Celeste is noticing weird wand stuff, trying not to panic, and unintentionally befriending Harry Potter in a library.
Thanks for reading—and for listening along with her.
— Gryff
The candles in the Great Hall burned low by the time the feast drew to a close, their golden flames flickering feebly like dreaming stars on the verge of sleep. Bellies were brimming with rich food, laughter had mellowed into drowsy murmurs, and the ancient castle itself appeared to exhale - a deep, weighty sigh that softened its proud walls and stretched its shadows long beneath an enchanted ceiling. As the revelry subsided, the first-year students were gently summoned from their tables, each one gathering quietly around their newly appointed prefects. In that hushed moment, Celeste rose with calm determination, slipping gracefully beside a girl sporting deep brown curls and ink-smudged fingers, who reciprocated with a faint, sleepy smile.
The Ravenclaws moved as if they were a constellation come to life - a soft, deliberate stream of hushed voices and thoughtful eyes. They wound their way through corridors, then up and up they climbed, staircases shifting beneath their feet, portraits muttering greetings or soft snores as they passed.
Celeste spoke little, choosing instead to listen. She attuned herself to the sound of measured footsteps echoing on timeworn stone, to the resonance of whispered spells that seemed baked into every ancient wall as well as listening to the murmurs of her new housemates as they climbed.
At last, they reached a tall, gleaming door devoid of any handle or visible keyhole. Their prefect's eyes shone with secret delight as she announced, "There's no password. You must first answer the riddle."
With a graceful turn toward the door, a soft, smooth, lilting voice cascaded from a bronze knocker, intricately formed in the likeness of an eagle's head.
"I speak without a mouth, and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?"
Uncertain glances passed among the first-years until Celeste stepped forward gently. Her voice, quiet yet resonant, filled the space as she answered, "An… an echo."
In response, the door swung open without a sound.
The Ravenclaw common room was unlike anything Celeste had imagined - and she had imagined it often. It was high in one of the castle's towers, and as they stepped inside, the space opened like the sky. A vast domed ceiling arched overhead, its surface adorned with meticulously painted stars that shimmered softly in the torchlight; the constellations seemed to drift slowly across the inky expanse. Tall windows framed the curved walls, offering breathtaking views of distant, mist-wreathed mountains and a tranquil, slumbering lake far below. Elegant bookshelves curved along the room's perimeter, some arranged with meticulous order while others brimmed with ancient scrolls, delicate sketches, and glass jars holding inky elixirs and stray feathers. Cushions fashioned in the shape of crescent moons lay invitingly among quills that appeared suspended midair, and one solitary globe turned slowly of its own volition.
Yet, it was the deep, living quiet that settled in Celeste's chest like a scattering of starlight. It was not the absence of sound but a vibrant, thoughtful silence - as if the very room were meditating upon the mysteries of the ages.
Their prefect then smiled warmly and said, "The girls' dormitory is up that winding spiral staircase. Boys, your dormitory is up that other staircase. There's tea if you desire it, and the fires have all been lit. Sleep well."
Celeste ascended the spiral staircase slowly, her fingertips grazing the cool, worn stone banister as she climbed. At the summit, the dormitory revealed itself as a small, circular haven. Beds were artfully draped with soft blue hangings, sheets neatly turned down, and quilts folded with care, while a gentle fire crackled within a low hearth crafted like a nest of interwoven branches, casting soft flickering shadows upon the curved ceiling.
Her trunk stood waiting at the end of one of the beds, her wand case resting on top of it. Celeste sat on the edge of her bed, exhaling slowly. This was her space - distinct from the busy shop, from the crowded shelves, and from the whispered stories woven into wandwood by her grandfather over time.
Above her, an arched window unveiled a tapestry of stars so vivid and close that it felt almost within reach - as if her fingers might brush against the shimmering belt of Orion itself. Methodically, she changed into her night robes, brushed her hair in slow, languid strokes, and tucked her wand carefully beneath her pillow. Just before sliding beneath the covers, she pressed a gentle palm to the quilt and whispered, "Thank you."
She wasn't quite sure why.
But the castle heard her anyway.
~o~o~o~o~
Celeste woke before the others.
The dormitory was still draped in dawn-shadow, a pale violet light creeping through the high arched window. For a long moment, she simply lay there - blankets pulled to her chin, wand still beneath her pillow, heartbeat soft and steady.
She could hear the castle breathing.
Not with lungs, but with slow creaks and settling stone, with the delicate sighs of wind brushing against the tall tower windows and the low hum of wards woven into the walls. It was like waking inside an old instrument, every surface strung with tension and resonance.
Rising with a grace that spoke of many such mornings, Celeste dressed with deliberate care, her actions smooth and practiced like an old ritual. She had always been an early riser and her first full day in Hogwarts was no exception.
She joined her fellow Housemates as they gathered downstairs, their common room slowly coming alive with the unhurried stretch of limbs, sleepy yawns, the ritual fastening of robes, and the low murmur of conversations about daily schedules.
By breakfast time, the Great Hall had transformed into a lively tapestry of sound - plates clinking, timetables being swapped down long rows, to be scrutinised and compared between friends and the hum of youthful voices mingling with the clatter of porcelain and cutlery.
Celeste found herself seated beside a thoughtful boy named Anthony and a girl who carried the faint, lingering scent of ink. Though she said little, her attentive ears absorbed the flow of conversation like a quiet, observant stream.
Their first class of the day was Charms with Professor Flitwick—a sprightly lesson held in a sun-dappled room on the third floor where brightness spilled in generous torrents. Celeste settled near the window, her wand resting delicately atop her parchment, as if patiently waiting for its moment. At that, the diminutive yet exuberant Flitwick bounded to the front with infectious energy and a grin that nearly rivaled the height of the desk behind him.
"Today!" he exclaimed in a high, cheerful squeak, "we begin our introduction to basic incantations - light, levitation, and intent!" With a swift flourish, he demonstrated by uttering a perfect Lumos, causing the tip of his wand to burst into a warm, golden glow.
Around her, students all tried their magic with varying success. Some wands flickered hesitantly, others sparked erratically, and a few remained stubbornly inert. Celeste's own wand obeyed without delay - her Lumos shone with a soft, steady brilliance, the light imbued with a comforting warmth, and the hum beneath her fingertips resonated with quiet assurance.
Yet even as the class practiced, Celeste's keen senses picked up subtle discrepancies. In one corner of the room, a boy's wand discharged a flash that was jarringly loud and sharp - a sudden crack of light that felt more like a snapping twig than a gentle glow. It fizzled out almost immediately, leaving him to frown in dismay and murmur an apology for his poor technique under his breath.
Across the room, another student named Lisa executed her charm with precision, yet her wand's tip continued to emit a feeble glow long after she had whispered the counter-charm Nox. It was a quiet aberration, easily overlooked amidst the enthusiastic commotion, as Flitwick moved busily between desks with his characteristic cheer, offering praise and adjustment, while other students focused on outdoing each other with their magical prowess.
Celeste cradled her wand in her hand, tilting it slightly as she listened intently to the ambient murmurs of enchantments. Something in the wands themselves felt… off-kilter. Not broken. Just unsettled. Like a violin out of tune - not enough to notice unless you already knew the song.
Their next class was Herbology, held outside in the tender embrace of a soft September morning. Celeste worked quietly beside Hermione and Neville, who spoke in nervous bursts about his worry over "killing the plants accidentally." Celeste smiled, murmured a kind reassurance, and gently patted the soil around her own seedling with bare fingers. The earth beneath her touch was steady - a contrast to the unsettled energies lingering in their wands.
Later, in History of Magic, the soft, ghostly tones of Professor Binns, whose voice dwindled like a fading wind, lulled most of the class into a drowsy reverie. But Celeste took notes - not of what he said, but of what she felt.
Wand activity.
As she documented the various occurrences she'd seen throughout the day, a wand was dropped two rows ahead of her and before it even hit the floor, it sparked - just briefly. No spell had been cast. The student muttered an apology, picked it up, and Binns droned on. Celeste, on the other hand, jotted a new line into her notebook, angled away from curious eyes:
Wand in third row sparked when dropped. No incantation. It reacted on its own - like it was responding to something. Possible nerves? Reacting to ambient magic? Unclear.
She didn't know what any of it meant. She was only sure that it wasn't nothing.
Later, between classes, she passed a group of Hufflepuffs trying to practice a floating charm in the corridor. One girl's wand refused to respond at all - until, frustrated, she shouted the incantation too loudly, and the feather exploded into a puff of downy fragments. Celeste's own wand hummed against her sleeve.
She froze.
It felt… restless.
Of course, not everything was unusual. They were all new to casting. In Transfiguration, Celeste had tried to turn a matchstick into a needle - and instead set hers vibrating so violently that Professor McGonagall had to steady it with a flick of her own wand.
That had been nerves. Concentration. Hesitation.
Some of these mishaps were just first-week mistakes. She could admit that.
But not all of them.
Some of the wands weren't just misfiring - they were resisting. Or reaching for something else entirely.
~o~o~o~o~
By the time the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long across the stone floors, Celeste sat alone at a window seat tucked behind a bookshelf in the library. Her books were open, parchment covered in careful notes and quiet questions - but her quill had long since stilled. Her gaze drifted beyond the glass, to the lake rippling gold beneath the sinking sun. She should have been reviewing wand movements. Re-reading Flitwick's list of casting postures. Memorising incantations.
But her thoughts were circling one thing.
The wands.
Not just her own. Not just one or two.
Enough of them.
They weren't just misfiring - they were responding. But to what? To fear? To excitement? To the presence of so many new casters gathered in one ancient place? Or to something else entirely?
She thought of the sparks. The resistance. The way her own wand had hummed in her hand before the Hufflepuff's feather had exploded midair. The memory itched behind her ribs like a puzzle missing its centre piece.
Celeste drew her notebook toward her, trailing a finger down her list of observations. Some were ordinary, easily explained. Others weren't. Her matchstick mishap in Transfiguration had made sense. But that wand in History of Magic - it had sparked before it was even touched.
A reaction with cause. Or maybe… without an obvious one.
She ran a hand across the worn leather of her notebook and closed it gently. She didn't have answers. She wasn't even sure she had the right questions yet. But she knew the feeling wands gave when something was wrong and this?
This wasn't nothing.
She gathered her books and tucked her wand into her sleeve.
Whatever was going on with the wands, she wasn't going to figure it out tonight - not on her own. But maybe…
Maybe a letter to her grandfather could help.
As she turned to leave, she nearly collided with someone rounding the corner of the shadowy row of bookshelves.
"Oh - sorry," the boy said quickly, stepping back with a startled expression.
She looked up, her eyes widening slightly.
Harry Potter.
He blinked in recognition, his gaze sharpening. "You're… Celeste, right? From the wand shop."
She nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And you're Harry. Still in one piece, I see."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, the corners lifting gently. "So far."
They stood in the quiet for a moment, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and ink. Beyond the shelves, the rustle of parchment and the delicate scratch of quills echoed faintly, the rhythm of a castle that never truly slept.
"What are you doing down here?" he asked, his tone curious rather than accusatory.
Celeste tilted her head slightly, her eyes thoughtful. "Listening."
"To what?"
She hesitated, then glanced at the wand peeking subtly from his robes. "The wands," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Something about them feels… different. Off-balance. Did yours feel strange in class today?"
Harry frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. "No. Not really. It did what I told it to. Why?"
"Some didn't," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of unease. "They sparked when they shouldn't. Fizzled when they should've caused flight. Some ignored their owners altogether."
"Maybe they're just nervous," Harry offered with a shrug. "It's only our first day."
"Maybe," Celeste said, though her voice suggested otherwise, a subtle undertone of doubt.
Harry looked at her for a moment longer, his eyes studying her intently. "You really do listen, don't you?"
Celeste didn't reply. She didn't need to. Her silence spoke volumes.
He smiled faintly, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Well… let me know if any of them try to set the curtains on fire."
She almost smiled, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "I will."
As he turned to go, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "I'm glad it was you that gave me my wand."
Celeste blinked, momentarily taken aback.
"Most people just see the scar," he added quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't."
Then he was gone, his footsteps soft against the stone as he disappeared into the corridor.
For a long moment, Celeste stood in the hush he left behind. The library felt softer now, like the air had shifted just slightly - warmer at the edges.
Then, she smiled to herself - soft and unexpected.
The kind of smile that came from being seen, if only for a moment.