"Here we are—this is the hidden room we found!"
After spending quite a while on the moving stairs, the section carrying them from the second to the third floor finally swung around and linked to a staircase it almost never connects to.
Not far away, Justin rapped lightly on the wall and spoke, excited.
After three crisp knocks, the wall—almost untouched by torchlight—revealed a painting.
"It was a chance encounter at first… but after we answered the painting's question, we suddenly got into the room. There are lanterns, but—Lumos."
A pale glow sprang from the tip of Justin's wand; Hermione's followed, brighter than his.
Then Sean raised his wand—glowing like a lightbulb.
"Oh, Sean…" Justin breathed, and the three of them focused on the painting.
Time had yellowed and cracked the canvas. It didn't show some austere wizard but a snow-white owl in a velvet waistcoat with tiny pince-nez. One talon strained to straighten the glasses; the other clutched a roll of old parchment.
"What are you staring at! An owl is a hawk, too!"
At its squeaky voice, Hermione laughed first. Then Justin. Even Sean's mouth tugged upward.
"You again! What are you laughing at!"
The owl flapped so hard Sean could almost hear the rush of air.
"I—I remembered something happy," Hermione protested, cheeks pink.
That did it for Sean.
"You again—why are you laughing?"
"I remembered something happy too," Sean said under his breath.
He'd never expected to see echoes of a film from his previous life… in an owl.
"You are laughing at me! You haven't stopped!"
The owl flustered and flapped, the parchment in its claws shaking wildly.
"Sorry."
"Sorry."
"I apologize."
Before it could bar their way entirely, the three choked back their grins and offered sincere apologies.
"Miserable little wizards! If you want to get in, answer my question!"
It unfurled the parchment. They weren't sure an owl could read, but after a bit of picking and peering, it asked:
"Hogwarts—tranquil Hogwarts… Tell me why Hogwarts was built in this place."
Its head swiveled a full one-eighty, then it asked, smug.
Justin and Hermione froze.
"The question changed? Wasn't it asking Rowena's true name last time?" Justin sputtered. "Hermione, do you know?"
He turned pleading eyes on her. The brown-haired girl thought hard, then shook her head.
"Tiny minds! Tiny wizard minds!" the owl chirped, self-satisfied.
"Because of Ravenclaw's dream," a discordant voice drifted in.
Sean had spoken softly. The owl stopped flapping and nearly fell off its perch.
"How do you know—" it squeaked, then gave a stiff little bow. With a sweep of its wings, the wall cracked open, revealing a sky-blue door.
Sean, thoughtful, twisted the eagle-shaped handle.
Inside lay a spacious room. A few desks, thick with dust, sat in the middle. In one corner, a giant bookcase leaned askew; most of its books had spilled to the floor, their pages brittle and yellowed. In another corner, a heap of odd instruments: a complex array of crystal lenses, a few glass cases with tattered labels.
Nothing else.
"Sean, Ravenclaw's dream—what's that mean?" Justin couldn't help asking before they started practice.
"Legend says Lady Ravenclaw chose Hogwarts' site… Rowena of the Lakeshore dreamed of a hog with warts that led her to the cliff—so a school was founded here…" Sean recounted, storyteller-soft, a tale blown down a thousand years.
Justin found himself edging closer, face bright with expectation; Hermione lowered her wand, her eyes glinting in the glow. The three huddled around Sean's wand, a little island of light in the dark.
"Hogwarts—hog warts—sounds similar, doesn't it? The story goes that's how the school got its name."
"Woooow—" Justin breathed; Hermione already had a hand over her mouth.
"What a marvelous story—like Peter—uh—Peter what's-his-name…" Justin frowned.
"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," Hermione snapped, glaring at him for spoiling the mood.
"Oh, right." Justin scratched his head and lit his lantern.
Storytime over; time for magic.
The Levitation Charm—simple, practical—one of the first spells young witches and wizards can grasp. Even so, for brand-new first-years, it's still a hurdle.
"Failed again…" Justin's feather floated three seconds and dropped—short of the ten-second minimum.
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
Sean tuned out the room; focus was his habit.
"Ugh…" Justin's feather sagged again. He held on a second longer—still not enough.
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
"Down again…"
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
Success after success, thirty more proficiency points—and Sean felt drained. His arm ached; his breathing quickened.
Magic—let's call it that—is a curious thing. Unlike the blue "mana bars" of fantasy worlds, it manifests in the wizard's body: as fatigue, as flagging spirit. It's not some untouchable "mental power"; it's bound up with the body. But it plainly recovers—and you can feel it; the difference between brimming and bone-weary is obvious.
In that span, Sean noticed Justin's frustration: swapping grip and flourish, trying to keep the feather aloft—only for it to jerk up, wobble, and drop every time.