Hogwarts was nice.
The days started with an increasingly prickly song from a small wooden bird sculpture positioned at the end of the bed. The song was pleasant to listen to, unless you forgot to turn it off before it turned into a bird-shaped screaming banshee.
I had never seen an alarm clock so effective; the perfect combination of gentleness and cruelty. This elaborate torture device had an elegant design, where the sculpture was attached to a dial, similar to a sun dial. An alarm could then be set by rotating the sculpture to the desirable time and pushing the bird into bowing position. Finally, when time was up, the bird would straighten with speed analogous to a cobra striking its target.
Even more fascinating was that the bird’s appearance followed the melody and volume, hand in hand. At first, the sculpture resembled a songbird, shy and young, singing its soft melody. But as the melody got harsher and louder, the resemblance was gone. Where at first was a petite beak, now was an increasingly louder abomination, a combination of a bird beak and a foghorn. Eyes blazing red with the fury of a thousand suns, promising pain and suffering.
I had wanted to see if there would be any more changes if I waited longer, but my flesh was weak. In my defense, the sound was already such a hellish scream that it felt like someone was drilling inside my head. Yes, I gave up. Another excuse for my resignation was the fact that my roommates were starting to wake up. This was quite the surprise, as there seemed to be some kind of muffling or silencing magic. Deduction I had made due to never waking up to an alarm of either Oscar’s or Leon’s and same for them. But it seemed that even the silence barrier would not be enough to contain the truly furious alarm bird.
The Ravenclaw tower was divided so that most of the space was preoccupied by the common room at the core, where it spanned the whole height of the tower top. The common room was coronated by the beautiful small library with books in pristine condition.
The first time I realized that I had been excited beyond belief. Library, and practically in my bedroom. On the first day, I had tried to smuggle some books to my bedroom. However, after a few failed attempts, a face that had been stabbed many times with a miniscule dagger, and a smug looking alarm bird with blood dripping from its beak, I had given up. You win this time, bird.
So, instead, on the weekend I settled for reading in the library so late that the books sung me to sleep in the common room coaches.
Sleeping in the common room was not endorsed, but it was also not forbidden. However, to avoid a personal psychiatric meeting with the head of the Ravenclaw house, Filius Flitwick, I decided to follow the troublesome social norms and slept in my own bed under the watchful eye of the alarm bird.
However, mark my words, I have not forgiven the transgressions of the bird and I will have my vengeance.
The library was nice, but it was very small. More specifically, it was only 5 shelves of books, a very minimal library indeed. The prefects said not to worry, as the library was enchanted to show books based on the student’s year. Each year more and more books would be available, so much that only a few would find the time to read the books from fifth year onwards.
For me, however, an avid reader, it was but an appetizer to read all the available books. An appetizer that took one week, but I wanted to avoid rushing through them, they were so interesting.
Other than the library, the Ravenclaw ceiling was also interesting. The ceiling, corresponding to the highest point in the tower, was full of shining stars on an impossibly black background. Unlike normal starlight, these stars fully lit the common room in the daytime. Most intriguing was the fact that I could recognize some of the stars. The stars moved and changed like in a real night sky. I wondered if I could someday create something like that. Such an elegance and light touch. No need for ostentatious showing of mediocrity, instead just a simple principle taken to its limit.
The dormitory rooms were positioned at the edges with higher years on upper floors, with large windows and an overarching view of the Hogwarts grounds. Based on the massive size of the common room and the bordering bedrooms, the tower should have been massive. That size had been accomplished according to “Ravenclaws History”, a blue-bronze showy book in the common room library, with the help of very elaborate extension charms in the whole castle. The legend says that Rowena Ravenclaw herself had enchanted the charms and had given an extra pizzazz to the Ravenclaw tower. I promised myself I would test it somehow if I ever found the time.
Our room, being firsties, was on the bottom floor. There was definitely the aspect of firsties should be housed in the lowest rooms hierarchy, but I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I rejoiced. The room was right next to the library, with at most 20 feet of travel to the closest bookshelf. If that was not a win, then what was.
The bedroom itself was quite large, nearly rectangular, but curved to fit the round shape of the tower. Like nearly everything in this castle, the floors, the walls and the ceiling were made from stone. Wood was only used for furniture, at least visibly. Each roommate had a massive bed, larger than I had ever seen at the orphanage, not to mention the quality. A small desk and a chair were also provided for all of us. My desk had been of some help as it provided a place for me to practice my slowly better handwriting. I used to have neat, efficient handwriting, that I had spent countless hours honing in the boring class of the primary school.
Quills, however, were a wholly unique beast. Writing with a quill was a tedious task, which required constant concentration and effort. The quill tip needed to be soaked in the ink every so often, but that alone was complex. You see, the amount of ink that the tip deposited for a given mark, was somewhat proportional to the ink soaked in the tip. Of course, there was an amount that gave approximately uniform ink output, but due to the low quality of my quill, that range of ink was very precise. Moreover, the tip was quite bendy unlike normal pencils, so the writing was far more perturbed by the pressure of the quill. It allowed more control on the shape of the letters, but it also made it harder. Not all hand writings are equal. A good analogy between pencil and a quill, was giving a child a bike versus a jet plane. Both will take you to places, the bike can be learned in a reasonable amount of time, but an average person in a jet plane will only result in a spectacular crash. However, for a skilled person, a quill allows for immensely better quality writing. Control over the width of the stroke, unparalleled with pens. Luckily, quills don’t cost as much as jet planes, so I would be damned before I am content with the same train wreck that my classmates' penmanship illustrate.
So, it wasn’t quite the surprise, I was still thought to be quite the weirdo. Not that weirdo that I would be sent to Flitwick for counseling, but enough weirdo to stay away from when I was raving about the intricacies of quills and the effort needed to show their beauty. However, the feeling was mutual, as after seeing my classmates’ abysmal penmanship with ink dots and stains all over their homework, we had come to a silent agreement, a Cold War standoff to never mention handwriting, even in passing. I hoped they would see their pernicious ways and find the happiness within their quills, and they probably hoped I would be quiet.
Anyway, Hogwarts was huge, I would even describe it as massive. Even weirder was the fact that it was mostly empty. Long, tall, empty hallways leading to even emptier rooms, some of which had tables and chairs in them, like old forgotten classrooms. Some rooms had clearly not been used for many decades, maybe even centuries, with dust layers as thick as carpets and spiderwebs so widespread they looked like small, interconnected villages. I did voice my concerns of the possible spider invasion to Leon, but he seemed more concerned with turbulence charts of a broom prototype he was designing.
Ah, yes. Leon’s family, the Polwhicks, are apparently a moderately well-known broom maker family in Hungary. Leon, however, had wanted to follow his dream to the broom capital of the world, London, and had managed to roll into Hogwarts. Overall, Leon was one of the most ideal roommates I could have imagined, his only real interest lied in brooms, and all else was secondary. He was more of an extrovert than me, but apart from that, we had many similarities.
Oscar, on the other hand… He was a rogue. His family owned an enchanting shop in Diagon Alley and were apparently quite well off. Well, the last part was quite an obvious observation, but no use in pointing out inconsistencies in others logic. Don’t shoot the therapist and all that.
He didn’t seem to want to explain more about his family, and I didn’t want to know, so common ground was effortlessly established. However, whereas Leon was a sophisticated youth who was productive to the society, Oscar was a menace sent by the All writer to test my faith. To be fair, he wasn’t that bad, he was just worse than Leon. He seemed like a sheltered kid who had just arrived at the playground and noticed his parents weren’t there to watch over him. A spoiled brat, most would say. And I would agree with them. Luckily, he is not the first difficult personality I have managed in my life, so a little attention and keeping out of his way made an easy routine to keep myself on the sidelines.
So, the reason for my insistent exploration of Hogwarts was the fact that I was hopelessly lost. I never considered myself as a directionally challenged person, but I guess I never had a reference case to compare with. In retrospect, getting lost near my orphanage would truly have been a serious cognitive dysfunction. But still, the castle was massive. On paper, it had 8 floors, but that in itself was a massive understatement. Or maybe there had been 8 floors before the castle was magically modified. Currently, however, the castle was so much more. Each “floor” had two to five subfloors with numerous staircases and even ladders leading to the most obscure hallways leading up to nowhere. In fact, the distinction between floors was so vague, that it was an impossible task to form a reasonable understanding of the layout.
Well, that’s what I thought, but it seems I was the only person having that much trouble with orienteering myself. I learned that most people used well established routes between classrooms, but seldom went through the long forgotten corridors. It wasn’t worth it to use time for finding an optimal path when the payoff was not promised. I was quick to agree, however, even with the established routes, my inability to find my way was established. It didn’t matter if I only considered the usual routes, I was still getting lost.
To solve this issue, I confronted my greatest weakness, other people and followed them, while simultaneously making a usable map in my notebook. It was hard. Making notes with a quill is a pain. Making notes with a quill, while moving, is an impossible task. In practice, I had to make my notes against the floor, further spreading my weird reputation. I promised, cross my heart, I will find a spell to solve this annoyance. If instantly moving through space is possible, so must be spelling a quill to write and draw.
The castle was full of fascinating things. A few times while I had been left behind while making my map notes, I had come across ghosts floating across and through doors, walls, and ceilings, unbounded by the constraints of physical reality. The ghosts were a daily sight in Hogwarts, most seemed wholly uninterested in the life of the living, but some exceptions existed. Each house had a single house ghost, but to what reason I knew not. The Grey lady was the Ravenclaw house ghost, but I had never seen her do anything to warrant the title. She was quite a rare sight and I had seen her only 3 times in the 8 days I had been here, always glooming around, and rarely visiting the Great Hall.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The ghosts were fascinating. They were not specific to Hogwarts, but instead could be observed anywhere, with enough magic to facilitate their being. According to “Luminous mysteries”, a book in the Ravenclaw library, they were an imprint, a picture left behind from their memories as they died. The book had interesting theories whether a ghost could be even considered a person. The argument stemmed from the fact that ghosts were more a kind to moving portraits. In fact, the book suggested that the enchanting method of the portraits was probably based on formation of ghosts. And since portraits were not considered individuals, why should ghost be.
There, another fascinating topic, moving portraits. Moving portraits were somehow enchanted with the emotion of the painted person, to create a lifelike personality. That the portraits themselves could move was fascinating, but even more so was the fact that they could leap into other portraits. It had been a surprise when the first portraits were invented, but after centuries it had transformed from an inexplicable mystery to a premise. After all, they have always been able to do that, so it’s just natural. Fascinating!
So, here I was. Walking to the Great Hall for a breakfast, with the help of my trusted map when I arrived at the Great staircase. This staircase was the most dangerous part of the path when I was alone. There was no danger due to spells or jinxes from other students, but the danger stemmed purely from the stairs. On the first day, the prefects had told us that the stairs were magical and tried to comply with the needs of the students.
Yeah, that’s a big fat lie.
Don’t get me wrong. Every time I had gone through the stairs in a group or accompanied by someone, the stairs had worked great. The stairs had always been ready, leading to the right place in an impeccable timing.
However, when I was alone, the story changed. By myself, the stairs didn’t seem to acknowledge me at all. They would not be waiting for me, instead waiting for the arrival of the next person. Furthermore, the stairs had once started moving just as I stepped into them, nearly leading me to trip and fall to my death. Worst of all, I seemed to be the only one with this problem. I tried subtly asking if others had had bad experiences with the stairs, but no one had. No one, but me. If it wasn’t so easy to confirm by myself, I would have probably been gaslight by the stairs that I had imagined everything.
Purely evil stairs with the soul of the devil inside them!
Other than their discriminating behavior, the stairs were intriguing. The stairs themselves, were like ants working for the whole colony of the staircase to transport students and other castle’s inhabitants. There is clearly a common goal with the stairs, but they move as individuals, part of the whole. The steps are all different sizes and lengths, making walking over them an arduous task, which needs concentration or risk limb and injury.
After a one-minute wait, the stairs finally arrived, just in time for an upperclassman to also get to the breakfast. The rest of the walk was an uneventful, with the usual coughing from decorative armors and morning routines of the waking portraits. My favorite part was watching the large dog from “The dog and the dragon” to chase after screaming portraits with cucumber slices on their eyes.
There were many such routines and events in the castle that from time to time would repeat. I don’t know if they were spelled by some students as gifts to the following generations, but they were nice. Although, I have only been here just over a week, so maybe I’ll grow to hate it.
The Great Hall was starting to fill up with students, with an atmosphere charged with anticipation. Yep, it’s Friday. It seems, even in Hogwarts, the universal constant of celebrating a weekend rest was present. I was not an exception. After all, today I would go search for the long-awaited Great Hogwarts library and that would be my spiritual place for the far away future. I hadn’t wanted to mix my readings with the Ravenclaw library, so now that I had finished, it was time.
After breakfast, we left for the double lecture of charms near the third-floor corridor. We were travelling in a large non-cohesive group, so I didn’t have care for the annoying stairs, and after a few minutes’ walk, we had arrived at the classroom.
The classroom started filling up with students, mostly from yellowish brown robed Hufflepuffs, and the rest of blue bronze Ravenclaws. The charm’s class was taught by our head of house, Filius Flitwick. He was a short, the shortest adult I had ever seen. Maybe even shorter than I was. I had tried a few times to get closer to him to compare our heights, but he had always sensed my approach and left with a disapproving glare. For all his short stature, he compensated with an elegance and grace so immaculate, that I had an instinct to bow under his disapproving gaze. A mustache so neatly trimmed and elegantly shaped, that it seemed to have a soul of its own. While most use grace as a means to converse and project power, not him. That grace was something more innate. Grace that had discarded all over politeness, and that had been forged to his bones, so deeply woven as to embody it altogether.
He was the reason I liked the charms class. The first class had been a bit of a letdown, mainly introductions and orientations to the school life. What little charms we went through were all from the straight from the book. But that grace!
One single wand-lighting charm, wand wave immaculate and precise as a maestro leading an orchestra. Pronunciation and a rhythm like tango opening. And, finally, magic effortless as floating cloud, but light as pervasive as the sun. Pervasive, but gentle that I could look directly with my own eyes, without any pain. A magic, that felt as effortless as a great conductor making a small flick with a thunderous response from the orchestra. It felt like for the first time I had seen such magic, a magic so graceful, but that elicited a thunderous response. The first lecture had gone through nothing of that type of theory, so I hoped I would get the relevant information today.
“Good morning, good morning!” Here he was, the epitome of grace had arrived. He was walking not quickly and not slowly, but was advancing with a surprising speed and in only a few moments was in front of the class.
“Quiet now, even you, Mr. Burnaby. The class is starting. Take out your books and homework.“ With a small interception to the rowdiest of the Hufflepuffs, the class was finally started. In a surprisingly small amount of time, the class had calmed down, and the students were eagerly, some less than others, waiting for the class to start.
Well, the class was a disappointment. The class had consisted of going through the same theories as in the book about the Lumos charm, and what were the main points to keep in mind when casting it. Most of the time was spent on practice of the charm, which was nice in a way, but I would have rather just observed as Flitwick made his magics. He had once before the practice demonstrated the beautiful spell. I had been too hypnotized to notice that others had started to practice, but after experiencing a blinding flash due to Oscar’s charm, I also tried the spell a few times after rubbing my eyes.
Don’t get me wrong, the practice was helpful. Flitwick wandered around the class fixing mistakes and giving tips. He complemented my beautiful execution, but also gave me tips on the correct intonation and emphasis of the incantation and the speed and rhythm of the wand movement. All the tips definitely worked, to get the light more corporal, and especially the formation of the light was faster and more stable. However, I was feeling betrayed. He gave me crumbs compared to what I wanted. What was that command of light to just appear, with an amount of magic that was so miniscule that he could have cast hundreds to match the magic in any of my classmate's forceful, brutish lights. At least it’s possible. It should be then possible for me to use that way to overcome my limitations.
I was waiting in the classroom after the class to ask that question. I wanted to know. The last time I have been this curious and full of anticipation was when I was asking for the library card. I did not at all like this feeling, a felt the furious heartbeat bouncing my chest up and down and heard the flow of blood in my ears. Yea, I didn’t like this at all. Nevertheless, I must endure.
“Excuse me, Professor. May I ask you a question?”
He seemed amused, and ready to give a clever answer, but closed his mouth before even starting, while looking at my state.
“It’s alright, Mr. Reed. Want to join me for a cup of tea?” He seemed friendly, but also placating, like trying to deal with a small fearful puppy. That metaphor hit a little too close to home.
“Yes, of course.” I followed Flitwick when he led me to his office through a small door from the back of the classroom. The office was full of amazing things, from walls filled with posters of colorful fights between wizards that seemed to defy imagination to a fireplace with a deceptively small fire. The fire looked as if it would go out the next moment, but was still defying its fate the next minute. Fire that refused to give up. Fire that was…
“I see you’re interested in the Gubraithian Fire. Fascinating, complex magic that seems to transcend faith itself. Truly an art piece of wonder.”
Interesting. Must add to the list of topics I need to know more about. However, I have more pressing tasks at hand.
“Yes, very beautiful.” Now or never, say your piece or never speak at all. I had found the best motivation for me was to psyche myself up with an ultimatum worst scenario, as an alternative.
“Professor… What was that magic in the class? The way you were leading the magic, unlike everything I have seen before.” I waited nervously for a response, or maybe even an answer.
“How perceptive of you.” He answered with a small smile.
“Five points to Ravenclaw.” I didn’t really care for the points, but it was nice to feel appreciated.
“However, the technique, if you were to call it that, is not something you should worry about. If you choose to study charms after fifth year, you will find your answer. Currently, it would only cause harm to your studies.” He answered, much more seriously. Gently, but with firmness to never budge under pressure. Not that my weak heart would ever endure trying to create that pressure.
“I see. Thank you, Professor.” I answered, feeling disappointed. If I can ever even get to the fifth year with my magic. It might just be that the end for me was far before that. I don’t have any options left! I must do something!
“Dear Paige, do not despair. Your magic was exemplary in class, and you will find no problems getting to the upper years. You just need to let time take its time and enjoy the ride. Rarely, will an unmediated obsession lead to the outcomes one finds satisfying.”
I considered and thought over his words, while sipping a teacup he gave me. Although, it wasn’t tea, but pumpkin juice inside. It was a nice to take a sip and think for a moment. Think before talking, think before giving a response in a hurry that I would anyway be unsatisfied. After a shockingly long time, at least a few minutes, I had calmed down, so I put down the cup on the table and exhaled.
“Thank you, Professor.” This time, I truly meant it. Why respond in a hurry with an answer I would regret, when he gave me the opportunity to get a hold of myself. He was truly the most supportive person I had ever met in my life. Supportive but wise and kind. Wise to see that which I could not see in my state, and kind enough to show me the way.
After the class, I went to lunch in the Great Hall. I just and just managed to get in time to get food, due to the damned stairs blocking my way, as if to ridicule me. Even the stairs, however, could not spoil my uplifted mood, as I realized the end of the day was only library time. The long-awaited library was finally in my grasps. I didn’t actually want to own and possess the books; I was totally fine just making introductions. In fact, if it means I can read the books in the library, I was totally fine being legally owned by the library.
The library was easy to find from the Great Hall. It was located on the same floor, with just a minute or two walk from the hall. There it was, a large, maybe ten feet tall stone arch with steel doors that were currently open.
I am usually a reserved person, that tends to overthink and stress things before making decisions, but this was a clear-cut conclusion. I walked briskly inside, with a small skip in my steps. All the anticipation had been realized.
Books shelves taller than Hagrid, longer than a hundred feet, all packed full of books. I let out a small infatuated cry, that I quickly suppressed to account for the positively murderous look from an old lady sitting behind a table near the entrance. Probably a librarian then.
After a whispering interaction and many promises to take care of the books, I was given a library card, with which I was allowed to take five books outside the library and make reservations for specific books.
However, I wasn’t that interested in specific books. I was here for all of them.
After a few minutes of enjoying the scenery and feeling my fingertips with the books’ spines, it was time for me to begin. I only had seven years, after all.
After dragging a ladder to the first bookshelf and taking out the first ten books from the top row, I started my project to read all the millions and millions of books in the library.
Yes, Hogwarts was definitely worth it.