A week after Nicholas and Roxane had departed, the relentless rain tapered off. The sky cleared, revealing a sun that hung pale and low, casting long, thin shadows across the manor's stone floors. It illuminated dust motes that danced in the chilly air, turning the quiet hallways into something that felt almost ethereal.
Outside, the gardens stood bare and skeletal. The final remnants of the autumn leaves lay scattered across the wet grass in soggy patches of brown and gold, a silent testament to the season settling into the grounds.
Morwenna sat in the morning room where a fire crackled in the grate, providing a much-needed reprieve from the damp. The windows remained tightly closed against the morning chill, keeping the frost at bay, and the scent of woodsmoke mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of tea.
Cinder lay curled comfortably at her feet, a small patch of russet warmth against the cold floorboards. Jane sat directly across from her at the low table. Between them, resting on the dark wood, was a small and unassuming wooden box.
"Open it," Jane said.
Morwenna lifted the lid with careful, inquisitive fingers. Inside the box lay a wand, though it was significantly shorter than a standard one, barely reaching the length of her forearm. It was crafted from a pale, almost white wood that had been sanded perfectly smooth. The handle was simple, carved with clean, understated lines that felt cool and solid against her palm.
"It's a toy wand," Jane explained gently. "It can't cast real spells, but it's been enchanted to mimic them."
Morwenna picked it up, surprised by how light the wood felt in her grip. It fit perfectly into her small hand, and the balance felt surprisingly natural, as if it were meant to be there.
"What does it do?"
"The tip will glow if you make the correct motion and say the incantation," Jane replied. "It isn't because of your magic, but because the wand is designed to respond to the right movements."
Morwenna turned the object over in her palm, feeling the wood grow warm from the heat of the nearby fire.
"Lumos," she said.
She flicked the wand with a sharp motion, but the tip remained dark and unresponsive. Jane offered a small, encouraging smile.
"The motion isn't quite right. Watch me."
Jane drew her own wand, a length of real, dark wood that looked heavy. She held it up before her.
"Lumos."
A soft light bloomed instantly at the tip, bright and steady. She held it for a moment before lowering her hand, the glow fading back into the daylight.
"Now you try. The motion should go up and then to the right. It's a sharp flick."
Morwenna raised the toy wand once more. She focused on the instructions, flicking it up and to the right with a quick snap of her wrist.
"Lumos."
The tip glowed with a pale gold light, soft and warm. It illuminated the space between them and cast a gentle radiance over the table. She stared at the glow, her heterochromatic eyes—one arterial red and the other a crystalline silver—wide with a quiet sort of wonder.
"Good," Jane said. "Now say 'Nox' and flick the wand downward."
Morwenna lowered the wand according to the instruction.
"Nox."
The light vanished instantly, leaving only the orange flicker of the hearth. She looked at the wand in her hand and then up at Jane, her expression unreadable but intense.
"Again."
. . .
The lessons soon became a steady part of Morwenna's daily life. Mornings were always reserved for theory, and Aldric would sit with her in the library where the fire was lit and stacks of books waited on the table between them. The room always smelled of old parchment and beeswax, a comforting, dusty scent that seemed to encourage focus.
"Light magic doesn't care how you're feeling," he explained, his voice calm and measured. "It only cares about precision. The wand movement must be exact, and the incantation must be clear. Your emotions don't matter to the spell."
Morwenna looked down at the diagram on the page, which showed a wand tilted at a specific angle with arrows indicating the proper motion flow.
"Lumos is a light spell, which means it's light magic," Aldric continued. "You can be angry, sad, or happy, and the spell will work exactly the same way."
She traced the arrow with her finger, feeling the texture of the old parchment beneath her skin. "Why?"
Aldric leaned back in his chair. "Because light magic was designed to be taught. It was made for children, for students, and for anyone who could learn the motions through repetition. Dark magic requires the fuel of emotion, but light magic only requires practice."
Morwenna thought about that for a long moment. She considered the persistent cold in her chest and the sudden, fierce fire that often burned behind her eyes. "Those things don't feel like light magic," she thought. "They feel like a part of me."
She picked up the toy wand and focused. "Lumos."
The tip glowed like usual. Her motion was clean, and she didn't let the glow waver. Aldric nodded in approval.
"Good. Now, Nox."
. . .
Afternoons were dedicated to physical practice, with Jane and Jack taking turns supervising her. They usually stood in the morning room where the furniture had been pushed against the walls and the rug rolled back to give them space. Saoirse joined them on occasion, often leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed to offer her own brand of advice.
"Your wrist is far too stiff," Saoirse remarked one afternoon. "You have to loosen it. Think of it as though you're flicking water from your fingertips."
Morwenna took a breath and consciously relaxed her wrist.
"Lumos."
The tip glowed significantly brighter this time, and the light held its strength for much longer before she lowered the wand.
"That's much better," Saoirse said.
Morwenna looked over at her. "You went to Hogwarts. You learned light magic there."
Saoirse nodded. "I did. And I was absolutely terrible at it for the first two years."
"You?"
"Me," Saoirse confirmed with a faint smirk. "My wrist was too stiff, my incantations were always too loud, and Professor Flitwick used to sigh every time I raised my wand."
Morwenna almost smiled at the image. It was a fleeting, ghost-like thing, but it was there.
"Lumos," she said again, turning back to her work.
The light bloomed once more, and she held it steady.
. . .
Seraphina was the one who taught her about the history of light magic. They sat together in the library when the fire was low and the light filtering through the window was a dull, heavy grey.
"Light magic was developed primarily after the International Statute of Secrecy," Seraphina explained. "Before that time, most magic was inherently dark, relying on rituals, sacrifices, and deep emotion. But after the Statute, wizards needed a way to teach their children without attracting unwanted attention. Light magic was the answer they found."
Morwenna turned the pages of her book, studying the illustrations that showed wands, hands, and various diagrams of spells.
"Lumos was one of the very first," Seraphina added. "It's a simple light, easy to teach and easy to learn. Every child learns it."
Morwenna looked down at her own toy wand and the pale wood it was made of. "I learned it."
Seraphina nodded, her eyes warm. "You did."
Morwenna turned the pages slowly. She was learning light magic with a toy wand while something ancient and dark lived inside her. The contrast no longer frightened her as much.
. . .
The toy wand was enchanted with seven specific spells, which Jane listed for her on the first day of November when the morning room felt particularly cold.
"Lumos and Nox are the basics," she said. "Then there's a blue light spell, a red one, and a spell that creates a small spark. There's also one that produces a puff of smoke, and finally, a spell that makes a faint chiming sound."
Morwenna held the wand tightly. "Show me the blue one."
Jane demonstrated the movement, which was quite different from the others as it involved a circle followed by a sharp flick. The tip of her real wand glowed a vivid blue, and when Morwenna copied the motion as best she could, the toy wand responded with a blue light of its own.
"Good," Jane said. "Now we will try the red one."
The red spell required a much sharper flick, and Morwenna's wrist was still adjusting to the movement. Her first three attempts resulted in nothing at all, and the fourth produced only a brief flicker of red before fading away. She didn't stop, focusing entirely on the snap of her wrist until the fifth attempt caused the tip to glow a solid red.
She lowered the wand, her expression set in a line of determination. "Again."
. . .
Saoirse was the one who taught her the spark spell late one afternoon when the windows had already gone dark.
"The motion is like drawing a tick in the air," Saoirse instructed. "It has to be fast and very sharp."
She demonstrated the move with her own wand, sending a bright spark leaping from the tip that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Morwenna copied the motion, and while the toy wand produced a spark that was smaller and dimmer than Saoirse's, it was undeniably a success.
"Good," Saoirse encouraged. "Now do it faster."
Morwenna tried again, and the spark was noticeably brighter.
"Faster."
The spark grew brighter still, and by the final attempt, it was nearly as brilliant as the one Saoirse had produced. Morwenna lowered the wand, feeling a dull ache in her wrist from the repetitive motion.
"That's good work," Saoirse said. "Tomorrow we will work on the smoke spell."
. . .
The smoke spell proved to be much harder than the others. Jane taught it using a motion that was a wave followed by a sharp jab. The incantation was "Fumos," and when Jane demonstrated it, the toy wand produced a small puff of grey smoke that dissipated in seconds.
Morwenna tried it herself, though her first puff was thin and barely visible. She tried again, making the motion more deliberate, until the smoke grew thicker. On her fourth attempt, the smoke filled the space between them in a grey and acrid cloud that smelled faintly of burnt wood.
Jane waved her hand to clear the air. "Good. That's more than enough for today."
Morwenna looked at her wand, noticing that the tip felt warm to the touch. "Again tomorrow?"
Jane nodded. "Again tomorrow."
. . .
Aldric continued to guide her through the theory lessons in the library, explaining that the difference between light and dark magic wasn't a matter of good and evil, but rather precision versus emotion.
"Light magic is a tool, whereas dark magic is an extension of the self," he said. "It can be used for good or ill, and a dark spell can heal just as easily as it can hurt. The intent of the caster matters far more than the category of the magic."
She looked up at him. "Like the Patronus."
Aldric nodded. "Exactly. The Patronus is dark magic. It requires deep emotion, joy, hope, and the fierce desire to protect. It isn't something that can be cast by rote or simple practice."
Morwenna thought of the cold that lived in her chest and the shadows that seemed to wrap around her heart. "My magic is dark," she said quietly.
Aldric remained silent for a moment, observing her. "Most of it is, perhaps. But not all. The light spells you are learning now are light magic, and they will work for you because you are practising them, not because of how you feel."
Morwenna looked down at the toy wand.
"Lumos."
The tip glowed with a steady gold light, and she held it there, watching the glow.
. . .
The chiming spell was the last of the seven, and Jack taught it to her on a particularly grey afternoon in November while rain lashed against the windows.
"The motion is a spiral," he explained. "It should come from your shoulder, not just your wrist."
He demonstrated, and the tip of his wand produced a single, clear note that rang through the room. Morwenna tried to mimic him, but her spiral was too tight, and the wand remained silent.
"Looser," Jack advised. "Let your whole arm move with the motion."
She tried again, widening the spiral, and the wand finally chimed. She repeated it until the note grew clearer and held for several seconds.
"Good," Jack said. "You've learned all seven now."
Morwenna looked at the wand, noting the pale wood and the simple, carved handle. She had mastered them all.
.
That evening, she sat on her bed with the green snake beside her and Cinder at her feet. She held the toy wand in her hand, feeling its familiar weight.
"Lumos."
The tip glowed with a soft gold light.
"Nox."
The light went out. She looked toward the window and saw that the rain had stopped, leaving the sky to clear once more. She didn't call Jane by her name, nor did she call Jack anything at all, but she had learned the spells they taught her. She set the wand carefully on the nightstand, knowing that tomorrow, she would learn more.
. . .
The days began to blur together into a predictable rhythm. Mornings were for theory, afternoons were for wand movements, and evenings were quiet. Jane would often read to her while Jack sat nearby, and Cinder never left her side.
Although the woman from the apartment remained in her mind, she was quieter now. She no longer pressed forward or crowded Morwenna's thoughts, choosing instead to linger at the edges of her consciousness where she simply watched and listened. Morwenna couldn't tell if this was a sign of healing or merely forgetting, and she chose not to question the transition.
She understood the theory perfectly, even if her hands didn't. Each movement felt too large and far too deliberate, as though her body couldn't quite keep pace with what her mind already knew. She repeated the motions again and again until the initial strain eased and the movements began to settle into her limbs.
With every attempt, something within her seemed to align. While the woman from the apartment would have overthought the angle and the child would have surely rushed through it, together they found a steadier rhythm.
Morwenna took a deep breath as she raised her wand and allowed the motion to flow through her. A spark leaped from the tip, followed by a curl of smoke and a soft, clear chime that rang through the morning room.
She stopped trying to separate her two selves and instead moved as one. With each successful spell, the ground beneath her steadied, no longer shifting quite so violently as it had before.
. . .
One evening, Jack came to the nursery while Morwenna was sitting on her bed with the green snake in her lap. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his presence heavy and steady.
"How are you feeling?"
Morwenna looked at him, noting how his dark eyes were calm and how the silver streaks in his hair caught the flickering firelight.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Jack squeezed her fingers gently. "That's all right. You don't have to know yet. You just have to keep going."
Morwenna looked down at where his hand rested near hers.
"Okay," she said.
Jack pat her head. He stood up and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Morwenna watched him go before she picked up the toy wand once more.
"Lumos."
The tip glowed, and she held the light until it slowly faded into the shadows of the room.
"Nox."
The dark returned, and she set the wand back on the nightstand.
It glowed because it was designed to, but beneath the wood and beneath her own skin, something else hummed. It was a quiet, patient thing that waited in the depths of her being.
She turned toward the window, seeing that the rain had stopped to leave the sky clear and cold. She didn't know who she was yet, but her hands were steady. Tomorrow, she would try again.