After lunch, the castle shifted into one of Alexander's favorite class periods.
Free study.
Ravenclaws flooded toward the library like it was a sacred pilgrimage. Books tucked under arms. Scrolls are already unrolling mid-walk. Whispers about essays that didn't even exist yet.
Alexander watched them go… then turned the opposite direction.
"Free study doesn't mean mandatory suffering," he muttered.
Tonight was Astronomy—which meant standing outside, staring at dots in the sky, listening to poetic rambling, and pretending it was important.
Better to stockpile sleep now.
He made it back to the Ravenclaw dormitory, collapsed onto his bed, and was out almost instantly.
Unfortunately, fate—and his roommates—were cruel.
"Oi. Wake up."
Alexander rolled over. "No."
"Class."
"Fake."
"Real class."
"Still no."
Hands grabbed his blanket.
"HEY—"
Too late.
By the time he was fully conscious, he was being physically dragged down a staircase, shoes half-on, hair a mess, while someone cheerfully announced, "If we're suffering, you're suffering with us."
The Astronomy Tower was cold.
Wind swept across the open platform, robes fluttering as students clustered around brass telescopes. Above them, the night sky stretched endlessly—clear, sharp, and crowded with stars.
Alexander squinted upward.
"…Yep. Still dots."
At the front stood a tall witch with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun, star charts floating beside her.
"I am Professor Sinistra," she said calmly. "And welcome to Astronomy."
She gestured upward with her wand, and the constellations subtly brightened, lines faintly connecting stars into recognizable shapes.
"Tonight, we begin with star identification and celestial movement—knowledge essential to magical theory, potion timing, spell amplification, and ritual accuracy."
Students murmured, impressed.
Alexander raised his hand.
Sinistra paused. "Yes, Mr…?"
"Chen," he said. "Quick question."
She nodded. "Go on."
Alexander pointed at the sky. "Why?"
A beat.
"…Why?" she repeated.
"Yes," he said seriously. "Stars are far away, don't listen, don't move when I ask them to, and have never helped me pass a test. How is this not the most pointless class at Hogwarts?"
Several students gasped.
One Ravenclaw slowly lowered his telescope as if he didn't want to be associated.
Professor Sinistra regarded Alexander quietly.
Then she smiled. Not kindly.
"Mr. Chen," she said, "the stars govern time-sensitive enchantments, determine potion potency, influence magical tides, and stabilize long-range spellcasting."
She flicked her wand—and suddenly the sky shifted, constellations subtly rotating.
"Without Astronomy, half the spells you'll learn later would fail."
Alexander crossed his arms. "Sounds like a design flaw."
A few snorts of laughter escaped before students clamped their mouths shut.
Sinistra raised an eyebrow. "And yet, wizards have relied on the heavens for over a thousand years."
Alexander shrugged. "They also thought leeches fixed everything."
Silence.
Then—unexpectedly—Professor Sinistra laughed.
A short, sharp sound.
"Point noted," she said. "You may find it dull. That does not make it useless."
She turned back to the class. "Now—locate Orion's Belt."
Alexander sighed and leaned against his telescope.
As the class continued, students scribbled notes, adjusted lenses, and whispered excitedly about constellations.
Alexander stared up at the sky again.
Endless. Cold. Unimpressed.
Still pointless, he decided.
But as the stars slowly shifted overhead, marking time with perfect precision, a tiny part of his mind—just a tiny one—wondered why magic cared so much about them.
He ignored that thought completely.