Picture it.
It’s well after midnight. The moon is your only companion. After so much pain, so much weariness, you can’t help praying for change, transformation, miracles, something. Anything.
Your eyes fall on a slender object partially hidden in the shadows of your bookshelf, forgotten and left to collect dust. It’s almost cinematic, you think, how your gaze was drawn.
But this is not a story, you tell yourself firmly. This is life, this is being grown up, and there is little room for such childish thoughts
And then—
You feel it. You feel it as the moonlight shifts just perfectly, illuminating the years old wand. That familiar spark of ‘what if’ that had old friends with names not remembered deeming you a Ravenclaw, through-and-through.
So you rise from your bed. Curious, so curious. The first good feeling you’ve had in a while. You pick up the wand. (Has it always fit so perfectly in your hand?) Raise it. Laugh quietly to yourself. It’s silly, of course. No real point, and yet—
“Lumos.”
And then, to your amazement, your disbelief, your wonder—
Light.











