The first hints of morning light crept through the arched windows of the Ravenclaw dormitory, painting the stone floors in pale silver. Illuna lay still, her body heavy with the lingering exhaustion of last night's Astronomy lesson. 'Stars and constellations and endless note-taking.' Even the thought of moving felt like a Herculean effort.
Midnight, sprawled across her stomach like a living, purring blanket, cracked one golden eye open as she shifted. His tail twitched in protest before settling again.
'Five more minutes,' she bargained with herself.
But her mind, already racing with the day's possibilities, refused to quiet. The dorm was silent—Beth's usual snores absent, Nellie's slow breathing barely audible. Even Mira, the earliest riser among them, hadn't yet stirred.
With a sigh, Illuna gave in. She scratched behind Midnight's ears, earning a rumbling purr, before carefully extricating herself from the warmth of her blankets. The castle's ever-present chill nipped at her bare feet as she padded to the bathroom.
The mirror showed a face less haunted than usual. The shadows beneath her eyes had faded to faint smudges—'progress.' No lingering homesickness clawed at her throat today, just the crisp clarity of routine. She splashed icy water on her face, gasping as it shocked away the last dregs of sleep.
Stepping back into the dorm, her gaze landed on Mira's copper kettle, perched on its usual shelf. A pang of guilt prickled at her. Every morning, without fail, Mira brewed tea for all of them—bergamot for Beth, peppermint for Nellie, something herbal and faintly citrusy for herself. And Illuna? She'd never once reciprocated.
'Today,' she decided.
Small sparks of her wand lit the stove, blue flames licking at the kettle's base. The smoke travelled up, making shapes unknown. The scent of heating metal mingled with the dorm's familiar smells—parchment, ink, and the faintest trace of Nellie's lavender-scented hair potion. She rummaged through Mira's tea caddy, selecting blends by memory, then paused.
'Sugar.'
A heaping spoonful. Then another. And—'why not?'—a third. Her own cup turned dangerously syrupy, the steam carrying a caramelized sweetness.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Illuna froze.
"Stealing my job, are you?"
Mira's voice, laced with amusement, came from far too close. Before Illuna could turn, slender arms draped over her shoulders, a chin resting lightly atop her head. A grin lit barely visible in the flames blue light.
Illuna squeaked.
Mira's laugh vibrated against her back. "Didn't peg you for someone who gets easily spooked."
Illuna's face burned. "I'm not— It's not stealing— what are you doing anyway, sneaking up on me. " 'like a mischievous pixie' she thought.
Mira plucked the over-sweetened cup from her hands and took a sip.
"Gh—!" She coughed, eyes watering. "Merlin's beard, Heart, did you dissolve the sugar bowl in this?"
Illuna panicked, patting her back. "Are you— Was it too much? I can—"
Mira waved her off, still grinning. "I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting liquid candy." She swapped their cups, handing Illuna the offending brew. "Here. Clearly this abomination is yours."
Illuna clutched it defensively. "It's not that sweet."
"Could rot a troll's teeth, "Mira muttered, but her smirk softened. "Didn't take you for a sweet tooth."
"Why not?"
Mira shrugged, heading for the bathroom. "You've got that 'I-only-read-bitter-tragedies' aura."
Illuna blinked. 'What does that even mean?'
By the time Mira emerged, steam curling from her damp braid, two steaming cups sat neatly on each bedside table. Beth's was charmed to stay warm; Nellie's had a lemon slice floating lazily on the surface.
Mira's brow arched. "Huh. You were paying attention.
Illuna hid her smile in her own sickly-sweet tea.
The four Ravenclaw girls made their way down the spiral staircase from their tower, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stone. Beth led the charge, her voice carrying as she launched into yet another of her wild stories—this one involving a Welsh Green dragon, a smuggled crate of Fizzing Whizbees, and an unsuspecting Muggle postman.
Illuna lingered at the back, half-listening. Beth's tales were often absurd, but she'd learned that buried beneath the theatrics were surprising kernels of truth. Last week, after cross-referencing one of Beth's claims in the library, Illuna had been startled to find an 80% accuracy rate. 'Either Beth had an uncanny knack for embellishing facts just enough to sound plausible, or she had access to very peculiar sources.'
Their destination—the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom—loomed ahead. The older students whispered about the so-called "curse" on the position; no professor lasted more than a year.
This term's instructor, Professor Marius Quill, was a recent hire, and rumours swirled about his abrupt dismissal from the Ministry the previous year. Fired for unknown reasons. Illuna frowned. 'Still, if Dumbledore trusted him…'
Before she could dwell further, a smooth, baritone voice called from inside the classroom:
"Come in."
The words were polished, effortless—like butterbeer sliding down one's throat.
The girls exchanged glances before pushing the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the torches flickering with an eerie, blue-tinged flame. At the front, Professor Quill stood with an air of practiced ease, his polished cane resting against the desk. He was younger than Illuna expected—early thirties, perhaps—but the way he leaned on the cane suggested an old injury or a lingering fatigue.
Severus Snape was already seated, his nose buried in Shadows & Safeguards: A Primer on Dark Arts Defence, the textbook assigned by professor Quill. Illuna slipped into the seat beside him, while Beth, Mira, and Nellie claimed a nearby bench.
Snape didn't look up, but his voice was dry. "You look marginally better than last time."
Illuna rolled her eyes. The last time they'd shared a class, she'd looked like a person that hadn't slept in days. "Charmed as ever, Severus."
His smirk was fleeting. "Ready to lose again?"
She closed her eyes briefly. "I won last time, if you recall."
"House points don't equate to victory."
"Then what does?" she shot back, mirroring his scoff.
A silent challenge passed between them. 'This time, I'll prove it.' The unspoken thought hung in the air as the remaining Slytherins and Ravenclaws filed in, filling the room with murmured conversations and the rustle of parchment.
Professor Quill surveyed the class with a warm but measured gaze, his tone carrying just enough warmth to soften his formal demeanour.
"Well, now that everyone is here," he tapped his cane once against the floor, "let us begin." He turned to the blackboard, his handwriting materializing in crisp, looping script:
'Books open to page 24.'
A few students groaned as they flipped through Shadows & Safeguards, but Quill merely smiled. "I'm afraid advanced spellwork will have to wait for your older years. For now, we focus on recognition—knowing what lurks in the shadows before it knows you." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "The creatures and curses we discuss today are not just textbook threats. You may encounter them in alleyways, on travels… or perhaps you already have."
Illuna's quickened scratching of notes matched Snape's furious scribbling beside her. Neither looked up, their rivalry unspoken but palpable—'who would absorb more, faster?'
Quill lectured without questions, his explanations precise. When he reached a passage on corrosive spells, he gestured for the class's attention. "Observe closely. This one is particularly neat." His wand flicked, and a sickly green jet struck a spare desk. The wood hissed, bubbling like hot tar before dissolving into a smoking puddle.
A collective gasp rippled through the room. A few Slytherins leaned forward, eyes alight with fascination. Beth whispered something to Nellie, who merely blinked, unimpressed.
Quill chuckled at their reactions. "As entertaining as theory is, I suspect you're all itching for practical work." With a lazy wave of his wand, the desks slid to the walls, clearing the floor. "Today's technique won't save you from a Killing Curse, but it's invaluable for minor hexes—deflection."
He scanned the room. "Does anyone know the Stinging Hex?"
A Slytherin girl—Lake—stood, her chin lifted. Quill nodded. "Excellent. Ms. Lake, if you'd kindly aim at me?"
Without hesitation, Lake fired. Quill's wand moved in a tiny, almost dismissive arc. The hex veered sideways, fizzling harmlessly against the stone.
"Minimal energy, maximum efficiency," he said. "But timing is everything. Pair up—those unfamiliar with the hex, line up here."
Illuna and Snape faced each other, wands raised. Across the room, Nellie deflected her partner's spell on the first try, earning a rare nod from Quill.
"Ten points to Ravenclaw," he announced.
Snape's lip curled. "Luck, "he muttered.
Illuna ignored him, adjusting her grip. Swish—flick. Her first attempt failed; the stinging hex grazed her shoulder, sharp as a wasp's kiss. Snape's smirk was infuriatingly brief—he mastered the deflection on his third try.
But then—
"Twenty points to Ravenclaw," Quill called as Nellie flawlessly batted away another hex.
Snape's smirk vanished. Illuna's next deflection succeeded, but Nellie was already racking up points, her movements eerily precise. 'How?' Illuna thought, 'She barely pays attention in—'
"Focus, Heart," Snape snapped, firing again.
By the end of class, Nellie had single-handedly secured Ravenclaw's lead. The other students dispersed, chattering and rubbing stung limbs, but Illuna and Snape lingered, their rivalry simmering.
"You did lose this time," Snape said, packing his bag with deliberate slowness.
Illuna shut her textbook with a thud. "Points aren't everything."
"Says the one who brought them up last time."
She opened her mouth—then snapped it shut. 'Touché.'
Quill's voice cut in, amused. "If you two are quite finished, I'd suggest practicing. Deflection becomes instinctual… if you survive the sting." He limped toward his desk, adding over his shoulder, "And Ms. Heart? Mr. Snape, do keep the rivalry going, it's rather entertaining"
Illuna's blushed a bit, not thinking he would comment on that.
Snape shouldered past her, but not before she caught his glance at the mentioned page. 'Game on.'