Penwick

A pale, silvery light seeped in through the thin window of Archer's dorm room. The boy couldn't sleep; he had been tossing and turning for hours, trying in vain to get comfortable. The bed was not the issue—far from it, in fact, he could have sworn the mattress was enchanted. That was the only way to explain just how comfortable it truly was. His restlessness seemed to be an almost inherent part of his being. Even in the comfort of his own home, the boy would often stay awake into obscene hours of the night. At home, he had things to occupy himself. At Penwick, however, he had little more than a few books in the common room. 'Good enough,' he thought. 'They'll put me to sleep.'

Archer quietly snuck his way out of bed, taking special care to be quiet so as not to wake the others. Gently, he opened the door leading into the common room and crept out. The Modron common room was a broad, cavernous expanse. Timber beams braced the stone walls, narrow windows letting in thin streaks of moonlight. A few scattered candles and paper lanterns hang in the air, providing a majority of the light in the otherwise dinghy space. Seating areas are scattered throughout, the furniture having a distinctly aged appearance. Archer can't help but wonder what the other common rooms are like. Positioned neatly in the corner of the room: the Hope Chest. The bulky trunk is constructed from dark wood—likely black walnut or wenge—with a heavy lid that opens on squeaky iron hinges. The older Modrons have told Archer and the first-years all about it. It contains charms. Little tokens of luck meant to bring the supposedly cursed Modron students good fortune. Archer liked the sentiment, but he had always found good luck charms a little silly. Although, that was before he learned of his magical heritage. Perhaps they held more value than he first thought.

He approached a well-loved shelf and did his best to read the titles of the books in the dim light. A Crimson Herring by Julian Verona, Begone: A Spirit Banishing Guide by Edmonton Halley, Enchanted Encounters by Fifi LaFolle, Practical Household Magic by Zamira Gulch…

‘Bloody hell,’ Archer thought to himself. ‘No wonder so many people here are so miserable. These books sound boring as…’

Just then—

Movement!

It was a barely audible shuffle; most people would have missed. Archer turned to look over at the sound, only to catch the outline of someone moving out of the common room. This intrigued Archer. It was well past curfew already; he would likely get scolded for being up this late in here let alone out in the castle. For a moment, Archer considered just forgetting about what he saw, but his curiosity made it impossible. Like a stray cat, he pursued the mysterious individual out the door. He stuck to the shadows, his heart racing as a ghost could phase through the walls at any moment. Fortunately, it seemed the person he was following knew this too, causing them to take things slow. Archer made sure to keep as quiet as possible, shadowing the other person through the castle.

As the night-time wanderer ascended the stairs into the ground floor, the light provided by the moon revealed more of their features. Archer's eyes widened with recognition as he realised that he was following Briar Hathaway. A large part of him wanted to turn around—turn and not bother her more than he already had. However, another far more dominant part of his psyche compelled him to continue onward. ‘Let's see what you're up to…’

Soon enough, Briar reached her location: the courtyard. A wide, open space dominated by a beautiful garden bathed in pale light that gave the area a distinctly ethereal feeling. Briar was still dressed in her Modron robes, her wand held tightly in her rather gangly hands. Her wand possessed an elegant design, its laurel wood looking particularly striking. The phoenix feather core was as independent and passionate as the witch to which it belonged. She raised her wand to her forehead in an almost ritualistic manner before taking a deep breath.

“Wi—” She stopped herself. Focused.

With a flourish, she completed a somatic gesture. All around her, pebbles slowly began levitating off the ground. Like planets, the stones began to orbit around the girl. In a manner similar to that of a conductor, Briar flourished with her wand, causing each stone to twirl gently through the air. Archer was left enthralled. He had never seen anything like this before. Not even from the professors.

“How are you doing that…?”

And just like that, Briar's concentration was broken. The stones fell, landing with a soft yet audible thump. She turned to Archer, her hazel eyes burning into him. There was a mix of concern and fury etched into her features. It seemed as though she were about to turn her wand on Archer, but she stopped herself from committing the act.

“You,” she hissed. “Didn't I tell you not to get in my way, Murray? How long have you been following me?” Were it not for their circumstances, she would likely have been screaming at the boy. Instead, she limited herself to a sort of whisper-yell.

“About… Um…” He could not produce a time. “Since you left the common room… I couldn't sleep, and I saw you leaving, and—”

She cut him off. “And you got curious, didn't you? Typical. That's your problem, Archer. You don't know how to not involve yourself in everything. You just have to stick your nose in everyone's business. Why can't you just leave me alone?” Her voice broke.

A pang of guilt mixed with worry filled Archer. “I'm…” He still didn't know how to handle situations like this. “Sorry.”

“You always are.” Briar shook her head. “But sorry doesn't fix things, Archer. It never does, and it never will.”

The boy did her best to change the subject, hoping to find an avenue he could use to improve the girl's mood. “What are you doing out this late anyway? It's way past curfew. Wouldn't you get in trouble if you were caught being out this late?”

“Getting caught wouldn't be a problem if you weren't here. I can sneak around just fine on my own, but with you? I might as well be wearing a bell.” She sighed deeply. “If you have to know—and I'm sure you do—I was practising. A foreign concept to you, I'm sure. I personally prefer not to have dangerous surges in the middle of class.”

“Hey, I'm practicing… S-sometimes.” His confidence was melting away. Briar made Archer confront things about himself—things he did not want to acknowledge.

“Don't lie to me, Murray.” Her voice was firm. “I know magic well enough when someone isn't studying. You're a prime example. It's honestly impressive you haven't blown yourself up yet. That'd make life far too easy for me, wouldn't it?”

It was then that an opportunity presented itself to Archer. Without even thinking, words spilled from him: “teach me.” He seemed surprised by the act himself.

“What?” Briar was taken aback.

Archer regained his composure. “You're right… I'm not the best at magic. I screw things up, I make things explode—I'm rubbish. But if I had the right teacher…” This was slimey, and Archer knew it. However, the idea of being able to have more control quashed the feelings of shame. “I saw what you did with those pebbles… I've never seen anything like that before. You clearly know what you're doing, Briar, so why not teach me so I don't hurt anyone?”

Briar thought for a moment. For the briefest instance, a solemn glint could be seen in her eyes. However, she then scoffed. “If you can't learn from the professors, why would I bother wasting my time with you?” She questioned.

Briar made a good point. Archer had no rebuttal. And so, he did the only thing he could: “Please…”

“You're not carrying your wand, aren't you?” She asked in a monotone voice. Archer shook his head. Briar sighed. “Fine. But you are only going to be observing—quietly.”

Archer's eyes lit up with joy. He barely contained his excitement, performing little hops in place. He stepped back, allowing Briar to perform her mock lecture. Her hazel eyes flicked back to the boy, a terminally unimpressed look plastered upon her face.

“Magic,” she explained, “is not just throwing spells around like a moron. There's an art to it—a technique. You wave around your wand wildly and then wonder why everything goes wrong. You don't take time. You aren't precise.” She showcased a mock movement, demonstrating the fluidity and care Archer lacked. “Here's something very important to learn: you are not your wand's master. It's a symbiotic relationship; both you and your wand need to be working in harmony for a spell to properly be cast.” Briar looked at Archer, the boy listening intently. “Think of yourself as a conductor and the wand as the orchestra. Without the conductor, the orchestra falls out of harmony and produces an improper song. Conversely, without the orchestra… Well, I'm sure you can guess.”

Archer could not help but refute her final claim. He had plenty of harmony with his wand. It had chosen him after all. The problem must have laid deeper within him—something that was deeply concerning for the boy. If he could not learn how to control his own magic, could he even be called a wizard? He certainly did not think so. Briar's lecture continued until, against her better judgement, she opted to allow Archer to mimic her movements. She assumed that without his wand, Archer would be incapable of producing any meaningful magic. Archer followed along, executing somatic gestures with his fingertips as Briar explained the intricacies behind each movement. The girl clearly knew a lot about magic, her comprehension on a level he could scarcely fathom.

Briar continued lecturing the boy, her demeanour growing notably lighter as she educated him on the nature of magic. Archer wondered how often Briar got to share her immense knowledge, as well as how many cared to listen. However, Archer himself was growing tired of listening. He wanted to try something—one simple little spell. After all, what was the point of learning this new knowledge if he did not showcase his ability to apply it?

“Alright,” he confidently stated. “I think I understand now… Focus, precision, time. I can do it.” He nodded firmly.

Briar stared at him blankly. “No, you can't. You're not going to get it perfectly right out of the gate—nobody does. Even I couldn't. Besides, you don't have your wand with you.”

“I don't need it.”

“You do.” Briar could already see what was about to happen.

Archer, without hesitation, raised his hand and closed his eyes. He blocked out everything—Briar, the chirp of crickets, the howl of the wind—and poured all of his attention into his spell, executing the somatics. Briar paused, her own curiosity overriding her logical thought. A few moments passed… Nothing. But then, to Briar's disbelief, a pebble before the two of them began to slowly levitate off the ground.

“What…?” For the briefest moment, envy filled her. “How are you—”

And then Archer lost control. It started with a tingling in his fingertips. That was all it took to throw him off. The stone flew through the air at a rapid pace and smashed through a window. Shards of glass now littered the floor, glinting in the moonlight. Briar facepalmed.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” She questioned aloud, asking nobody in particular. “You're hopeless, Murray—cursed, even. Even when I'm teaching you, you still can't get it right.”

Archer looked down at his hands. Frustration built within him. Not at Briar for her insults—but at himself for his failure. Why could he not get it right? What was he missing? As the frustration increased within him, so too did the tingling. With time, it worsened; he felt a stabbing sensation spread throughout his body. Briar looked at the boy concerned as he doubled over in pain. And then—

A scattershot of stones. The pebbles ricocheted off the walls, countless more meeting windows or branches. It was cacophonous—impossible to ignore. It was then that several professors arrived, wands drawn. They demanded an explanation for the scene before them. For a moment, Archer pondered something: what if he just lied? What if he threw Briar under the bus and tried to get out scot free? But then, a more influential part of himself came into play. He knew what had to be done—what he owed.

“It was my fault. I snuck out to practice magic, because I'm worried I'm going to accidentally hurt someone. Briar followed me because she thought I was up to something. If you're going to punish anyone, punish me.”

Briar was almost taken aback by the gesture. She remained silent.

One of the professors sighed. “I can understand your concern, Mr. Murray… But there are times for practice, and that time is certainly not past curfew. However, since your reasoning is noble, you'll be getting four hours of detention.” He then faced Briar. “And you, Ms. Hathaway… I will let you off with a warning. If you are caught out after curfew again… I will not be so lenient. Now, off to bed, both of you!” He told them firmly.

Archer accepted the punishment. Although he knew it would likely be awful to endure, the boy could not bear the thought of someone else being punished for his mistake. Briar left without another word, though not before taking one last look back at Archer. Her expression—even for someone like him—was impossible to read.