Morning light spilled through the towering windows of Hogwarts like molten gold poured across ancient stone.
Students shuffled into the Grand History Hall, a classroom so large it felt more like a cathedral of knowledge than a place for lectures. Tall shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, each packed with weathered books, scroll cases, and strange artifacts locked behind enchanted glass.
Dust motes floated lazily in the air, turning slowly in beams of sunlight.
Julian, Noah, Lake, and Oliver sat together near the center of the room.
Lake leaned back in his chair, cloak wrapped tightly around him. The cursed suit Naomi forced onto him still clung to his body beneath the fabric. The mask was gone, but the curse hadn't broken.
He muttered quietly.
"If that old sorting hat knew what it was doing, it should've put me in Cursed Victims House."
Noah chuckled under his breath.
"You're lucky they didn't put you in Fashion Disaster House after what happened to your pink suit."
Oliver adjusted the collar of that exact pink suit, which he still wore proudly.
"It's grown on me."
Lake glared at him.
The classroom door creaked open.
The conversation slowly faded.
A tall, thin man stepped inside.
He walked with the slow confidence of someone who had seen far more years than most people in the room. His long grey hair hung past his shoulders, and a thick beard framed a face lined with age.
In one hand, he carried a long wooden pipe.
The smell of faint tobacco followed him as he crossed the room.
He tapped the pipe lightly against the desk and looked out at the class.
"Good morning," he said in a gravelly voice. "I am Professor Kieran."
He paused to pack his pipe carefully before lighting it.
Smoke curled upward like a ghost rising from the bowl.
Kieran leaned against the desk.
"History," he continued, "is not just about kings and wars."
He took a slow puff from the pipe.
"It's about mistakes."
Students shifted in their seats.
Kieran's eyes slowly moved across the room until they landed on the four of you.
For just a moment… his expression changed.
Recognition.
Then he looked away.
"Today," he said calmly, "we discuss the forgotten houses beyond the castle."
He waved his hand.
An ancient map appeared in the air above the classroom.
Forests.
Mountains.
And scattered through them were small markings.
Little houses.
Old towers.
And strange abandoned structures.
"Long ago," Kieran said, "many witches and sorcerers built sanctuaries outside this castle. Some were harmless scholars."
His voice lowered slightly.
"Others… were something else."
Lake leaned toward Julian.
"Something tells me this guy has stories."
Kieran continued.
"One house in particular became infamous."
He tapped the map.
A location deep within the forest glowed faintly.
"A mansion," he said slowly.
"Owned by a woman whose name history tried to erase."
The room felt colder somehow.
"Naomi."
Several students whispered.
Julian sat very still.
Kieran watched the reactions carefully.
"She believed magic should not merely be studied."
He inhaled from the pipe again.
"She believed it should rule the world."
The smoke curled upward like a warning.