The Dorms

Trevor walked across the evening-shaded plains to the lower sixth dorms. In his hands he held a folded piece of paper with the number '2' - this, apparently, was both his magic grade and dorm number.

An energetic, smiling redheaded boy insistently kept pace with him. "So, what dorm are you?" He asked.
"...Ouch." The boy mocked pain.
"What're you, then?"
"Four - it's not much better, really." The boy added, sotto voce, "there're some sevens here, and I heard there was even... get this... an eight and a half! In our year!"
Trevor did not know what to make of this, so he gently sped up.
"What's your name?" The redheaded boy asked, still keeping pace.
"Trevor. You?"
"Rod - well, I've gotta go this way," Rod looked a little embarrased, "so... see ya."
"See you."

Trevor walked past many buildings, each numbered clearly. The higher numbers were great ornate stone things with scultures of various animals, getting smaller and more utilitarian as the number decreased. At the edge of the clearing was a small shack clearly marked on his map as his dorm.

A '2' was hastily nailed into the wooden door - it swung open easily. The inside was low-roofed and smelt of fresh-cut wood; uncomfortable looking bunk-beds were packed flush against the walls and roof with military efficiency. In between the beds was a small walkway from the door to the john.

The john itself, Trevor saw, was the size of a broom-cupboard; one could quite easily wash their hands whilst sitting on the toilet. No shower, his thoughts added - he'd have to trek out in the morning to the public ones. Having found his luggage - on the bunk nearest the door - he changed by the door, watching lest some late-comer try and enter during.

When he had taken his shirt off, he noticed a flyer on the door - "Mentor Meeting", it read. "Every evening of the first week, 7pm onwards, rooms 105-110". He noted it down, flopped onto the bed and slept.

The End

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