I have never understood why life can change so fast.
One second, I'm top of my class at Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I don't have many friends, but I cherish the ones I do. My friends sit next to me at a long, wooden table. There are doodles and initials etched into this wood, it feels like a step through time. The professor drawls on and on, and in the back of this dimly lit classroom, I struggle not to fall asleep.
The door swings open, I hear the footsteps of someone new. I ignore it, as my arms are folded on the table and my head is rested upon them. Im too tired to care who it is.
"Miss Montgomery?" A voice pierces through the atmosphere of quiet chatter and boredom. I sit up, and my face goes hot as everyone's looking at me. I finally realize it's the Headmistress's aid standing next to the professor. "Come with me, please." He speaks. My professor waves me along, and I have no choice but to follow.
"Have a seat" The Headmistress tells me, as her aid leaves me behind without one word, slamming the door shut. An older woman stands beside her. She's intimidating, for an old lady. Her silver hair is pulled up, and her emerald robes flourish the ground. She has this look in her eyes, and for once, I can't tell what it is. Reluctantly, I take a seat before them.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Montgomery, I'm Minerva-" She begins to speak, but I'm quick to finish her sentence.
"McGonagall. My mother told me about you. Call me Leah, please." I find it hard to meet her eyes as a pit opens up in my stomach, and a feeling of dread hangs over me. She nods and moves closer to me. Gently, she places a frail hand on my shoulder. "I thought it would be appropriate for me to deliver this news myself, given the circumstances."
My breath stops, and I feel as if my heart has frozen in place.
"Your father passed early this morning, dear. I'm so sorry."
My eyes focus on a single speck of dirt on the cobbled floor. I suddenly realize this castle is always so cold. I understand it's old and ancient, but why is it always so cold?
"I assume you've met your aunt, Winifred Ollivander?" Minerva asks. I manage a nod, my eyes still studying this single speck of dirt. Doesn't anyone sweep in here? Surely, it's not that hard to charm a broomstick and get the job done.
"You'll finish your term here, at Ilvermony, but you are to live with your aunt in London when the term finishes. You'll be attending a new school. I understand this is a lot to take in, so if you have any questions..."
"No, I would just like to go now" My voice trembles as I speak. I thought I might not be able to at all.
"Very well then...your aunt asked me to pass along this letter for you. I'm so sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, my dear." She clears her throat as I stand to leave. I reach for the letter she's brought for me. As I do, I catch a glimpse of her face, and I can finally decipher the look in her eyes. It's pity.
First my brilliant, exceedingly smart mother, and now my no-maj father. What a pity.
-
London is weird.
Everyone here speaks differently. Everything is different. Even the magical world is different than what I'm used to.
My aunt drags me along crowded streets, filled with young witches and wizards. I can't help but shoot strange glances at them when I hear them speak. Someone steps on my toes, and I yelp, jumping closer to my aunt. "Be careful, love! Diagon Alley is probably a lot more crowded than what you're used to!" She's got that right.
With her grip tightened around my wrist, she yanks me into a store, Flourish and Blotts. It's less crowded here than the streets. I finally feel like I can breathe. "I'll take care of your books, dear. Leave it up to aunt Winnie!" She hoots and walks away with my parchment list of books, asking a shopkeeper where to find each one. I look around, taking it all in.
In the far back, I notice a boy my age. His strikingly blonde hair parts down the middle. I can only assume his family has money by the way his suit is tailored perfectly to his shape. He's not big my any means, but he's got a presence about him. I take him in as he flips through the pages of a purple-covered book.
"Secrets of the Dark Arts?" I ask him about the title as I approach. He jumps, turning to look at me. He quickly puts it down, and brushes his hands off on his dark black suit. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners? Who do you think you are, sneaking up on me like that?"
I hold out my hand, "Leah Montgomery, nice to meet you." He brushes past me, I stumble a bit and bump my shoulder on the shelf beside me. He certainly does leave an impression, doesn't he? The book he held laid open on a display table in front of me. I close it, and a small smile plays at my lips.
I trace my finger over the author's name, Vivian Ollivander, my mother. Those her knew her best described her as bloody brilliant. Maybe even a little bit mad. I described her as my other half, just as she did me.
She dedicated so much of her life to research and writing. Although, I've never understood her fascination with the Dark Arts. She wasn't a cruel woman, she was quite the opposite. I guess it's just another thing I'll never come to understand about her.
Aunt Winifred pops up behind me, arms full of books. She lets out a heavy sigh and I turn to face her. "Your mother and that brilliant head of hers." She tsks. "I never understood why she wasted so much time on these silly books."
I smiled, "She always said that no knowledge is worth hiding...and she knew everything. She was a walking encyclopedia of all things magical."
"That she was, my love... Why don't we stop at Ollivander's and say hi to your grandfather while we're out this way?" Aunt Winifred suggests, presumably to get my mind off of mom and her books.
"That would be nice." I nodded, setting the book down, and following after my aunt.
Uncertainty riddled my thoughts as I boarded the Hogwarts Express. Hesitancy accented by body language, and slowed down every step I took. E
(word count: 1116)
(posting on here until I can open an ao3 account, this is also posted on Wattpad under the same username)
a/n: This is part one of a mini-series I’m doing – look out for part 2 and possibly a part 3. This is also my first one shot, so any feedback/constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!
word count: 4.1k
warnings: light cussing, some French words (google translate works well for these but knowing the meaning isn’t necessary for the storyline)
“What a coincidence,” you groaned sarcastically as Professor Slughorn smiled at the lot of you. “We get paired up for everything, don’t we?”
You clenched your jaw as the white blonde boy sat down in the stool next to you. You hated the British mannerism of calling everyone by their last name. You didn’t dare look at him while you flipped through your crisp copy of Advanced Potion Making.
“You say that as if I wanted this to happen,” spat Draco, his awkward smile now curled into a scowl.
You despised everything about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The teachers, the classes, the weather, the uniforms, the houses, the castle, and especially the students.
The students who never paid you any attention unless you were involved in a rumor. The students who shot sideways glances at you in the halls. The students who didn’t bother lowering their voices when they gossiped about you because they assumed you didn’t understand a speck of English… even when all of your classes were conducted in English.
Even the students of your own house seemed to keep you on the sidelines, so much so that you had given up on trying to become friends with anyone.
At least they acknowledged your existence, you kept reminding yourself.
You spent a lot of your time wondering why the so called “kind and caring” Hufflepuffs didn’t go any further than simple pleasantries with you. Perhaps it was false that they were all accepting, or perhaps they thought someone of your lineage would be better suited in Slytherin.
It was utterly clear, even to you, why nobody seemed to bat an eyelash at you. You were the prestigious, pretentious, pure-blood transfer from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Or, as you knew it, Académie de Magie Beauxbatôns.
Of course, nobody knew why you had transferred so late in your education. Your parents advertised their desire to move to England to their friends, co-workers, and even the school administrators. It was extremely plausible that they simply wanted you close by while you were at school, instead of in another country. What people didn’t know, however, was that you just so happened to move to Wiltshire – more specifically, a mansion that was just down the street from Malfoy Manor.
You came from a very well known family – the longest line of pure-blood wizards in all of France. Your family line had only been “muddled” by a Squib who married a Muggle and started a Muggle family back in the 1400s. Besides that one branch, every single bit of your family tree is pure-blood. Your parents strived to uphold the so-called purity of the L/N bloodline. And, as two of the most ambitious and determined people you knew, you were aware of just how far they would go to keep it that way.
As members of one of the largest pure-blood families, you and your parents often attended French, as well as international, galas, balls, and fêtes for those with similar bloodlines. This, of course, is how your parents first met the Malfoy’s.
The night you first saw Draco had to have been ages ago – nine years to be exact, when you were both only seven. It was a rather private event, celebrating the 90th birthday of some old man, in the manor that you were destined to live in about a decade later. However, you had no idea back then.
At the time, Draco religiously slicked back his hair, had chubby cheeks, and was a couple inches shorter than you. He didn’t say more than a simple “hello” before hiding behind his mother’s leg, staring at you the entire time. You ignored him and had a conversation with his sweet, almost warm mother, while your parents discussed something rather serious with his father, who you were genuinely terrified of.
Now, nine years later, you were sat next to Draco Malfoy in a potions class with the task of successfully brewing a Wound-Cleaning potion within an hour.
Wordlessly, you stood up and gathered your ingredients from the pantry. With your arms full of jars of honey-water, dittany, boomslang skin, stewed mandrake, asphodel, and lion fish spines, you made your way out of the store and to your desk, where Draco was turned towards Blaise Zabini, laughing. Just before you reached your table, someone very tall and massive bumped into you.
There was a loud, earsplitting shatter that echoed through the stone dungeon, silencing any small talk. The large bottle of honey-water had fallen from your arms, and the entire bottom half of your uniform was soaked.
“Bloody hell, Goyle,” giggled Pansy Parkinson, who peered from behind Gregory Goyle.
Gregory’s feet and shins were also covered in honey-water and shards of glass. He glared at you, pure anger in his eyes.
“Bet she did it on purpose,” he muttered. “Wasn’t my fault Beauxbatons wasn’t looking where she was going.”
“Knock it off, Goyle,” said Draco sternly from your desk.
You shot him a quick glare before rolling your eyes.
“Is everyone alright?” said Professor Slughorn from his desk, looking over his glasses at us.
“Nobody’s hurt,” you said.
You leaned to the side and set down the rest of your jars on a nearby table.
“Beauxbatons dropped a jug of honey-water,” Gregory said, glaring at you all the while.
“It’s Y/N L/N,” you said clearly, pulling your wand from your robes.
“Bloody hell,” gasped Pansy.
Gregory took a step back, stumbling into another table. He scrambled for his own wand and pointed right at your neck, gripping it in his gigantic hand.
“Mon dieu! I’m trying to clean up the mess!”
“Watch where you’re going, Goyle,” muttered Ron Weasley, a Gryffindor whose cauldron had tipped over and rolled across the table.
“Pfft,” said Gregory, pocketing his wand. He continued, fake coolness dripping from his words, “I knew that, Beauxbatons.”
Pansy cackled from behind him. She passed you, whispering loudly to Gregory, “You should’ve hexed her; then perhaps she’d go back to where she came from.”
Without another word, you waved your wand at the floor. The glass bottle pieced itself back together, while the honey-water evaporated from the stone floor and your uniform. You didn’t bother with Gregory’s. He slammed his giant shoulder into you again as he trod into the pantry.
“Connard,” you said under your breath.
“Let me get a new one.”
Draco had already leapt out of his stool and passed you, following Gregory. You rolled your eyes, knowing you were perfectly capable of getting a new jug, before gathering your other ingredients and finally sitting back down at your cauldron. You began preparing the ingredients, glancing at the textbook only once to confirm a measurement. You seamlessly cut, ground, and poured each ingredient from memory by the time Draco finally returned with a new bottle of honey-water.
“How did you prepare them so quickly?” he asked in awe, the jug hitting the desk with a low thud. He added, with his trademark smirk, “switch ingredients with Granger, did you?”
“My school specializes in healing,” you scoffed.
You lit the fire underneath your cauldron and measured the honey-water, immediately pouring it into the cauldron.
“I’ve known how to brew this since I was thirteen. What took you so long?”
“Had to have a conversation with Goyle and Parkinson,” he said.
“About?”
“I think you’re smart enough to know what it was about, L/N.”
You glared at him, unsure whether to feel exhausted or exasperated.
“I can handle myself without your chivalry, Draco.”
“What was I supposed to do? Let him walk all over you?” he asked aggressively, yet barely louder than a whisper.
“He didn’t walk all over me,” you replied in an equally quiet voice. “I just didn’t pick a fight with him. At least I can go a day without insulting someone’s family, wealth, or appearance.”
“Stop acting so high and mighty, L/N. We both know you’re in a more damning situation than you like to tell.”
You kicked Draco’s leg under the desk before peacefully continuing with brewing the potion. You could tell, even without looking at him, that the Slytherin was bright red with anger.
“We also know that we’re not supposed to bring it up around other people, don’t we?” you whispered in a sickly sweet voice, trying to be as demeaning as possible.
You didn’t like being rude, but you would rather play Draco’s little game than run the risk of Hogwarts knowing why you had transferred. Draco fumed in the stool next to you, then began to jot things down in a notebook for the rest of the class as you silently finished brewing the Wound-Cleaning Potion. Your mind began to wander as you added and stirred in each ingredient.
You had only met Draco three more times before attending Hogwarts. After your very first meeting, you saw each other again about five years later, at a gala for Quidditch sponsors in Germany. Just like the first time, your parents began talking; however, you and Draco were left alone.
It was awkward to say the least.
He was much cockier and more confident, and he spent most of your time together talking about himself and his successes as Seeker on his team at Hogwarts. You probably managed to squeeze in five sentences during the hours you were stuck alone with him at that table.
The third time you saw each other was in Marseilles, France, at the housewarming party for your parents’ beach house two years ago. Luckily, many of your friends from Beauxbatons were there. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Draco as he stood awkwardly with your friends, nodding his head while clearly not understanding a single word that was said. You decided to start speaking in English, which you eventually regretted. Draco took the opportunity to talk about how great he was once again. Your friends all gaped in awe, asking questions and fawning over him. You passively listened as Draco got an ego boost, answering question after question like a celebrity.
The last time was in Malfoy Manor last July. You had been out of school for no more than a couple of weeks when your parents decided to take a trip to England. Once you arrived, the Malfoy’s had happily invited your family over for dinner last-minute. Or at least, you thought it was last-minute at the time.
That dinner, as well as the trip itself, was all planned by your parents and Draco’s parents years before. And just as they had planned on the first night you and Draco met, they gave you news that would change your life.
“You’re kidding,” you said, no other words coming to mind.
“We are not,” said your father sternly, “and we would appreciate it if you would hold your tongue while Mr. Malfoy is speaking.”
“Thank you, Mr. L/N,” drawled Mr. Malfoy.
You fell silent as you clenched your fists under the giant dining table.
“In the winter of 1998, after you are both eighteen, you will be married here in Malfoy Manor,” explained Mr. Malfoy. “This, of course, is to ensure that the L/N and Malfoy bloodlines are secure from any filth that would accompany half- and mudbloods.”
“As you are both only children, we deemed it was only fitting to merge our two families together, creating an even better bloodline for the future,” continued your father. “This also allows the opportunity for the two of you to marry someone who is not a cousin of any sort.”
As you panicked, your eyes fell on Draco, who was sitting next to you at the table. His blank face stared at the wall in front of him, without a single reaction.
“And, so the two of you do not enter a marriage without knowing each other first, we have decided to move to England, and Y/N will be transferring to Hogwarts in the fall,” said your mother.
“WHAT?!” you shouted, standing up abruptly. “I am most certainly NOT transferring to Hogwarts! And I am not going to marry Draco! This is absolutely absu--”
“You will learn to keep your temper under control in the presence of others, Y/N,” growled your father.
What felt like two large, invisible hands pushed down on your shoulders, forcing you back into your chair.
“Of course, Y/N, you do not have to do anything. You have choices,” your father said.
A sense of relief flooded your system.
“Either you can transfer to Hogwarts for your last two years of school and marry Draco the following winter, or you can explain to the Dark Lord why you will not be doing so.”
You felt your heart stop. There was no way in hell you were about to try to tell Voldemort himself why you didn’t want to keep your bloodline pure by marrying Draco.
“That’s what I thought, ma fille,” said your father with a smile, before continuing to discuss details with the Malfoy’s.
You didn’t remember much else from that night. Your mind began to wander just as it was now, while you were brewing this simple potion.
The potion was purple, but not smoking, in just under forty minutes. You called Professor Slughorn over to inspect it, causing Draco to jolt. He seemed to have dozed off while you were working.
Figures, you thought helplessly.
After Professor Slughorn joyously celebrated your potion, he allowed you and Draco to leave class for lunch as soon as your station was cleaned up. You quietly replaced all of the ingredients in the pantry, emptied your cauldron, packed your things, and left the classroom.
“That was brilliant, L/N,” said Draco, who had caught up to you in the empty corridor. “I didn’t have to lift a finger.”
“For the last time, Draco, it’s Y/N. You know I hate the whole last name thing,” you said, not looking at him.
“Perhaps I hate the whole first name thing.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t speak to me at all,” you fired back.
“If I had the chance to never speak to you again in my life, trust me, I would take it,” he snapped.
You weren’t quite sure why, but his words stung in a way no insult had hurt you before. You remained silent for the rest of your walk, until you reached the Great Hall. You didn’t even feel hungry anymore.
“I’m going back to my common room,” you muttered, turning away from the massive oak doors and walking towards the Hufflepuff Basement.
“Ah, she speaks,” said Draco, in a tone that was maddening.
You stopped dead in your tracks. You looked at him again, contemplating if it was worth getting into a quarrel over.
“It’s just that-- well, you’re an awfully quiet person.”
“Really? Hmm, I haven’t noticed,” you deadpanned.
A group of first years passing by suddenly stopped walking. They started whispering and giggling amongst themselves, very clearly about you and Draco.
“What are you looking at?” spat Draco. “Go before I give you all detention.”
With small screeches, they rushed past you into the Great Hall, still whispering and giggling.
“C’était superflu,” you mumbled to yourself.
“Unnecessary? They were laughing at us!” said Draco. “If I had the chance, I would’ve straightened them out!”
“They’re first years! They’re barely eleven! You truly expect a group of eleven-year-old’s to pass by two teenagers who are alone and not be immature?”
“I was never that immature.”
You scoffed. “Never that immature”? Did he know how he acted at parties? “Never that immature”, my ass, you thought.
“Do you have something to say, L/N?” he demanded, daring to take a step closer to you.
“Putain de bâtard, it’s Y/N!” you shouted.
You turned swiftly on your heels, noticing the odd stares and whispers of students going to lunch, and marched down the corridor. You didn’t look back while you sped to your common room, only stopping to tap the barrel that opened the door. The large circle door swung open. You scurried through and slammed the door, relieved to be in the Hufflepuff common room.
Merlin, how Draco pissed you off. As if having no real friends at school wasn’t terrible enough, the man you were destined to marry was always there to make you angry on an already bad day.
It took all of your willpower to not fight back. The way he was treating you, as well as everyone else, was just plain wrong. On a regular day, you might have made a couple of comments back, but you never called him names or raised your voice. You kept your temper in check, letting him berate and poke at you every day.
You sat down in a large, golden armchair and stared into the fire, finally realizing what you had said to Draco.
A wave of panic rushed over you. Draco was surely going to tell his father of this incident, and if Draco’s father heard of it, he was surely going to tell your father.
Your father scared you more than Voldemort himself. He knew how to get to you, and he managed, without hesitation, to discipline you from the longest of distances. You honestly never had a clue how he always found out about anything slightly wrong you had done, but he did… every single time.
The uneasy feeling lasted throughout the rest of the day, clouding your thoughts and ruining your appetite. By the time dinner rolled around, the last thing you wanted to do was eat. Since you had missed lunch, you forced yourself away from your library desk, without a single assignment completed, and to the Great Hall, hoping you didn’t run into Draco along the way.
Once you were a single turn away from the Great Hall, you heard your name echo through the empty stone corridor.
It was Draco.
You sighed heavily, strong feelings of anger, fear, and exhaustion overwhelming you.
“Please, not now, Draco,” you groaned.
“But you don’t know what I was going to say,” he replied, confused.
“Honestly, I don’t care.”
“Y-you don’t care?”
That was odd. You tried to recount another time Draco had stuttered, but your mind was blank.
“I know it’s going to be something either insulting, negative, or inflammatory, and quite frankly, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve probably already told your father I cursed at you, and I’m sure my father’s punishments will begin promptly tomorrow morning, so thank you,” you said without taking a breath. “I need to force myself to eat something, so if you’ll excuse me--”
“Why would I tell my father you cursed at me?” he asked plainly.
“Don’t you tell your father everything?”
“Well, not everything… just when someone needs to be discipli--”
“Disciplined or punished, yes, I know. You sound exactly like my father.”
Draco suddenly became very shy. You had never seen him this way before. He was so thrown off his game, his act had completely dropped.
Suddenly, you felt very lightheaded and dizzy. You quickly stumbled towards the wall and caught yourself before you fell. You pressed your fingers to your temples as you leaned back against the wall, sliding down until you sat on the ground.
“Merlin, Y/N, are you alright?”
“Oh, just a little lightheaded.”
“Why’s that?”
“I didn’t catch breakfast this morning, and then I didn’t eat all day today because I’ve been nervous about what kind of fresh hell my father would put me through if he knew I called you a bastard,” you explained with a weak laugh.
Draco slid down the wall and sat on the cold stone floor next to you.
“You don’t have to act like you care about me,” you groaned, resting your chin on your knees.
“Who said I was acting?” asked Draco, in a soft voice he had never used before.
He glanced around the corridor, as if making sure it was empty.
“You are my future wife, after all,” he continued very quietly. “Might as well try to get along.”
“Could you sound any less pleased about it?” you chuckled.
“I’m sure we can both agree it’s a rather unfortunate situation to be in, but is it so terrible for me to care about the general well being of the person I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with?”
You fell silent. This was the first time he had ever said something remotely nice to you. You were very taken aback, searching for something, anything to say. You and Draco sat in peaceful silence for about a minute, completely uninterrupted. His words rang in your mind: Might as well try to get along.
“Do you ever wish you could do what you wanted?” you asked abruptly.
“Excuse me?” Draco asked, bewildered.
“Oh, come on. Don’t pretend your parents don’t control your every move and your future. Do you ever wonder what things would be like… what your life would be like… if you were the one in control?”
Draco didn’t answer. You turned your head, laying your cheek on your knees, and glanced back at him. He looked as though he had never considered a life with his own decisions before.
“Personally,” you started, catching his attention, “I would want to own a potion shop. In the southern French countryside. I never decided on where specifically. I figured I would have the rest of my life to imagine a village that was big enough to not know everyone but small enough to be quaint. My shop would be a cottage on a plot with a few acres to grow my own plants and herbs. All of my ingredients would either be locally sourced or imported from humane places with the best quality potion ingredients. My potions would be brewed by myself and a couple other potioneers – preferably from different countries in order to bring new perspectives to the table. It wouldn’t necessarily be a lavish way of life, but it would be mine, and it would be helping others as well.
“I’d want to be able to fall in love and get married on my own accord,” you explained further, “regardless of their blood status, but preferably a wizard so the potion shop could work out as well. We’d either live in the second floor of the shop or in a different cottage a short walk away. We’d have a dog and a cat, and perhaps children if it felt right and we were old enough. I would be able to be my own person without walking on eggshells, trying to do what would make my parents the happiest. I would leave the stuck-up, grandiloquent snob my parents raised me to be, and I wouldn’t have to live up to the generations of standards put on me. I would have nothing to do with my parents, nothing to do with the Ministry of Magic, and nothing to do with--”
You caught yourself before you said the name of the castle you were currently in. You sighed, knowing that this fantasy you concocted for yourself would never become a reality. That you were stuck in the narrative your parents wrote for you, unable to pick up a pen and rewrite it yourself.
You leaned your head back against the stone wall with a small thud, breathing deeply. You saw Draco tilt his head toward you out of the corner of your eye. You looked back at him, studying his face.
His white blonde hair fell down in front of his eyes ever so slightly. His expression was just as woeful as yours. You couldn’t help but notice the faint tinge of blue in his light grey eyes.
“That’s the most I think I’ve ever heard you say,” he said with a slight chuckle.
“Believe it or not, my friends back at Beauxbatons call me loud and outgoing,” you admitted.
“I promise you,” he said in a determined tone, his eyes never leaving yours, “that, as your future husband, you will one day have that shop. I will make sure of it.”
A smile crept onto your face – the first genuine smile of yours in a long time. You leaned your head on Draco’s shoulder. The smell of expensive cologne and green apples washed over you as you stared out the large, arched window that looked over the school grounds.
The sky, which was bright pink from the sunset, gave the trees and rolling hills a beautiful warm glow. The clouds were painted orange and dark purple, and you could see the silhouette of an owl soaring from one side of the window to the other.
You felt content and at peace for the first time in what felt like your entire life.
And suddenly, the world didn’t seem so dim anymore.
Lyrewater Academy of Sorcery can be found in the Great Victoria Desert of Australia. Established in 1911, they were inspired by Hogwarts and founded five Houses - Amberleaf, Coralberry, Flamerose, Honeygum, and Sundress - named for magical plants found across Australia. They incorporate both western magic and Indigenous magic.
The school is centred around the famed Lyrewater Spring, which has restorative magic and causes the drinker to sing as beautifully as a siren. Lyrewater graduates and transfers often have higher understanding of healing than other schools. Transfers to Hogwarts may struggle with the stricter rules and routines compared to Lyrewater's relaxed schooling - especially with having to wear a uniform for the first time.
Please visit Cedere Nescio if you are interested in writing a transfer or graduate from Lyrewater. We are an 18+ OC-only forum set in 2029 in the British Isles.
Way of the Highest Clarity is a Chinese magical school in Hubei, China, revered for its divination techniques. They are relatively small compared to other magical schools in China, with only around 5000 students at a time, as they send no invitations out. Instead, they welcome anyone referred to them by word-of-mouth or by the Ministry of Magic.
Like Hogwarts, Clarity has houses, with five representing the elements of Wuxing - wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. Students are sorted in an antechamber on their first day to pick out a yunzi stone of each element. Magical Go is more popular than Wizard's Chess there. While wands are not required, students practice with wands and staffs and other instruments to channel their magic.
Please visit Cedere Nescio if you are interested in writing a transfer or graduate from Clarity. We are an 18+ OC-only forum set in 2029 in the British Isles.
Baaghadrishti is a wizarding school found in the Sundarbans of West Bengal, India. Founded around a small English settlement, the founders took aspects of Hogwarts and other nearby Indian schools. Constructed from mangroves, the school rests on a mudflat deep within the trees.
Known for their artistry and arithmancy, Baaghadrishti's bengal tiger mascot is very prominent during interschool events - whether in their banners, dances, or illusions. As they begin their academic year in April, transfers to and from Hogwarts often join midway through terms. They also assist in student transfers for other Indian schools in the area.
Please visit Cedere Nescio if you are interested in writing a transfer or graduate from Baaghadrishti. We are an 18+ OC-only forum set in 2029 in the British Isles.
Koldovstoretz is the most hidden school of all, inaccessible by any mundane means in Siberia, Russia. It has only two buildings, one for the school and the other for their meal hall. The school's palace is made of ice, charmed to never melt despite the fireplaces within it.
Though they accept students from across the world, Koldvostoretz only issues automatic invitations to those in Russia, northern Asia, and some eastern European countries. Duelling is particularly popular, though not all is overseen by staff.
Please visit Cedere Nescio if you are interested in writing a transfer or graduate from Koldovstoretz. We are an 18+ OC-only forum set in 2029 in the British Isles.
