The next morning, I woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the high windows of the Ravenclaw dormitory. The bed felt surprisingly comfortable, and for a moment, I just lay there, taking in the silence. The echoes of last night—the Sorting, the feast, and the speech by Professor Beery—were still fresh in my mind, but now there was a quiet excitement bubbling up inside me. Today was the first real day of my life as a Hogwarts student, and I was eager to see what it would be like.
I got out of bed, changed into my school robes, and quickly made my way to the common room. The room was as peaceful as I had left it, the soft blue glow from the enchanted ceiling casting a serene light over the space. I wasn't sure when the house-elves had done it, but my trunk had already been unpacked neatly, my belongings arranged exactly how I liked them. It felt strange, but comforting, as though Hogwarts had anticipated my needs even before I had.
I sat on one of the armchairs near the fire, waiting for the prefect to come and show us the way to breakfast. My mind wandered a bit, thinking about the upcoming day. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect—so many new things, new professors, and new classmates. But I had a good feeling about it.
The sound of footsteps broke my thoughts. I turned to see the same Ravenclaw prefect from last night, looking as composed and confident as ever. "First-years, time for breakfast!" he called out, his voice carrying through the room.
We all gathered, and he led us down the winding corridors toward the Great Hall. As we stepped through the enormous doors, the warmth and chatter of the students inside hit me like a wave. The long tables were already filled, but there was plenty of room for us. I grabbed a seat at the Ravenclaw table, near the other first-years, and let out a small breath. This was really happening.
The house-elves were already busy, serving plates of eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast, and I eagerly dug in. It was hard to believe I was sitting here, surrounded by so many students, eating breakfast at Hogwarts. It felt surreal, like a dream.
Halfway through the meal, one of the older students—an upperclassman—came by and handed me a neatly folded piece of parchment. "Your schedule for the week," she said with a smile. "Make sure you keep it safe."
I unfolded the parchment, reading the list of classes that would fill my days.
….
Monday & Tuesday:
10:00AM-11:30AM:
Transfiguration by Prf. Albus Dumbledore
12:00NOON-01:00PM:
Herbology bye Prf. Violet Wrenwick
02:00PM-03:30PM:
Charms by Prf. Herbert Beery
Wednesday & Thursday:
10:00AM-11:30AM:
Transfiguration by Prf. Albus Dumbledore
12:00NOON-01:00PM:
Defence against the
dark arts by Prf. Sally Fairburn
02:00PM-03:30PM:
Potions by Prf. Horace Slughorn
Friday:
10:00AM-11:00AM:
History of Magic by Prf. Cutberth Binns
11:30PM-12:30NOON:
Muggle Studies by Prf. Hilda Turner
01:00AM-02:00AM:
Astronomy by Prf. Sylvanus Prucell
Note- The lessons for flying will be held on Saturdays by instructor Gwendolyn Braithwaite.
…
It is definitely well planned, let's see, today is Monday so my first class will be with professor Dumbledore and oh, the instructions on how to reach each of these classes are on the back of this parchment.
The corridors of Hogwarts felt even more grand and winding as I made my way to my first Transfiguration class. I pulled the parchment from my pocket again, scanning the neat handwriting for any extra instructions. At the bottom of the schedule, beneath the list of subjects, were the directions: "Transfiguration – 3rd floor, room with the phoenix painting."
I stuffed the parchment back in my robe and glanced around. The castle was massive, and I was sure I'd get lost before long, but the directions were simple enough. I walked briskly, trying to keep up with the other students who were clearly veterans at navigating the twisting hallways.
When I reached the third floor, I spotted a painting of a majestic phoenix on the door, its wings spread wide as if about to take flight. The entrance was guarded by a small, elegant plaque with the words Transfiguration Classroom engraved in gold. I hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, then knocked gently.
The door creaked open, and I stepped inside. The classroom was unlike anything I'd imagined. The walls were lined with old, dusty bookshelves, filled with tomes about magical transformations, and large windows let in soft light, casting shadows on the polished wood floors. There were several tables arranged in neat rows, and at the front of the room, standing by a large desk, was none other than Professor Dumbledore.
He nodded at me to enter, I nodded back and went to henry who along with the other Gryffindors was already here and sat with him as he was alone.
"Good morning, Henry." I said.
He looked at me and smiled while saying, "Good morning Marcus. How did you sleep last night?" he asked.
"I slept well yesterday. What about you?" I replied.
"I slept well to, I thought I wouldn't, but I did. Probably because I was tired from the journey." He answered.
I smile at him and just as I am about to say something else Prf. Dumbledore starts his lesson by saying,
"Ah, welcome, first-years," he said, his voice warm but commanding. "You have taken your first steps into a fascinating and demanding branch of magic—Transfiguration. It is not for the faint-hearted. It requires precision, patience, and above all, unwavering focus."
He flicked his wand, and the piece of chalk on his desk sprang to life, scrawling Transfiguration is the art of changing the form and appearance of an object across the blackboard in neat, looping letters.
"You see," he continued, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced in front of us, "Transfiguration is among the most exacting disciplines in magic. A mispronounced incantation, an incorrect wand movement, even a lapse in concentration—" He flicked his wand again, and his own hat suddenly shrank into a stiff, wooden block. He tapped it once more, and it returned to its original form. "—can lead to unintended consequences."
I swallowed hard. That wasn't exactly comforting.
"For today, we shall begin with the very first step of your Transfiguration journey: transforming a matchstick into a needle."
At a wave of his wand, a neat row of matchsticks appeared on each of our desks. They were small and unremarkable, but I had no doubt they would prove more troublesome than they seemed.
"This exercise," Dumbledore explained, "is an excellent introduction to the principles of Transfiguration. The change is simple in theory—wood to metal—but it demands a clear intention and precise wandwork." He turned to a Gryffindor girl seated near the front. "Miss Abbott, tell me—what is the fundamental principle that governs Transfiguration?"
The girl, who had been sitting bolt upright, hesitated for only a second before answering, "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, sir?"
Dumbledore beamed at her. "Very good! Gamp's Law, which dictates the limits of Transfiguration, is indeed foundational. Though, for now, you need not worry too much about its finer details. What matters most at this stage is intent, control, and proper enunciation."
He walked to the front of the room and raised his wand. "The incantation you will use is Veraverto. Watch closely."
With a smooth flick of his wand, he pointed at his matchstick. "Veraverto."
Immediately, the matchstick quivered, shimmered, and then, as if it had simply decided to be something else, transformed into a sleek silver needle that gleamed under the candlelight.
A hushed murmur of amazement spread through the class. I leaned forward, ready to show the fruits of my efforts.
"Now, you try," Dumbledore said, sweeping his gaze across the classroom. "Remember—clear intent, precise wand movement, and absolute focus."
"Veraverto." I incant and the matchstick smoothly transforms into a silver needle.
"Good job Marcus." I hear Prf. Dumbledore say as he clapped his hands. "Let me see, ah finely done Marcus, it's perfect, keep up the good work. Looks like the summer was spent studying by you. Now we know why the sorting hat placed you in to the Ravenclaw house. But seeing as your recklessness by doing transfiguration without any supervision it should have put you in gryffindor, not that being reckless is bad but do try to be on the safer side. I will let you go this time but there should be no next time." He praised and warned me, to which I just nodded embarrassingly. "Now seeing as you have already done your work, excellently at that too, why not try helping others. Go help anyone you see struggling." He says in the end.
I reluctantly agree and move about in the class to help others, leaving behind a not so shocked henry. He knew about my wandless magic so it was no surprise to him that I could do this already.
Moving about I see the girl, Abbott, doing good but was stuck at the transformation process. I move towards her and ask, "May I help you?"
She looks at me, nods and says, "I don't know what I am doing wrong, my wrist movements are precisely done."
"You are focusing, yes? But tell me—when you cast the spell, what were you thinking?"
She hesitated and said, "I am just trying to make it change."
"Ah," I said, nodding. "You must see the change in your mind. Do not simply will it to happen; visualize it clearly. Imagine the feel of cold metal instead of rough wood, the glint of silver instead of dull brown. Shape the change in your thoughts first, and then let the magic follow."
She swallowed, nodding, and tried again. This time, she closed her eyes and seemed to think for a second. Then, flicked her wand, "Veraverto.", she said.
The matchstick wobbled. A shimmer ran through it, and—just for a moment—it seemed that she has done it. But instead of a needle, she was left with something halfway between wood and metal, its tip gleaming but its base still dull brown.
"Much improved," I said with a smile. "You are on the right track. With practice, the full transformation will come."
She thanked me with a cute?, Smile and went back to practicing.
And like that I helped few other students too. By the end of the class only I, Henry, the Abbott girl and one more boy from Ravenclaw had done it.
As I was leaving with the class with Henry, Prf. Dumbledore told me to stay back. I tell Henry to move on and stay back in the room.
Dumbledore sighed softly. "I understand your enthusiasm, Mr. Starborn. In fact, I admire it. Curiosity and ambition are valuable qualities, especially in a Ravenclaw." His expression, however, grew more serious. "But I must warn you—attempting Transfiguration without proper guidance is exceedingly dangerous. Even simple transformations can go wrong in ways you might not expect."
I nodded quickly. "I was careful, sir. I only tried small things—buttons, combs, twigs, pebbles…" I try to lie about it.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I have no doubt that you exercised caution. But even the smallest spells, when miscast, can have unintended consequences. A poorly transfigured object may not be stable. What appears to be a needle may revert to a matchstick when you least expect it, or worse—partially transform into something entirely unpredictable."
I swallowed hard, realizing just how reckless I had been.
Dumbledore studied me for a moment before his expression softened. "However," he continued, "it is clear that you have a natural inclination for the subject. Your control, for someone self-taught, is commendable. If properly nurtured, I believe you could become quite skilled in Transfiguration."
I looked up at him, surprised. "You really think so?"
He smiled. "I do. But from now on, I must insist that you practice only under the supervision of your professors. Promise me that you will exercise patience and learn at the proper pace?"
I nodded earnestly. "I promise, sir."
Dumbledore seemed satisfied with that. "Good. Then I look forward to seeing your progress in the coming weeks, Mr. Starborn."
He turned toward his desk, signalling that the conversation was over. I quickly gathered my things and made my way to the door. Just as I reached it, his voice stopped me once more.
"Oh, and Marcus?"
I turned back.
"Curiosity is a wonderful thing," he said, his eyes twinkling again. "But wisdom is knowing when to temper it with caution."
I nodded again, this time with a deeper understanding, before stepping out into the corridor.
As I walked toward my next class, I felt a mix of emotions—pride, embarrassment, but most of all, determination. I had been careless, yes, but I had also been recognized.
The next class was of herbology, I wasn't too excited about this but I do hope it goes well just like the transfiguration class.
I made my way toward the greenhouses joining my fellow Ravenclaws and the Slytherins. The sun was bright overhead, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, and the air smelled fresh, earthy. I took a deep breath, steadying myself for the next lesson.
The Slytherins had already gathered near the greenhouse doors. Some looked bored, others mildly curious. Leonard Avery leaned against the wooden frame with an air of indifference, his arms crossed as if he already knew everything he needed about plants.
The door creaked open, and out stepped Professor Wrenwick.
She was a striking woman, not in youth but in presence. Her black curly hair was streaked with silver, and her face bore deep wrinkles. But it was her eyes—dark brown, nearly black—that stood out the most. They held an intensity that made you straighten up instinctively, the kind of gaze that hinted at a deep, commanding knowledge of her craft.
"Come in, come in," she said, motioning us inside. Her voice was gentle but firm, like the whisper of leaves before a storm. "We have much to do, and plants wait for no one."
The greenhouse was warm and humid, the air thick with the scents of damp soil, moss, and something faintly sweet. Rows of shelves held an assortment of potted plants, some quivering as we passed, others curling their leaves toward the faintest hint of movement.
Each table had a pair of gloves, a trowel, and an empty pot. I took my place, glancing at the Slytherins, who sat opposite us. Avery looked unimpressed, lazily twirling his wand between his fingers.
Professor Wrenwick stepped forward, surveying us all. "Herbology is not simply the study of magical plants," she said. "It is the understanding of life itself. Many wizards underestimate plants, seeing them only as ingredients or obstacles. But make no mistake—some of the most powerful magic in our world grows from the ground beneath your feet."
Her gaze swept the room before settling on a Slytherin boy who was idly poking at his empty pot. "Mr. Montague," she said mildly. "If you are already bored, I have a Venomous Tentacula that would love your company."
The boy quickly withdrew his hand, muttering an apology.
Professor Wrenwick continued, unfazed. "Today, we begin with something simple—puffapods." With a wave of her wand, a tray of pale pink seed pods floated onto each table. "These are harmless—unless you drop them."
A Slytherin girl smirked. "And what happens if you drop them?"
Professor Wrenwick smiled faintly. "Why don't you find out?"
The girl, clearly thinking it was a joke, picked up a puffapod and let it slip from her fingers. The moment it hit the soil, it exploded in a cloud of shimmering pink mist. Almost instantly, curling green vines sprouted from the spot, forming a cluster of tiny flowers.
She yelped, scooting back as the plant continued to grow.
"That," Professor Wrenwick said, "is what happens. Puffapods respond to touch, and their seeds sprout upon impact. Now, had this been another type of magical plant—say, a Screechsnap—you might be dealing with a much different reaction."
The girl muttered something under her breath and quickly focused on her work.
I picked up my own puffapod carefully, rolling it between my fingers. It was smooth, delicate—so fragile it felt like it could burst at any moment. I set it gently into the pot of soil before me and covered it with earth, making sure to be precise.
Professor Wrenwick wandered the room, observing our work. When she reached my table, she gave a small nod. "Good. You have a steady hand, Mr. Starborn."
"Thank you, Professor," I said, feeling a small swell of pride.
Nearby, a commotion erupted—Leonard Avery had squeezed his puffapod too hard, and now his entire table was overgrown with twisting vines, creeping up his sleeves.
Professor Wrenwick sighed. "Mr. Avery, if you must be careless, I recommend doing so outside my greenhouse." With a flick of her wand, the vines shrank back into the soil. "Now, try again—with less force."
The rest of the lesson passed quickly. By the end, most of us had successfully planted our puffapods and watched tiny green shoots begin to emerge. It was strangely satisfying work—feeling the soil, watching something take root under my hands.
As we gathered our things, Professor Wrenwick called out, "Respect for plants is respect for magic itself. Next lesson, we move on to something with teeth."
I wasn't sure if she was joking or not.
As I stepped out of the greenhouse, I glanced back to see Professor Wrenwick tending to a large, vibrant plant near her desk, humming softly to herself.
I had a feeling Herbology was going to be far more interesting than I had expected.
Now I was moving towards the Great Hall, to have my lunch, all that studying made me hungry. Once there I ate some eggs and toast with a glass of milk to go alongside with it. After that I roamed around for a bit watching different objects placed in the castle like those moving armours. When it was the time for my charms class I went to it according to the instructions given with my schedule.
I made my way through the castle toward the Charms classroom. The corridors bustled with students, some hurrying to their next class while others strolled leisurely, chatting. Excitement hummed in my chest; Charms had been one of my favorite subjects to study over the summer, and I was eager to see how the lessons compared to my practice.
When I entered the classroom, I spotted Henry Potter already seated near the front. He grinned and waved me over.
"Took you long enough," he said as I sat beside him.
"Had to let my food settle before I outshine you in class," I quipped.
The classroom was bright, with sunlight streaming through the tall windows, casting golden streaks over the polished desks. At the front of the room stood Professor Beery, the Deputy Headmaster and our Charms professor. He was a middle-aged man with short brown hair and no facial hair, but it was his sharp blue eyes—almost silver in the light—that made him truly imposing.
Once the last few students settled in, he clasped his hands behind his back and scanned the room with a piercing gaze.
"Charms is the foundation of much of your magical education," he began, his voice even but commanding. "It may seem simple at first, but do not be deceived. A poorly cast charm can be as dangerous as an ill-brewed potion or a reckless transfiguration."
A hush fell over the room.
"Many of you will struggle at first. Others may show promise. Regardless, you will all learn control, for without control, magic is nothing more than chaos."
With a flick of his wand, the chalk behind him lifted and neatly scrawled across the blackboard:
The Levitation Charm
Wingardium Leviosa
"Today, we begin with one of the most fundamental spells—the Levitation Charm. Mastering it is the first step toward understanding controlled magic."
He turned to us. "Wands out."
There was a rustle as students retrieved their wands. I held mine firmly, feeling the familiar warmth of the wood.
Professor Beery flicked his wand, and a tray of small white feathers floated down onto each desk. "Your goal
today is simple—levitate your feather. But let me be clear: you will not
achieve this by brute force or wild waving. Precision. Control. Pronunciation.
These are key."
A murmur passed
through the room as we examined our feathers. Beside me, Henry leaned over.
"Bet I get mine up before you do."
I smirked. "We'll
see."
Professor Beery
demonstrated the proper wand movement—swish and flick—before speaking the
incantation with crisp clarity. "Wingardium Leviosa."
His feather lifted
gracefully into the air before he lowered it back down. "Your turn."
I took a breath,
focused on my feather, and moved my wand in the precise motion. "Wingardium
Leviosa."
Instantly, my feather
rose into the air, hovering steadily above the desk.
A few students gasped.
Across the room, some struggled to even make their feathers twitch. Henry's
gave a weak shudder before falling still again.
Professor Beery's gaze
locked onto me. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a pause
before he spoke. "Excellent control, Mr. Starborn."
A flicker of pride ran
through me as I gently lowered my feather back down.
Nearby, a Gryffindor
boy groaned in frustration. "This is impossible."
Professor Beery's
voice was sharp. "It is not impossible. It is beyond those who lack patience
and discipline." His eyes swept the room. "Magic is not about raw power—it is
about mastery. Some of you understand that already. The rest of you… will
learn."
By the end of the
lesson, most students had managed at least some movement, though none had been
as smooth or controlled as mine. As we packed up, Henry nudged me. "Alright, I
admit it. You're ridiculous."
I smirked. "Told you
we'd see."
As we walked out, I
felt the weight of expectations settle on my shoulders. I had set a high
standard for myself in this class—and I intended to keep it.
"What should we do now
Marcus?" henry asked, as we had already gotten over with all the classes today
and we were free till dinner.
"I do want to check
out the library, but seeing as you won't enjoy it as much as me, I suggest we
go out separate ways for now." I said to him.
"Yeah, you are right.
I will go to my common room and relax for today, maybe do some assignments
while I am at it."
After parting ways
with Henry outside the Great Hall, I made my way toward the grand staircase,
climbing higher into the castle until I reached a long corridor lined with
tall, arched windows. The library doors stood at the end, imposing yet
inviting. With a quiet creak, I pushed one open and stepped inside.
The scent of
parchment, ink, and aged leather filled the air—a smell both rich and
comforting. The towering bookshelves stretched toward the vaulted ceiling,
their wooden frames dark with age. Flickering lanterns and enchanted candles
provided a warm, steady glow. A few students sat at tables, their heads bent
over heavy tomes, quills scratching faintly against parchment.
Behind the large oak
counter stood the librarian, a thin, sharp-featured man with neatly combed greying
hair and an air of quiet authority. His keen eyes flickered toward me as I
approached.
"Yes?" he asked, his
voice crisp and efficient.
"I'm looking for books
on Ancient Runes," I said. "Where can I find them?"
The librarian studied
me for a moment before speaking. "Your name and year?"
"Marcus Starborn.
First year."
He gave a small nod
before gesturing toward the far end of the library. "Ancient Runes is an
advanced subject, typically studied in later years. However, there are
introductory texts on the third shelf to the right, under Magical Linguistics."
"Thank you," I said
with a respectful nod before making my way in the direction he had
indicated.
The Ancient Runes
section was tucked away in a quieter corner of the library, where fewer
students wandered. The books here looked older than the ones in other sections,
their spines cracked and worn, some titles barely legible. I ran my fingers
along the faded lettering before pulling out a particularly thick volume
titled:
**Runes and Their
Mystical Properties: An Introduction to Wizarding Script**
I carried it over to a
nearby table, flipping open the first few pages.
*"The study of runes
dates back to the earliest wizarding civilizations. Used for enchantments,
warding, divination, and spellcraft, runes are the written essence of magic
itself. Unlike spoken incantations, runic magic is fixed into physical form,
requiring deep understanding and precise application."*
My eyes flicked across
the detailed diagrams of runes, their shapes sharp and intricate. The book
explained how each rune carried a unique magical property—some reinforced
spells, others stored energy, and a few could even alter reality itself when
used in complex arrays.
I read on,
entranced.
*"The Fehu rune,
associated with prosperity and magical flow, can be used in charms to enhance a
wizard's spellcasting potential. The Algiz rune is a protective sigil, often
inscribed on shields and armor in ancient times. However, mastery of runes
requires not only knowledge but also specialized tools for engraving and
activation."*
I turned the page,
where a detailed diagram of a carved stone tablet was displayed. According to
the text, activating a rune required either a specialized wand technique or
enchanted tools to etch them correctly.
That was where I hit a
roadblock.
Despite my growing
enthusiasm, I quickly realized there was no way for me to practice rune magic
without the proper materials—enchanted chisels, inscribing wands, and prepared
surfaces like stone or parchment infused with magical ink.
I sighed, closing the
book for a moment. Theory was fascinating, but I wouldn't be able to do
anything practical just yet.
Not wanting to waste
my time, I returned the book to its shelf and wandered through the aisles,
letting my curiosity guide me. I pulled out books at random, flipping through
their pages.
A book on Arithmancy
caught my eye—**The Language of Numbers: How Magic and Mathematics
Intertwine.** It described how ancient wizards used numerical sequences to
strengthen spells and predict magical phenomena.
Another volume, **The
Alchemical Codex**, contained notes on early alchemists, their experiments with
transmutation, and the search for the Philosopher's Stone. Some of their failed
attempts were as fascinating as their successes—one wizard, apparently, had
turned his entire left leg into solid gold.
I even skimmed through
**The Wandlore Compendium**, which detailed the unique properties of wand cores
and woods. It mentioned that dual-core wands, like mine, were particularly rare
and often unpredictable.
Hours passed unnoticed
as I devoured page after page. The world of magic felt endless, and the more I
read, the more I realized how much there was still to learn.
When I finally looked
up, the library was quieter than before. A glance at the enchanted clock on the
far wall told me it was well past dinner. With a sigh, I stretched, my back
aching from sitting too long.
I returned the last
book to its shelf and made my way out, the librarian giving me a brief glance
but saying nothing as I passed.
As I stepped back into
the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, I felt a new sense of purpose settle
within me. Ancient Runes would have to wait—but someday, I would master them.
By the time I left the
library, the castle was bathed in the warm glow of evening torches. My stomach
reminded me that I had skipped dinner so far, and I made my way toward the
Great Hall, my footsteps echoing through the corridors, it was easy from here because the library and the Great Hall are in the same floor.
When I stepped inside,
the hall was alive with chatter, the long house tables filled with students
laughing, talking, and eating. The enchanted ceiling above showed a deep blue
sky speckled with stars, mirroring the real one outside. The Ravenclaw table was
near the right side of the hall, and I quickly spotted an open seat among my
housemates.
As I sat down, a girl
with short dark brown hair and keen green eyes glanced up from her plate.
"You're Marcus Starborn, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm Eleanor
Cromwell," she introduced herself, offering a small smile. "You sort of stood
out in Charms today."
I chuckled, picking up
a piece of roast chicken from a platter. "I studied a lot over the
summer."
"Clearly," she
replied. "Most of us were struggling to get our feathers to twitch, and yours
was floating around like it had a mind of its own."
A boy sitting across
from us, a lanky blond named Edgar Selwyn, leaned in. "So you're one of *those*
types—the ones who actually prepared for Hogwarts?"
Eleanor smirked.
"Unlike you?"
"Oi, I prepared,"
Edgar protested, gesturing dramatically with a forkful of mashed potatoes. "I
read A Concise History of Magic*—well, the first few chapters. That counts."
A few of the others
laughed, and I found myself grinning.
"Where were you before
dinner?" Eleanor asked.
"The library," I said,
taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I was looking into Ancient Runes."
That caught their
attention. "Ancient Runes?" Edgar raised an eyebrow. "You do realize we don't
even take that until third year?"
"I know," I admitted.
"But I find it interesting—runes hold magic in a completely different way than
spells. It's like writing magic into the world itself."
Eleanor nodded,
intrigued. "That actually sounds… fascinating. What did you find out?"
I shared some of what
I had read—about the different runes, their properties, and how they had to be
inscribed with specific tools. The conversation flowed easily after that,
moving from one topic to another—our first classes, our professors, even speculation
about what kind of homework we'd get.
As we ate, I realized
how naturally I fit in with them. They were sharp, curious, and had a quick wit
about them—exactly what I had expected from Ravenclaws.
Eventually, dinner
wound down, and we made our way back to the Ravenclaw Tower together. The
corridors felt cozier at night, the flickering torches casting long shadows as
we climbed the winding staircases.
By the time we reached
the entrance, the bronze eagle knocker spoke, its voice smooth and
knowing.
*"I am not alive, but
I can grow. I lack lungs, yet I need air. What am I?"*
Eleanor grinned. "A
fire."
"Correct," the knocker
replied, swinging open to allow us inside.
The common room was
just as warm and inviting as before—bookshelves lined the walls, enchanted
globes hovered near the ceiling, and large armchairs surrounded the fireplace.
We all collapsed into the chairs, still talking, laughing at Edgar's
exaggerated stories about how he nearly fell asleep in Herbology.
One by one, students
began retreating to their dorms. I stayed a little longer, enjoying the quiet
hum of the common room as the conversations faded.
Finally, I stood,
stretching. "I think I'll head to bed."
Eleanor nodded. "See
you in the morning, Starborn."
I made my way up to my
dormitory, finding it clean and spotless as earlier. Changing into my
nightclothes, I climbed under the covers, feeling the weight of the day settle
over me.
As I lay there,
staring at the enchanted ceiling that mimicked the starry sky outside, I
realized that, my journey ahead would not be as lonely as I thought it would
be, I have made friends! I didn't think I would but I did.
With that thought, I
closed my eyes and let sleep take me.