Adrian woke up to the gentle caress of morning light spilling through a tall arched window, the sunlight laced with the golden hush of dawn. He sat up slowly, blinking into the pale blue of early sky beyond the enchanted glass. His room, nestled high in the Ravenclaw Tower, was unlike anything he'd ever imagined. Or perhaps, like everything he'd once remembered in fragments of dreams and echoes of a former life.
The chamber was bathed in cool hues of sapphire and silver. The walls were smooth stone etched with shifting constellations that shimmered faintly as if breathing with the tower itself. Silken drapes in Ravenclaw blue swayed softly in a breeze that wasn't there. His bed, four-posted with filigree bronze accents, was impossibly comfortable—the mattress felt like it had been tailored by sentient clouds with excellent taste.
Each Ravenclaw first-year, Adrian learned, had their own private room complete with a bathroom that sparkled with marble fixtures and brass serpent taps. The space expanded subtly when needed, courtesy of Rowena Ravenclaw's ancient spatial enchantments. Adrian made a mental note to eventually thank her personally—perhaps via a spectral séance or highly awkward letter to the afterlife.
Pulling on his robes, Adrian stepped into the common room, and if his jaw had not been so firmly attached to his face, it might've dropped straight into the lake below.
The Ravenclaw common room was a dome-shaped cathedral of intellect. Tall, arched windows stretched floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the Scottish Highlands and the shimmering lake below, dappled in sunlight and veiled with morning mist. Graceful bookshelves spiraled along the walls like wooden ivy, each shelf whispering softly as titles reorganised themselves.
A white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood at the centre on a raised dais. Her expression was serene, eyes cast toward the ceiling painted like a twilight sky, the stars above mimicking the actual heavens.
Beneath her outstretched hand, an inscription read:
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
"Though personally," Adrian murmured to himself, "I think decent coffee runs a close second."
A bronze eagle knocker guarded the entrance. No passwords here, just riddles. Ravenclaws didn't let just anyone in, after all. They made you earn it with a daily dose of intellectual frustration.
A voice beside him said, "Got in on your first try?"
Adrian turned to see a fellow first-year—a lanky boy with straw-colored hair and a nose too big for his face. He looked like a startled owl trapped in a growth spurt.
"Technically second try," Adrian replied. "The first answer was '42.'"
The boy laughed. "Douglas Nott. You?"
"Adrian Lovegood."
"Lovegood? As in The Quibbler?"
Adrian raised a brow. "Yes, I hail from a proud line of conspiracy theorists and radish-wearers."
"Brilliant," Douglas grinned. "My dad thinks your mum's charm on the Self-Sorting Salt Shakers is a menace to society. We have three, of course."
Another voice chimed in, this one soft and calm. "You should meet Ingrid Avery. She's trying to enchant her shoes to walk her to class autonomously. So far, they only flee toward the lake."
A girl with sharp green eyes and an expression of perpetual bemusement approached. Her robes were immaculate, her dark braids coiled like disciplined vines.
"Ingrid Avery," she said, nodding. "And I don't see the harm in letting my footwear shoulder some of the academic burden."
"Adrian Lovegood. I approve of all footwear with aspirations."
Ingrid gave him a rare smile. "Welcome to the Tower, Lovegood. You seem... adaptable."
"Void time does wonders for spatial awareness," he replied mysteriously.
Douglas blinked. "What does that mean?"
"Exactly."
Before anyone could question his cryptic statement, the large brass bell near the fireplace chimed, and a fourth Ravenclaw, a tiny girl with round glasses and pigtails, squealed from behind a stack of books.
"Breakfast! If I don't eat soon, I might try to transfigure a chair into a croissant. Again."
They made their way down the spiral staircase, light streaming from enchanted sconces shaped like starbursts. Adrian couldn't help but feel a deep calm settle in his bones. There was something sacred in the air of the Ravenclaw Tower—like thought itself whispered in the silence, a symphony only the curious could hear.
He looked out the window one last time before descending.
A sunlit lake, mist curling over its mirrored surface. Mountains rising in quiet majesty. Trees like green phantoms in the breeze.
This was not just a school.
This was a sanctuary.
The descent from the Ravenclaw Tower was less a simple walk and more an elegantly choreographed plunge through architectural poetry. The spiral staircases unfurled beneath their feet like a ribbon spun by some long-departed dancer. Ingrid offered running commentary on portraits they passed, which—true to Ravenclaw nature—responded with either passive-aggressive corrections or unsolicited Latin proverbs.
They arrived at the Great Hall just as sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, which mimicked the clear blue of a flawless morning. The four house tables stretched like polished lanes in a race of school spirit, and the ceiling above shimmered faintly, dotted with wispy clouds as if to remind them that even indoors, Hogwarts touched the heavens.
The Ravenclaw table, naturally, was the most symmetrical and colour-coordinated. Silver goblets. Blue napkins folded with geometric precision. Someone had enchanted the salt to self-distribute based on each student's personal sodium levels.
Adrian slid in between Douglas and Ingrid, whose toast had already buttered itself.
"Positively civilised," he noted.
"Wait until the porridge starts reciting haikus," Ingrid replied. "Flitwick has a thing for poetic grains."
From across the hall, Adrian spotted Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, the latter seemingly at war with a sausage. Hermione, seated beside them, was explaining something with hand gestures so precise they may have been Ministry-approved.
Adrian caught her eye and offered a subtle nod.
She looked surprised. Then pleased.
Then mildly suspicious.
He grinned and returned to his blueberry scone.
Just then, Professor Flitwick, all two-and-a-half feet of scholarly delight, skipped—there truly is no better word for it—along the Ravenclaw table.
"Welcome, welcome, clever ones!" he trilled. "Today you'll have Charms with me and Transfiguration with dear Minerva. I do hope you brought a willingness to defy the mundane."
Adrian raised his goblet. "We eat logic for breakfast."
Flitwick beamed. "Splendid!"
Charms Class
The classroom was bright and breezy, with windows that opened themselves depending on the spell being cast. Flitwick stood on a stack of enchanted books, barely taller than the lectern, as he addressed them with wild enthusiasm.
"Today, we begin with the Levitation Charm! A cornerstone of magical elegance!"
They paired off with feathered quills and boundless optimism. Adrian ended up with Douglas, which meant the table saw equal parts spellwork and creative mumbling.
"Wingardium Levi-OSS-a," Douglas muttered.
"Wrong emphasis, wrong wand movement, and you've summoned a light breeze at best," Adrian said, flicking his wand with flair.
The quill soared gracefully into the air like a smug seagull.
Flitwick clapped in delight. "Ten points to Ravenclaw for Mr. Lovegood's… remarkably stylish incantation."
Douglas sighed. "I think my wand's allergic to Latin."
Adrian smirked. "More likely to common sense."