Tips on developing a magic school for adults? (Most magic schools I read about are for children, so I wanted to make a magic university)
While arguably some of the most famous fictional magic schools are written for children, there are actually a lot of magic schools for adults in fiction, and I bet you already know loads of them! The Magicians by Lev Grossman is probably the most well-known, but there’s also some other amazing books like The Will of the Many by James Islington and A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik to name just a few.
Magic schools for adults differ a lot from magic schools for children, just like real-life education practices change based on the age of those attending. That means that writing a school for older students isn’t just about aging them up. You need to think about the institution itself, from its purpose, its culture and its history, along with the adult conflicts and personalities of those who attend.
An adult school means adult themes
Children’s magic schools are often about discovery and coming-of-age, and the story themes will almost always reflect that. Students learn they have powers, form their identities, and navigate the social hierarchies of adolescence. By contrast, a magic university opens up entirely different narrative possibilities and themes.
Adult students bring baggage. They have long-established identities, past failures, relationships, and maybe even careers they’ve left behind. They’re not blank slates waiting to be shaped by the school they attend. They come into the narrative as fully fleshed-out people with opinions, obligations, ex-partners, and regrets.
So when writing a magic school for adults, you need to think about what draws someone to magical higher education. Are they just out of school, and this is the logical university-style progression? Are they looking for specialisation of their skills? Changing careers? Researching esoteric or forbidden knowledge? The motivations of your students will shape as much of the narrative as the institution itself, allowing you to explore an almost infinite range of themes.
What is your magic school here to do? Children’s schools teach fundamentals, like how to control your power, basic spells, and magical history. A university suggests something beyond the basics. Some things to consider might be:
Students pursuing mastery in specific magical disciplines (healing magic, temporal studies, elemental manipulation).
Faculty and graduate students pushing the boundaries of magical knowledge through research.
Preparing students for specific magical careers (magical law, curse-breaking, enchantment engineering) through practical job training.
The institution might grant qualifications that open doors in the magical world.
The magical curriculum might run alongside regular education as either a hidden curriculum or as complementary study.
Think about how real universities operate. They often have departments with competing interests, tenure politics, funding pressures, and academic rivalries. Do students live on campus or commute? Are there part-time options for those balancing work and family?
University students don’t need supervision the way children do. This completely changes the power dynamic between students and faculty. Professors might be mentors, rivals, or even colleagues, and graduate students might teach undergraduates. Academic hierarchies create their own conflicts.
Think about the culture of your magical academy:
Is it collaborative or cutthroat?
How competitive is admission?
What’s the relationship between theoretical and practical magic?
Are there academic conferences, peer-reviewed journals, thesis defences?
How do magical researchers handle failed experiments or dangerous discoveries?
What goals do students pursue after graduation?
Are there departmental rivalries or rivalries with other institutions?
Adults face pressures that children don’t. As your characters already come ready-baked when they enter education, you need to think about what issues they might face outside of their time in education. Your students might deal with:
Tuition costs and student debt.
Balancing studies with jobs, partners, or children.
Career anxiety and job market realities.
Age gaps between traditional students and mature learners.
Imposter syndrome, especially if they came to magic late.
Judgement about their formative education (or lack thereof).
Even mundane concerns, when translated into a magical setting, ground your world and create relatable conflict. And adults, even in education, need to have lives, conflicts, and goals outside of it.
A magic university attracts a more diverse population than a children’s school. This gives you a functionally infinite pool of characters from which to draw from allowing you to tell all kinds of stories within your setting. Think about who attends:
Traditional students who’ve progressed through magical primary and secondary education?
Late bloomers whose powers manifested only in adulthood?
People looking to change their careers from other magical on non-magical professions?
People from non-magical backgrounds seeking magical training?
International students from different countries and magical traditions?
Returning students who dropped out years ago?
Professionals pursuing continuing education as mature-age students?
Each character type brings different perspectives, skills, and conflicts. A forty-year-old former magical law enforcement officer studying alongside a nineteen-year-old prodigy with no formal training, for instance, allows for a lot of interesting storytelling and character dynamics.
Adult settings allow for more complex conflicts than those in children’s literature. In a magic school for adults, you have the opportunity to explore:
Academic politics, like thesis advisors who sabotage students, departments fighting for funding, plagiarism scandals, and controversial research.
Ethical dilemmas, like how far should magical research go? Who owns magical discoveries? What responsibilities do powerful mages have?
Professional stakes where failing doesn’t just mean disappointment but can have legitimate career consequences, wasted years, and financial ruin.
Personal entanglements, from romantic relationships with classmates or faculty, old grudges, family expectations, friendships, and rivalries.
Institutional critique. Just because your school is your setting, doesn’t mean that always has to be a positive. Is the university gatekeeping knowledge? Perpetuating inequality? Serving shadowy interests?
Your magic university exists within a larger magical society, whether that is a new fantasy world or one that places magic as something existing alongside our own world. With that in mind, you need to consider how your magic school for adults fits into the world by considering:
What’s the job market like for graduates?
Are there rival institutions? Rankings? Prestige hierarchies?
How does magical academia interact with magical or non-magical government, commerce, or religion?
What’s the history of the institution? Was it founded for noble purposes or questionable ones?
Are there ongoing debates in the magical academic community that affect your characters?
Do magic practitioners need to hide among the non-magical folk? Or is magic out in the open?
