The morning was brisk as the first-years filed into the Charms classroom, their wands tucked securely in their robes. The room was as lively as it had been the day before, with colorful banners fluttering gently in the breeze created by the enchanted windows. The sunlight danced off the walls, casting shifting patterns of light that added to the vibrant atmosphere.
Professor Jasper Coorong stood at the front, leaning casually against his desk, his signature wide grin already in place. “Ah, my enthusiastic first-years!” he greeted, his voice warm and welcoming. “Welcome to your very first Charms class. Please, take your seats.”
Soya Vareen chose a desk near the middle, beside Davonte Evander, who gave him a reassuring nod as they sat. Around them, their classmates settled in, some with quiet excitement, others with a nervous energy that was almost palpable.
Once everyone was seated, Professor Coorong began. “Charms,” he said, standing tall, “is the art of enhancement and manipulation. It’s about bringing magic to the everyday—making life just a little more extraordinary. Whether it’s lighting a dark path, summoning objects, or creating protective wards, charms are at the heart of practical magic.”
He tapped his wand against the blackboard, and a glowing word appeared: Focus.
“The first step,” Coorong continued, “is focus. Magic, my young wizards and witches, doesn’t just happen because you wave a stick around. It begins here.” He tapped his temple. “Your mind is the conduit, and your wand channels that magic into reality.”
He paused, letting the words sink in before adding, “Today, we’ll begin with a foundational charm: Lumos. It’s simple, but don’t underestimate it. This charm can light your way, expose hidden dangers, or signal for help.”
Coorong raised his wand and held it with practiced precision. “Observe.” With a subtle flick of his wrist and a clear, firm voice, he said, “Lumos.”
The tip of his wand flared to life, casting a steady, warm glow that illuminated the room. The students leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the glowing light. With another flick and a whispered “Nox,” the light vanished.
“Now, who can tell me why the incantation and movement matter?” Coorong asked, scanning the room. Eliza Gorman, her hand shooting up immediately, answered, “Because the wand movement and words guide the magic, right?”
“Exactly,” Coorong said, his grin widening. “The wand directs, the words focus. But remember—magic is as much intent as it is technique. If your mind isn’t in the right place, the spell won’t work.”
“Let’s get started,” Coorong announced. “Wands out!”
Soya pulled out his wand—a smooth, delicate piece of sakura wood, its grip familiar and comforting in his hand. He took a deep breath, listening carefully as Coorong repeated the instructions.
“Hold your wand steady, visualize the light you want to create, and say the incantation clearly: Lumos.”
Around him, his classmates began to try. Eliza’s wand lit up immediately, a bright and steady glow at the tip. “Well done, Eliza!” Coorong called. “A textbook example!”
Soya hesitated, watching as Davonte whispered the incantation and managed a faint flicker of light. Encouraged by his friend’s success, Soya focused on his own wand. He pictured a soft golden light, steady and warm, like the glow of a lantern on a quiet night. Flicking his wand upward, he whispered, “Lumos.”
A faint light appeared, flickered, and then vanished. Soya frowned but tried again, concentrating harder this time. “Lumos.”
This time, the light stayed, faint but steady. He stared at it in awe, his heart racing with excitement.
“Well done, Soya!” Coorong said, clapping his hands. “A solid start. Now focus on sustaining it. Remember, the more vivid your visualization, the stronger your charm.”
The classroom buzzed with activity as the students practiced. Some, like Sevrin Verelle, produced a blinding light almost immediately, while others, like Davonte, struggled to maintain a steady glow.
“Lumos!” Davonte muttered, his wand sparking faintly before fizzling out. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This is harder than I thought.”
“You’re overthinking it,” Soya said, surprising himself. “Just picture the light. Don’t try to force it.”
Davonte gave him a skeptical look but nodded. On his next attempt, his wand lit up with a soft, steady glow. “Ha!” he said, grinning. “Told you I’d get it.”
As the lesson went on, Soya found himself growing more confident. By the end of the hour, his wand produced a bright, steady light that he could maintain for several seconds.
Professor Coorong clapped his hands, signaling the end of the lesson. “Excellent work, everyone! You’ve taken your first steps into the world of Charms. For homework, I want you to practice Lumos and Nox—yes, turning the light off is just as important as turning it on. Keep your movements steady and your focus clear.”
The students began packing up their things, the room buzzing with chatter about the lesson. As Soya slipped his wand back into his robes, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He wasn’t the best in the class, but he’d done it. He’d cast his first spell.
Davonte clapped him on the shoulder as they left the classroom. “Not bad for your first try, mate. You’ll be a natural in no time.”
After a quick stop at the courtyard to grab fresh air and calm their excitement from the first lesson, the first-years headed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The anticipation in the group was palpable—this was the class everyone had been talking about since they first received their letters.
Soya followed Davonte down a wide, dimly lit hallway, the sandstone walls casting long shadows as they approached a pair of large, iron-banded doors. Above them hung a carved wooden plaque, its text shifting as if alive: Defense Against the Dark Arts—Preparedness is Protection.
The classroom itself was strikingly different from the bright and lively Charms room. It was a vast, shadowy space lit by floating sconces that glowed with a faint, silvery light. The walls were lined with shelves of strange, foreboding objects: jars filled with swirling smoke, dark feathers that shimmered faintly in the dim light, and jagged shards of obsidian that seemed to absorb the room’s glow.
At the front of the room stood Professor Elise Marilla. Tall and commanding, her athletic build and the faint scar that ran down her cheek gave her an air of experience. She wore deep green robes cinched at the waist with a belt of leather and iron, and her wand was tucked into a holster at her side.
“Take your seats,” Professor Marilla said, her voice firm but not unkind. The students obeyed immediately, the nervous energy in the room intensifying.
When the class was settled, Marilla surveyed them with a sharp gaze. “Defense Against the Dark Arts is not a game,” she began. “It is not about looking brave or showing off spells. This class is about survival—about protecting yourselves and others from the dangers you will inevitably face in the magical world.”
Her tone was serious, but there was a warmth behind her eyes, as if she genuinely cared for each student in the room. “But don’t let that frighten you. Fear is natural. It’s what you do with that fear that matters.”
She turned and waved her wand, causing the blackboard behind her to fill with glowing white text:
Defense Against the Dark Arts: Core Principles
1. Awareness
2. Reflexes
3. Counteraction
“These are the foundations of defense,” she said, pointing to the board. “Today, we’ll focus on awareness and counteraction. The spell you’ll learn is a basic but essential counter to minor jinxes: Finite Incantatem.”
Marilla turned back to the class, her wand in hand. “Before we get to the spell itself, let’s talk about why awareness matters. The best defense is knowing what you’re up against.”
She tapped her wand against her palm, and a shadowy, snake-like figure appeared in the air above her. It hissed and writhed, its movements fluid and hypnotic.
“This is a harmless illusion,” she explained, “but imagine if it wasn’t. How would you react?”
The students murmured nervously, some leaning back in their seats. Soya felt his chest tighten as the creature slithered closer.
“Step one,” Marilla continued, dispersing the illusion with a flick of her wand, “don’t panic. Panic clouds judgment. Step two: assess. Is it a threat? Can you neutralize it? And step three: act.”
She gestured toward a target dummy at the side of the room. With a quick, decisive movement, she aimed her wand and said, “Finite Incantatem.”
The dummy, which had been glowing faintly with a jinx, returned to its neutral state. “This spell cancels minor magical effects—hexes, jinxes, basic curses. It’s not a cure-all, but it’s an essential tool.”
Marilla turned to the students. “Now it’s your turn. Pair up. One of you will cast a simple jinx, and the other will counter it with Finite Incantatem. I’ll be here to assist.”
Soya found himself partnered with Davonte. “All right,” Davonte said, grinning. “You want to jinx me first, or should I jinx you?”
“You go first,” Soya replied nervously, gripping his wand.
Davonte raised his wand, a mischievous glint in his eye. “All right, don’t panic. Leg-Locker Jinx!”
Soya felt his legs snap together, his balance wobbling as he tried to stay upright. “Hey!” he said, laughing nervously.
“Your turn!” Davonte said, stepping back.
Soya took a deep breath, focusing on the spell. He raised his wand, remembering Marilla’s instructions. “Finite Incantatem!”If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
A faint burst of light shot from his wand, and the jinx on his legs dissolved. He staggered slightly but grinned. “Got it!”
“Not bad,” Davonte said, nodding approvingly. “My turn now.”
Around the room, the students practiced with varying degrees of success. Eliza managed to cancel her partner’s jinx on the first try, while Sevrin Verelle’s counterspell produced a loud bang, startling everyone nearby.
“Steady wand movements!” Marilla called, moving through the room. “Don’t rush the incantation. Magic requires precision.”
When she stopped by Soya and Davonte, she observed their exchange quietly before nodding. “Good form, both of you,” she said. “Soya, focus on projecting confidence. Magic responds to belief—if you doubt yourself, the spell will falter.”
Soya nodded, her words giving him a boost of determination. On his next attempt, his counterspell was quicker and more precise.
As the lesson came to an end, Professor Marilla clapped her hands. “Well done, everyone. Defense isn’t about perfection—it’s about progress. Today, you’ve taken your first steps toward protecting yourselves and others. Keep practicing Finite Incantatem at home, and we’ll build on this foundation next time.”
The students packed up their things, the room buzzing with excitement and relief. Soya couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as he and Davonte walked back toward the main corridor.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Davonte said, his grin infectious. “We make a pretty good team.”
After the intensity of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the first-years were eager for a break. The Great Hall buzzed with activity as students from all houses gathered for lunch, the aroma of roasted meats, fresh bread, and hearty soups filling the air. The enchanted ceiling showed a bright, cloudless sky, its cheerful glow contrasting with the nervous energy of the first-years.
Soya followed Davonte to the Thylacea table, where they found seats near the middle. The table was already laden with platters of sandwiches, steaming pies, and bowls of vibrant salads. Soya hesitated before piling his plate, still feeling like a guest in this strange, magical world.
“You need to eat, mate,” Davonte said with a grin, nudging him. “You’ll need the energy for whatever they throw at us next.”
Soya smiled weakly, taking a small sandwich. He looked around, observing the other students at the table. Most of them were absorbed in their own conversations, but a few glanced his way, curiosity evident in their expressions.
As Soya began to relax, a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see a tall boy with sharp green eyes and dark hair standing across the table. His Yarramundi badge glinted on his robes, and his expression was a mixture of disdain and smug amusement.
“You’re the Muggle-born, aren’t you?” the boy said, his voice cutting through the surrounding chatter like a blade.
Soya froze, unsure how to respond. “I—yes, I am,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
The boy smirked, his eyes narrowing. “Sevrin Verelle,” he introduced himself, though his tone suggested he didn’t expect—or want—a reply. “Yarramundi. I suppose it must be... overwhelming for someone like you, being here.”
Soya swallowed hard, his appetite vanishing. “It’s different, yeah.”
“Different?” Sevrin repeated, as though the word amused him. “I imagine it would be. After all, magic isn’t exactly something you’d find in one of your... little Muggle schools.”
Davonte, who had been listening quietly, set down his goblet with a deliberate clink. “Ease up, Verelle,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Everyone starts somewhere.”
Sevrin raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Of course. But some of us start with an advantage.” He glanced pointedly at Soya. “Best you remember that.”
Soya felt a surge of heat rise in his face, but before he could respond, another voice cut in.
“Sevrin,” said a girl from down the table, her tone sharp. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Manaya Moon, the quiet Ningaloo student Soya had noticed earlier, was staring at Sevrin with an intensity that made even him pause. After a moment, he shrugged, his smirk fading.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he said, his voice dripping with mock politeness, before turning and walking away.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Manaya said, her voice softening as she turned to Soya. “Sevrin likes to think he’s better than everyone else. He’s not.”
“Thanks,” Soya mumbled, still feeling the sting of Sevrin’s words.
Davonte clapped him on the shoulder. “Forget that guy. You’re here because you belong, same as the rest of us.”
Eliza Gorman, who had just joined them, plopped down beside Soya with a grin. “What’d I miss?”
“Sevrin being a jerk,” Davonte said bluntly, earning a snort of laughter from Eliza.
“Well, that’s nothing new,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, Soya. He’s all talk. You’ll show him what you’re made of in no time.”
Soya managed a small smile, their encouragement slowly easing his discomfort. He took a bite of his sandwich, the flavors rich and comforting.
As lunch continued, the group’s conversation shifted to lighter topics. Eliza’s bubbly energy helped lift the mood, and even Manaya joined in, her quiet observations adding a grounding presence to the group. Soya found himself laughing along with their jokes, the tension from his encounter with Sevrin fading into the background.
When the meal ended, the students began to gather their things, preparing for the next class. Davonte leaned toward Soya as they left the table. “Stick with us, mate. You’ll be fine.”
Soya nodded, grateful for the support. As they headed to their next lesson, he felt a growing resolve. Sevrin might have his opinions, but Soya was determined to prove that he belonged at Austramore—no matter where he came from.
After lunch, the first-years made their way to the History of Magic lecture hall. The room was just as captivating as it had been during the tour, with its enchanted tapestries depicting significant magical events and its crescent-shaped desk made of polished eucalyptus wood. The floating orbs of light gave the room a warm, inviting glow, creating an atmosphere of storytelling rather than cold academia.
Professor Mortimer Cairns floated near the front of the room, his half-transparent form glowing faintly. His kind smile and the way he gestured warmly to the students put Soya at ease almost immediately. Despite his ghostly appearance, Cairns radiated a sense of calm and wisdom.
“Welcome, first-years,” Cairns began, his voice soft but clear. “I am Professor Cairns, and I have the honor of guiding you through the rich tapestry of magical history. While other classes will teach you how to wield magic, this class will teach you why we wield it—and what has been gained and lost along the way.”
The students took their seats, the crescent-shaped arrangement allowing everyone a clear view of the professor. Soya sat between Davonte and Eliza, his parchment and quill ready.
Cairns gestured toward the largest tapestry, which depicted the founding of Austramore School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The image shifted subtly, showing scenes of the Blue Mountains, early settlers, and the Indigenous magic that formed the foundation of the school.
“This,” Cairns said, “is where our story begins. Long before the school was built, the land itself was sacred—a place where magic flowed freely. The Indigenous peoples of this region practiced some of the oldest forms of magic, working in harmony with the land.”
He paused, his spectral hand resting on the tapestry. “When settlers arrived, there was tension—fear, misunderstanding. But there were also those who sought to bridge the gap. The four founders of Austramore came together with Indigenous Elders to create a school that would honor the magic of this land and teach future generations to respect and preserve it.”
The tapestry shifted, showing the four founders standing together: Bunjil, Yarramundi, Ningaloo, and Thylacea. Their faces were solemn, their wands raised in unity.
“Each founder brought unique values and skills to the school,” Cairns continued. “And from them, the four houses were born.”
Eliza raised her hand, her brow furrowed in curiosity. “Professor, why did they choose this specific location for the school?”
“An excellent question, Miss Gorman,” Cairns said, his eyes twinkling. “The Blue Mountains are a place of immense magical significance. The land is rich in magical energy, and the founders believed it would provide both inspiration and protection for the school.”
He gestured to the windows, which showed a sweeping view of the mountains. “This location also serves as a reminder of the balance we must maintain between magic and the natural world. It is a lesson as old as magic itself.”
Cairns turned back to the class, his tone shifting slightly. “Now, history is not just about listening to me ramble—it’s about engaging with the past. Let’s begin with a discussion. What do you think was the most important challenge the founders faced when creating the school?”
Hands shot up around the room. Soya hesitated, unsure of his answer, but Davonte nudged him. “Go on. Say something.”
Soya raised his hand tentatively, and Cairns gestured to him with an encouraging smile. “Mr. Vareen?”
“Well,” Soya began, his voice shaky, “I think… maybe the biggest challenge was bringing people together. If there was tension between the settlers and the Indigenous Elders, it must have been hard to find common ground.”
Cairns nodded, his expression thoughtful. “An insightful answer, Mr. Vareen. Unity is never easy, especially in the face of fear and prejudice. But it is precisely that challenge that makes the founders’ achievement so remarkable.”
To end the lesson, Cairns introduced a practical element. “I’d like you all to create a timeline of the events leading to the founding of Austramore. Use the enchanted tablets on your desks—they’ll guide you through the key moments, but you’ll need to fill in the details yourselves.”
The students picked up the smooth stone tablets in front of them, which glowed faintly as they activated. Scenes from the tapestry appeared on the screens, along with prompts for additional information. Soya found the process fascinating, the tablet responding to his touch as he added notes and observations.
Davonte leaned over, his brow furrowed. “What year did Yarramundi join the others again?”
“1843,” Soya replied without looking up, the answer fresh from the lesson.
“Thanks,” Davonte said, scribbling it down.
As the hour came to a close, Cairns floated back to the front of the room. “Well done, everyone. Your timelines are just the beginning of your journey through magical history. Remember, understanding our past is the first step to shaping our future.”
The students handed in their tablets, the glowing screens dimming as they were placed back on the desks.
As the class filed out, Cairns called after them, “And don’t forget to read the first chapter of Magical Milestones before our next lesson. There will be a quiz!”
Davonte groaned as they walked into the corridor. “A quiz already? This guy’s a ghost and still doesn’t take it easy on us.”
Soya laughed, the tension from earlier in the day finally lifting. Magical history, it seemed, might not be so bad after all.
After leaving the History of Magic classroom, the Thylacea first-years followed the spiral staircase that led deep beneath the castle. The air grew cooler with each step, and the faint scent of damp stone and herbs began to waft through the passage. Potions class was held in the lower levels of Austramore, a choice that added an air of mystique—and trepidation—to the subject.
Soya’s heart pounded as they approached a heavy wooden door etched with glowing runes. Above it, an iron plaque read: Potions—Precision Through Patience. The words seemed to hum faintly, as though they carried a warning.
Davonte nudged Soya as they entered. “Ready for this? I hear the professor’s intense.”
The room was dimly lit, with only the flickering light of floating lanterns to illuminate the space. Long wooden tables were arranged in rows, each equipped with cauldrons, burners, and neatly organized jars of ingredients. Shelves lined the walls, holding vials of colorful liquids, dried herbs, and what looked suspiciously like pickled animal parts.
At the front of the room stood Professor Seikan Blackthorn. He was tall and thin, with shoulder-length raven-black hair and pale skin that seemed almost luminous in the dim light. His emerald-green eyes scanned the room as the students filed in, his expression unreadable. A long black cloak draped over his shoulders, its hem brushing the floor as he moved.
“Take your seats,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. The students hurried to comply, the scrape of chairs on stone echoing in the silence.
Once they were seated, Blackthorn folded his hands behind his back and began. “Potions is not a subject for the careless or the impulsive. One mistake—a single grain of the wrong ingredient, a single extra stir—and your potion is ruined. Or worse.”
The tension in the room thickened as Blackthorn’s gaze swept over the students. “If you lack patience, discipline, or the ability to follow instructions to the letter, this class will be... challenging.”
Blackthorn moved to the large cauldron at the front of the room, which bubbled with a faintly glowing green liquid. “Today, we will begin with a simple but vital concoction: the Calming Draught. It is a potion designed to soothe nerves and ease anxiety. Useful for those who find themselves overwhelmed by the challenges of magic.”
He gestured to the blackboard, where the recipe appeared in glowing green letters:
Ingredients:
3 sprigs of chamomile
1 valerian root, finely sliced
2 drops of essence of moonflower
A pinch of powdered silverleaf
Instructions:
1. Add chamomile to the boiling water and stir clockwise three times.
2. Add valerian root and simmer for two minutes.
3. Slowly add moonflower essence, stirring counterclockwise until the potion turns pale blue.
4. Sprinkle powdered silverleaf on top and let sit for one minute before removing from heat.
Blackthorn turned back to the class. “You will find the ingredients at your stations. Follow the instructions precisely. I will be observing.”
Soya glanced nervously at the jars and vials neatly arranged on his station. He took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Chamomile first.”
He dropped the sprigs of chamomile into the cauldron of boiling water and carefully stirred clockwise three times. The potion’s color shifted faintly, from clear to a soft yellow.
“Not bad,” Davonte said from the station next to him. “Just don’t mess up the valerian—it smells awful if you overdo it.”
Soya smiled faintly, grateful for the advice. He added the finely sliced valerian root and watched as the potion began to bubble more vigorously.
As the class worked, Blackthorn moved silently among them, his sharp eyes catching every detail. He stopped briefly at Eliza’s station, where her potion had turned an alarming shade of green. “You added the moonflower essence too quickly,” he said, his tone devoid of judgment. “Dispose of this batch and begin again.”
Eliza’s cheeks turned pink, but she nodded and hurried to restart.
When Blackthorn reached Soya’s station, Soya felt his stomach tighten. The professor leaned over the cauldron, his expression impassive. “Your stirring is uneven,” he said quietly. “Control your movements, or the potion will separate.”
Soya nodded, adjusting his grip on the stirring rod. As he stirred counterclockwise, the potion shifted to a pale blue hue, exactly as described.
“Better,” Blackthorn said, moving on without another word.
Not everyone fared as well. A faint explosion drew the room’s attention to Sevrin Verelle, whose cauldron emitted a puff of acrid smoke. “Too much valerian,” Blackthorn said, waving his wand to clear the air. “Dispose of it and try again.”
Sevrin scowled but complied, muttering quietly under his breath as he emptied the cauldron with a flick of his wand.
Davonte, meanwhile, was grinning as he held up a vial of pale blue liquid. “Got it!” he said, earning an approving nod from Blackthorn.
Soya followed the final step, sprinkling powdered silverleaf over his potion. The mixture shimmered briefly before settling into a smooth, translucent blue. He carefully ladled some into a vial and set it on his station.
“Well done, Mr. Vareen,” Blackthorn said as he passed. “A precise execution.”
As the hour came to a close, Blackthorn addressed the class. “Potions is a delicate art, but one that rewards diligence. Take what you have learned today and apply it to your future work. Your next lesson will build upon this foundation.”
The students packed up their things, the room buzzing with quiet chatter. As they filed out, Davonte leaned over to Soya. “See? Not so bad, right?”
Soya smiled. “I think I might actually like this class.”
“Speak for yourself,” Eliza muttered, still smelling faintly of burnt valerian.
The group laughed as they made their way back up the stairs. Soya felt a quiet pride. Potions, it seemed, might just be one of his strengths.