The first pale fingers of dawn had only just begun to creep across the Ravenclaw dormitory when Illuna opened her eyes. Thursday. Nearly the end of her first week at Hogwarts.
She lay still for a moment, listening to the rhythmic breathing of her roommates—Beth's soft snores, Nellie's occasional mumbles, Mira's near-silent exhales. The room was bathed in that peculiar blue-grey light that came just before sunrise, the kind that made everything seem half-real, like a memory rather than the present.
Today: Charms. Free period. Then Astronomy. The thought sent a quiet thrill through her. Two of her favourite subjects in one day, make that three sleeping is also a favourite, bookended by the first practical study session with her friends—properly sanctioned by McGonagall, no less.
She sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the others. The faintest twinge of soreness lingered behind her eyes, she had stayed up later than usual again —but today, she'd taken care to conceal the shadows beneath them. No need for another round of Mira's concerned glances or Beth's dramatic gasps.
By the time the kettle began to whistle softly (Mira's silencing charm at work), Illuna was already done studying, her Charms textbook open across her lap. The scent of bergamot and something faintly earthy—Mira's usual blend—drifted through the room, coaxing the others awake.
"Morning," Illuna murmured "thanks for the tea"
Mira raised an eyebrow "you thanking me before the leaves have even settled"
Illuna nods "figured it would mean more that way. "
Across the room, Beth groaned into her pillow before rolling over, her hair a wild tangle. "Mira, you angel. I swear, if I could marry a cup of tea if-
"Please don't," Nellie muttered,, her voice muffled by the blankets she'd pulled over her head, hiding from the sun. A hand emerged, groping blindly for the tea Mira had left on her bedside table. "But also… thanks."
Mira acknowledged them with a nod, her usual quiet grace undisturbed, before retreating to the window ledge with her own cup. The sunrise painted her in gold and pink as she stared out at the grounds, silently not letting the rays hit Nellie, her expression unreadable.
Illuna watched her for a moment before turning back to her book. "We're learning the Levitation Charm today. Wingardium Leviosa."
Mira sipped her tea. "I'll manage. My father let me practice with his wand when I was younger."
Beth, now upright and clutching her cup like a lifeline, yawned. "Mine too, a little. Mostly just to impress guests."
Illuna's quill stilled. She looked up, frowning. "But that's against wizarding law, isn't it? Underage magic is restricted."
Mira's lips curved slightly. "The Trace is… imprecise. It detects magic within an area but can't pinpoint the caster. In a magical household, where spells are cast constantly, it's easy to disguise."
Beth nodded vigorously—then froze, her eyes widening. "Wait. You *can't* tell anyone. Seriously."
Illuna hesitated. A petty, childish part of her *was* irked—*they* got a head start, while she'd only held a wand for the first time days ago. But the feeling passed as quickly as it came. "I won't," she said finally, her tone dry. "Though I reserve the right to be mildly resentful."
Beth laughed, relieved. "Fair."
Nellie, finally emerging from her blanket cocoon, squinted at them. "Are we conspiring or studying? Because I need at least a cup of tea before either."
The dormitory settled into a comfortable quiet, the only sounds the turning of pages and the occasional slurp of tea. Outside, the sun climbed higher, gilding the edges of the room, and Illuna allowed herself a small, private smile.
Today would be a good day.
The Charms classroom hummed with the low chatter of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs finding their seats, morning sunlight streaming through tall arched windows to dance across shelves of enchanted curiosities.
A floating compass spun lazily on a shelf near the entrance, its needle pointing insistently toward the door each time someone passed through. She lingered just a moment too long watching it – until a familiar voice broke her trance.
"Saved you a seat." Tessa waved from a shared desk near the front, her usual vibrant energy softened by lingering sleepiness but her smile genuine. Illuna slid into place beside her just as a tiny figure burst through the professor's door with unexpected vigour.
Professor Flitwick stood barely taller than the stack of textbooks beside his podium, yet his presence commanded immediate silence. "Welcome, welcome!" His voice carried a musical lilt as he climbed his makeshift platform. "Today marks your first proper foray into charms – a milestone indeed!"
A snicker came from the back row where a broad-shouldered Hufflepuff nudged his neighbour. Flitwick either didn't notice or chose to ignore it as he flourished his wand, sending golden letters streaming across the blackboard:
WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA
"The levitation charm," he announced, "deceptively simple yet endlessly versatile!" With a graceful swish-and-flick motion, he sent a peacock feather soaring in smooth loops above their heads. The classroom collectively inhaled – this was why they'd come to Hogwarts.
Illuna's fingers twitched toward her wand as Flitwick explained the precise wrist movement. "Not a jab, not a thrust – think of conducting an orchestra!" His demonstration feather danced to an imaginary melody.
When practice feathers were distributed, Illuna's first attempt produced only a feeble wiggle. She adjusted her grip minutely, recalling Flitwick's exact phrasing. On her second try, the feather lifted cleanly, bobbing like a boat on gentle waves. A quiet thrill ran through her – this wasn't theory in a book, but real magic responding to her will.
"Show-off," Tessa murmured without malice, wrestling with her own stubborn feather that kept flipping sideways. Her exaggerated pout made Illuna's lips quirk upward.
Around them, chaos unfolded in miniature. A freckled Ravenclaw's feather burst into harmless silver sparks, while across the aisle, a Hufflepuff yelped as his launched upward to bonk him on the nose. Flitwick moved through the room like a small, cheerful whirlwind, correcting grips and praising effort.
"Excellent control, Miss…?" Flitwick paused at their desk, his bright eyes crinkling.
"Heart," Illuna supplied, watching her feather maintain perfect altitude.
"Ah yes! That wrist alignment is textbook perfect." His approval warmed her more than any house points could.
As the lesson concluded, Flitwick assigned just two feet of parchment on charm theory ("To understand the why behind the swish!"). Students gathered their belongings with newfound energy, the air buzzing with the excitement of having made real magic happen.
Tessa bumped Illuna's shoulder as they stood. "Guess we know who'll be our study group's charms tutor." Her tone was light, but the respect in her eyes was genuine.
The climb to Ravenclaw Tower felt longer than usual, each step heavier than the last. Illuna's eyelids drooped as she counted the stone steps—thirty-seven, thirty-eight—her body moving on autopilot while her mind floated somewhere between exhaustion and the lingering thrill of mastering *Wingardium Leviosa*. Two hours. That's all she had before meeting her friends. Two precious hours to steal back some of the sleep she'd lost this week.
The bronze eagle knocker gleamed as she approached, its beak already parting to deliver its riddle.
*"I speak without—"*
"Silence," Illuna answered flatly, not breaking stride.
The knocker's wings flared in what might have been offense before the door swung open. She barely registered the common room's usual comforting scents of parchment and ink as she trudged toward the dormitory, her limbs leaden.
Her bed welcomed her like an old friend. The sheets were cool against her skin, the pillows perfectly yielding. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, the mattress didn't feel foreign. She sank into it with an audible sigh, muscles unclenching one by one.
*All this is missing is the smell of tree sap,* she thought absently, the memory wrapping around her like a blanket. That sharp, resinous scent that clung to her clothes after hours spent reading in the old oak behind their house. The way the late afternoon sun would stripe the pages of her book through the leaves, the distant chatter of their cantankerous family owl scolding the neighbor's chickens—
Sleep took her before she could finish the thought.
---
*She's home.*
Not the cramped London flat where she'd lived with her father these past few years, but the countryside house from her earliest memories. The one with peeling blue shutters and the crooked chimney. Golden grass whispers against her legs as she makes her way to the oak tree, its gnarled roots forming a perfect seat. A book lies open in her lap, but she isn't reading—just watching sunlight dapple the pages, breathing in sap and earth and—
*Scratchscratchscratch.*
The sound yanked her back to consciousness. For a disoriented moment, she stared at the stone ceiling, the dream still clinging to her like cobwebs. Then it came again—an insistent scraping at the window.
Midnight sat on the sill, his tail flicking with feline smugness as he watched a very disgruntled owl batter the glass with its talons. The bird's amber eyes burned with outrage, its feathers puffed to twice their normal size.
Illuna groaned, dragging herself upright. The owl practically fell into the room when she opened the window, shaking itself with an indignant *hoot*. Midnight's ears twitched—Illuna barely had time to snatch her wand and murmur *"Wingardium Leviosa"* before he pounced. The spell lifted him gently into the air, his legs cycling uselessly as he shot her a look of utter betrayal.
"Behave," she muttered, turning to the owl. It glared at her, as if holding her personally responsible for its humiliation, before extending a leg.
The letter was slightly crumpled, the parchment warm from the owl's grip. She recognized her father's handwriting immediately—the precise, angular script that always looked more like an architect's blueprint than prose.
She unfolded it, and the world narrowed to the words in her hands.
*Illuna,*
*By now, I imagine you've already memorized half your textbooks and corrected the others with margin notes.*
*(That was a joke, but only just.)*
A breath of laughter escaped her. He knew her too well.
*I've been thinking of you every morning when I put the kettle on. The house feels too quiet without your footsteps racing the cat down the stairs. How is Midnight, by the way? Does he still smell about as good as dung?*
Midnight, still floating midair, flicked his tail as if in protest.
*It's rather boring playing chess with the owl now. (The owl hoots indignantly as I write this—he knows it's true.) He tries his best, but in the end, he still moves a pawn three squares and knocks over the queen with his wing.*
Her thumb brushed the edge of the parchment, a phantom ache blooming in her chest.
*How is the castle? It was a lot my first time there. I expect you've already found the library and have opinions about the shelving system. Let me know if it's any good.*
She had, in fact, drafted a three-point critique of the library's cataloging methods in her journal last night.
*I know you won't say it, not directly, but I also know you, and I know you are probably not doing too well sleeping over there. It's all right to miss home, even when you're exactly where you're meant to be. Even the brightest stars need time to settle into new skies.*
The words blurred. She blinked hard.
*Remember, magic may be in your wand now—but it's always been in you.*
*Write when you can, and don't worry about sounding clever. I already know you are.*
*With love,*
*Richard Heart*
---
The owl nipped her finger when she tried to stroke its head, clearly still offended by Midnight's antics. Illuna didn't mind. She pressed the letter to her chest for a moment, the paper crisp against her palm, before tucking it carefully into her bedside drawer.
Outside the window, the Scottish hills rolled toward the horizon, golden with afternoon light. Somewhere beyond them, her father was probably sipping tea, Staring out the window, a early version of her story's open in front of him.
Midnight, finally released from his levitation prison, stalked to the far side of the bed and began pointedly licking his paw.
Illuna reached for her quill. Taking out a slightly crumpled parchment she scrawled in precise but hurried handwriting, with a faint ink smudge near the signature where Midnight attempted to sit on it mid-composition:
Dad,
The owl pecked me twice while I was untying your letter—once for each of Midnight's taunts through the window, I assume. He's sulking on my trunk now, licking his paw with unnecessary drama. You were right; he still smells like something the garden gnomes would reject.
My roommates are… an experience. Beth talks in her sleep (mostly about cauldron cakes), Mira wakes at dawn to brew tea like some sort of caffeinated sentinel, and Nellie sleeps with a compass balanced on her forehead. I haven't figured out why yet. They're the kind of people who'd be unbearable protagonists in a novel, but somehow work in reality. Mostly.
Hogwarts is exactly what I expected in theory and nothing like it in practice. The staircases have a vendetta against first-years—one tried to dump me into a tapestry of dancing trolls yesterday. I'm convinced it was personal. The library's organization system is objectively flawed (Dewey Decimal would weep), but I've already found three secret nooks with decent lighting.
I've been spending time with Lily (Gryffindor, terrifyingly competent at Transfiguration) and Severus (Slytherin, knows more about potions than Slughorn). Lily insists on calling me "Flower." I could not tell you why. Tessa—the Hufflepuff who found me lost near the kitchens—has the survival instincts of a Cornish pixie but somehow makes it endearing.
Charms went well. Lifted the feather on the second try—Flitwick said my wrist alignment was "textbook," though I suspect he says that to everyone who doesn't accidentally levitate their own eyebrows. (You'd be surprised how common that is here.)
I'm sleeping well, nothing to worry about.
(she lied)
You don't have to write often, but I do like the smell of honeydew on your letters, so send more.
Midnight just knocked over my inkwell, so I'll end here before he redecorates the parchment with paw prints.
– Illuna
*Postscript:* The owl is glaring at me. Please send him extra treats so he doesn't exact revenge on my next letter
Illuna tied the message to the owls leg, it hopping slightly trying to avoid it. Illuna petted it and silently promised treats the next time it delivers a message.
She watches it disappear over the horizon, then brushes the last of sleep from her eyes and heads off to meet her friends