Penwick

Archer thought he was dreaming at first. When his grandfather told him he was a wizard, he thought the man was just joking—something he did often. But Archer quickly realised just how wrong he was when a visitor in his dreams arrived. She told him that he was bound for Australia's finest wizarding school. When he awoke the next morning, a plaque depicting himself casting spells was placed next to his bed. Archer was overjoyed. But fate—the unshakeable force—held other plans for the boy.

The move to Wales was difficult to stomach at first. Even someone like Archer who had prided himself on his adaptability found it confronting. Everything was new to him; every person was a stranger; every street was unexplored. It was equal parts exhilarating and overwhelming. But there was a silver lining: Penwick School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A prestigious institution—the finest in Wales. Even if he was not learning magic on familiar soil, Archer was still relieved he could learn the wondrous abilities at all. His grandfather guided him through the process of getting prepared for Penwick. As they wandered through Diagon Alley, Archer continued barraging the man with countless questions.

“How do I cast magic?”

“Who discovered magic?”

“When do I get to fly on a broom?”

“Why…”

The questionnaire was ceaseless; Archer was brimming with curiosity for this new, wondrous world. Soon enough, Archer was waving his grandfather goodbye and departing from the Pierhead Building upon the Aderyn. Archer could simply not contain his excitement, causing countless students to strike up conversations with him. Upperclassmen spun wild tales of their adventures within Penick and the surrounding area. Some even showcased simple spells earning a starry-eyed stare from the young wizard. Eventually, Archer entered Penwick Castle for the first time where he—much to his amazement—spoke with living portraits of the school's founders.

The boy was sorted into House Modron, a house of martyrdom and perseverance. Archer knew little of the houses; he did not register the connotations of his placement. Upon the announcement, he had officially become a member of Penwick's ecosystem. His first year had begun.
────────────────────────────
Archer's first week at Penwick has, in his opinion, gone without a hitch. He has spent most of his learning the very basics—Foundational Magic. Archer certainly needs it; he has misspoke and executed improper somatics countless times. Though it has resulted in some rather unfortunate displays of ineptitude, the boy has always laughed it off. His bright, charismatic demeanour coupled with his innately laid-back attitude has made quite well-liked among the student body. That sense of casualness is missing from much of Penwick, but Archer provides it in spades.

Some, however, are not as inclined to tolerate such behaviour. The professors often remind him of the importance of exercising caution when learning. After all, it only takes one error to severely injure himself or another. Archer tries his hardest to follow the guidelines, but there is something about wielding the raw brilliance of magic that alters him. This energy—it is longing to break free, and it will seek any reason to do so. While many Modrons laugh along with Archer at his failings, there is one student who seems to despise it: Briar Hathaway.

A half-blood—something she makes very clear—she can often be seen scowling at Archer as he walks by. One of the older Modron students, Gage Frawley, seems to think that she has something to prove. During a particularly important foundational lesson, Briar finally loses her patience with the boy. She decides to confront him—to make him understand what he is really doing here. After the end of class, Brian approaches the boy. She's a slender girl with long, dexterous fingers perfect for twirling objects about while deep in thought. Her hair—a medium-length, layered bob of caramel-brown—is immaculate. Coupled with neat robes, she appears quite put-together save for the bags under her hazel eyes.

“Murray.” She speaks with a clear, venomous tone. “I am fed up with you,” she boldly states. She keeps a guarded posture, crossing her arms as she glares at him.

A look of confusion crosses Archer's face. Has he done something to her? He barely even knows her name! He points to himself. “Me…?” He asks quietly, his voice inaudible over the raucous chatter of the other students.

“Are there any other Murrays in this school, Archer?” She asks rhetorically. “Yes, you!”

Archer believes that this must be some sort of misunderstanding. Though he can tell the girl is frustrated, he believes that he will be able to sort the situation out quickly. “Alright then.” He nods in response, telling her to continue

“Are you daft, Archer?! It's a bloody miracle that you didn't hit me in that last class! You're using a wand, not a…” She searches for an appropriate term. “Glowstick…! Stop waving it around!” She seethes.

Oh, he thinks, that's what this is about. “Hey, I said I was sorry! It's really not that big of a deal…!” He realises the sheer coarseness of his words just as they leave his mouth. He braces for impact.

Briar's frown dips even lower, something that Archer did not think was possible. “Are you serious?” She scoffs. “Not that big of a deal—you made an ink pot fly at me, you git!”

Archer understands that this situation is going to require a degree of tact. “Look, like I said, I'm sorry.” His voice is laden with genuine remorse. He hates making others feel bad. “I'll be more careful, I promise…!” He does his best to assure the girl.

“That's what you said the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that!” She shakes her head. “People like you aren't fit to wield magic. I can't wait for the day when you realise that.” She turns away from him. “Stay out of my way, Murray.” She walks off without another word.

And just like that, Archer's perspective on his new life at Penwick grows a little darker. These surges of magic—how can he hope to control them when he knows so little? Everything about the wizarding world is new to him; he does see a world in which mastering this new side of himself does not take years. Archer sighs.

“Time for the next class, I guess…”