hand, mind busy, simmering on one thing. Revenge.

Lyle Arthur. The bad blood between the Moores and Arthurs went back generations. Now, she had everything she needed to destroy him. Declan flipped pages absently, ruminating on what he could do to pay her back. More than once, he thought Mrs. Winter was watching him. Yet every time he looked up, her attention was elsewhere.

You’re being paranoid. Declan turned a page to a gruesome visage; soldiers repelled by enormous cauldrons of hot liquid. The artist had spared no details illustrating their injuries. The image sparked a dark idea. Senior students had free rein over the coffee cart in the dining hall. Declan considered the soldiers’ disfigured faces, Lyle’s voice echoed in his mind. We need LAMPs to make our coffee. A searing cup of coffee on Lyle's delicate face would serve her right. It wasn’t revenge, but it was a start.

“Good morning, Declan.” Declan nearly jumped out of his skin. Mrs. Winter stood at his side. He hadn’t noticed her arrival.

“H-Hi Mrs. Winter,” he stammered. “How, um, are you?”

“I am well,” she said. “Thank you for asking.” She glanced over his shoulder at the image on the page. “Ah, the first battle on the Sabrivan Plains. A pivotal moment in Euryma’s history.”

“Uh, yeah,” Declan said. He hadn’t read a single word all morning. “Very interesting.”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Winter’s powder-blue eyes twinkled; she was not shy about her love of history. “Interesting that this happened before the Magical Awakening. None of those soldiers had an inkling of magical Potential when they agreed to defend their homes and families, yet they went to their deaths bravely. Marching with swords and spears against an army wielding power they could not comprehend,” Mrs. Winter paused, gaze fixed on the open page. “It would seem that the quality of a person’s character has nothing to do with his or her magical ability.”

Declan didn’t know what to say.He looked at the page and shrugged. “Seems more like stupidity than bravery.”

Mrs. Winter laughed. “Some say courage and foolishness are two sides of the same coin. It’s not until you’ve flipped it and the dust has settled that you see which was which.” She nodded to the page. “These men sparked the flame that formed Euryma, so we call it bravery. Had they died in vain, we may have called them fools.” Her lips twisted in a sour expression.

“You disagree?” Declan asked.

“I do,” Mrs. Winter said. “I think it’s simpler than that. Courage is acting foolishly to help others. Stupidity is acting foolishly to help yourself.” Her eyes met Declan’s and his heart skipped a beat. For a moment he wondered if she could see inside his head. “I hope you’re smart enough to understand the difference, Declan.”

For the second time in as many minutes, he did not know how to respond. Mrs. Winter smiled sadly, then continued on without another glance. Declan thought on her words, shook his head, and returned to planning his revenge. When the bell rang for break, he put An Encyclopedia of Euryma’s History back on the shelf. He could have sworn Mrs. Winter watched him from the desk, but when he turned to leave, she was deep in conversation with another student. Declan ignored them both as he headed to the dining hall for morning tea.

And coffee.