The training wands hummed faintly in their hands, lighter than real wands, their polished wood carrying a soft, forgiving resonance. They felt like practice swords compared to steel—real enough to demand respect, but designed not to cost you a limb if you messed up.
"Once again, think of them as guardrails," Professor Marshall explained, her voice carrying that distinctive warmth—the kind that could sell you a vacation package or convince you to trust her with your life savings. She demonstrated her grip with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent decades making magic look effortless, her smile bright enough to power a small city. "They'll channel your intent, but cushion your errors. No accidental lightning bolts, no surprise explosions." Her grin widened mischievously. "Usually."
Ned immediately death-gripped his wand like it might leap out of his hands and start World War III. Felix, perched on his shoulder, shifted to an alarmed orange. "Usually?!" Ned squeaked, his Jacob Batalon energy vibrating at maximum frequency. "What do you mean usually? That's not reassuring! That's the opposite of reassuring! That's like saying 'don't worry, the plane only crashes sometimes!'"
Professor Marshall's laugh was pure sunshine and mischief. "Oh, I find it keeps students alert. Amazing how much better your focus gets when you think your eyebrows might be at stake."
Peter practically bounced on his toes. "Wait, so there's actual danger? That's so cool! I mean, not cool-cool, but like, scientifically fascinating! The risk-reward ratio must be incredible for magical education! How do you even calculate the probability of—"
"Parker," MJ interrupted with dryness, not even looking up from her wand inspection. "Breathe before you hyperventilate yourself into a feather."
"I don't hyperventilate!" Peter protested, then immediately proved her point by talking faster. "I just get excited about the physics of magical resonance and the potential applications of—"
"Dude," Ned cut in, "you're doing the thing where you sound like Wikipedia had a baby with the Discovery Channel."
Harry, channeling every ounce of calm despite being nine, weighed the wand in his hand like he was testing a baseball bat. His emerald eyes—so impossibly green they looked like someone had lit them from behind—studied the wand with that unsettling focus that made adults forget his age. "Feels like it's... alive," he said quietly, his voice carrying that old-soul weight that made everyone lean in. "But calmer. Like it wants me to get it right instead of just... doing whatever I want."
Professor Marshall's expression softened, clearly impressed by his instinct. "That's because it does want you to succeed, Harry. Intention married to technique—that's the heart of it. A wand amplifies your will, but it also reflects your clarity. Fuzzy thoughts, fuzzy magic. Clear thoughts, clear magic."
Peter's hand shot up like he was trying to touch the ceiling. "Oh! Oh! So it's like coding! Garbage in, garbage out! If your mental syntax is sloppy, the magic compiler throws errors!"
"Did he just compare magic to JavaScript?" Felicia drawled, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. She twirled her wand between nimble fingers like it was a butterfly knife, all blonde confidence and casual rebellion. "That's either brilliant or deeply concerning."
"Both," MJ said flatly, radiating that quiet intensity that made people think twice before messing with her. "It's definitely both."
Peter immediately got defensive, gesturing wildly. "Hey! Programming analogies are totally valid! Magic has rules, code has rules—"
"Peter," Gwen interrupted with peak exasperation, her voice sharp enough to cut through his rambling, "you're about to start explaining object-oriented programming to a magic professor. Maybe dial it back to, I don't know, normal human conversation?"
"But the parallels are fascinating!" Peter insisted. "The wand is like the hardware interface between your intent-software and the magical operating system of reality—"
"OH MY GOD," Ned groaned, Felix turning bright red on his shoulder. "He's gonna start drawing diagrams. Someone stop him before he pulls out a whiteboard."
Harry's quiet chuckle was warm and genuine and somehow more mature than anyone else in the room. "Actually, I think he's onto something. It's like archery, right?" He looked at Peter with those unsettling green eyes. "Consistency of form—stance, breathing, smooth follow-through. You can't just yank the string and hope the arrow flies straight."
Peter's face lit up like Christmas morning. "EXACTLY! See? Harry gets it! Form, function, consistent execution—"
"Not that I've ever shot an arrow," Harry continued with a small smile, "but, you know. YouTube."
Professor Marshall clapped her hands once, delighted. "Exactly right, both of you! Except instead of missing the target, you might accidentally summon a small thunderstorm or turn your homework into a badger."
Peter's eyes went wide. "Wait, we can turn things into badgers? That's amazing! The conservation of mass implications alone—"
"Parker," Felicia cut in, still twirling her wand, "you would definitely be the kid who accidentally turns his backpack into a honey badger."
"Honey badgers are actually fascinating creatures!" Peter shot back. "Did you know they're immune to most venoms and can—"
"NO." Gwen held up a hand like a stop sign. "No animal facts. We're here for magic, not National Geographic."
"But the biological applications of transfiguration are—"
"PETER." This time it was a full chorus from Ned, Gwen, MJ, and even Harry.
From the back of the room, the adults were watching with varying degrees of amusement and terror.
Ben Parker, radiating pure dad energy, chuckled and shook his head. "Kid hasn't changed a bit. Still sounds like he swallowed an encyclopedia."
May shot him a look that could melt steel, all sass and exasperation. "Don't encourage him, Benjamin. I'm still traumatized from the time he explained quantum mechanics during dinner. I couldn't look at spaghetti the same way for a month."
"That was ONE TIME!" Peter called from across the room.
"It was every night for three weeks!" May called back.
George Stacy, crossed his arms and muttered, "Christ, the kid makes Gwen sound normal. That's actually terrifying."
"DAD," Gwen groaned, her cheeks flushing pink.
"What? You once gave me a forty-minute lecture on the physics used in ballistics. At least Peter's enthusiasm is... educational."
Walter Hardy, lurking with understated menace, gave Felicia a pointed look. "And you—try not to accidentally curse anyone on the first day. We haven't even started covering liability insurance."
Felicia grinned back, unrepentant. "No promises, old man. But I'll aim for non-permanent damage."
"Reassuring," Walter deadpanned.
Aurora Sinclair swept forward, commanding the room without even trying, her presence making everyone straighten their postures. "Children," she announced, voice carrying perfectly, "perhaps we could focus on the fundamentals before discussing advanced transfiguration theory and honey badger biology?"
Phillip Watson, pure chaos barely contained in a professorial body, leaned forward conspiratorially. "Though, uh, honey badgers are, you know, remarkable creatures. Very... very tenacious. Like magic students, in a way. Tenacious and, uh, potentially destructive when... when improperly supervised."
His wife Madelyn, channeling peak patience, closed her eyes and counted to three. "Phillip. Please don't give them ideas about becoming magical honey badgers."
"Too late!" Peter chirped. "Mental note: research magical honey badger transformation spells!"
"PETER," May called warningly from the back.
"Sorry, Aunt May!"
George Leeds, threw his hands up in mock despair. "Aiya! I send my son to magic school, and he wants to become a honey badger! What's next? He's gonna tell me he wants to be a magical helicopter!"
Helen Leeds, all sharpness wrapped in maternal authority, patted her husband's arm. "Honey, if our kid wants to be a magical honey badger, that's still better than that time he wanted to be a professional video game streamer."
"That was a legitimate career path!" Ned protested, Felix turning indignant purple.
"You wanted to stream yourself eating cereal," Helen shot back. "For eight hours a day."
"Cereal reviews are a valid content category!"
"Oh my GOD," MJ muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can we PLEASE focus on actual magic before someone starts reviewing breakfast foods?"
Professor Marshall clapped twice, cutting through the chaos. "All right, all right! Enough breakfast cereal debates. Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"
She gestured elegantly, her wand moving in a smooth arc. "Feet shoulder-width apart, wand arm extended—not stiff, not floppy. Think of it as... confident but relaxed. Like you're conducting an orchestra, not directing traffic."
Harry mirrored her stance almost instinctively, making it look effortless. Even at nine, he had that Potter steadiness, that unshakeable groundedness. "Feels... right," he said quietly, those emerald eyes focused with laser intensity. "Like my body already knows what to do."
"Excellent instinct," Professor Marshall beamed. "That's your magical core recognizing proper form."
Peter tried to copy Harry but somehow managed to look like he was about to fall over. His restless energy was just too much for standing still—he bounced on his toes, adjusted his grip seventeen times, and muttered a running commentary. "Okay, shoulder-width, check. Wand arm extended but not rigid, check. Why do I feel like I'm about to do jazz hands?"
"Because you look like you're about to do jazz hands," Gwen said dryly, her own stance perfect and precise. Her natural poise made her look like she'd been born holding a wand.
"I don't look like—" Peter started, then caught sight of himself in the window reflection. "Oh god, I totally look like I'm about to do jazz hands."
"Embrace the jazz hands, Parker," Felicia said with a grin, her own stance casual but flawless. Her natural athleticism made everything look easy. "Maybe that's your magical signature—interpretive dance magic."
"Don't give him ideas," MJ warned, her intensity focused on perfecting her form with methodical precision.
Ned was trying so hard to get his stance right that he was visibly trembling, his nervous energy making Felix shift colors rapidly. "Am I doing this right? I feel like I'm about to fall over. Or throw up. Or fall over AND throw up."
"You're overthinking it, buddy," Harry said gently, with kindness in his voice. "Just... trust yourself. The wand wants to work with you, not against you."
"Easy for you to say," Ned muttered. "You look like you were born with magic."
Harry's smile was small but genuine. "Trust me, I've had plenty of practice feeling like I don't know what I'm doing."
"Now then," Professor Marshall continued, setting a single white feather in front of each student, "we're going to start with the levitation charm. Small objects only, smooth controlled movement. The goal is levitation, not launching these poor feathers into orbit."
Peter's hand shot up again. "What's the terminal velocity of a magically accelerated feather? Because if we're talking about orbital mechanics—"
"Parker," Gwen interrupted, "I swear to God, if you turn this into astrophysics—"
"But the math is fascinating!"
"The math is always fascinating to you," MJ said flatly. "You think the math behind toast is fascinating."
"Toast IS fascinating! The Maillard reaction alone—"
"NO TOAST SCIENCE," Ned yelled, Felix turning bright red again.
Professor Marshall held up a hand, laughing despite herself. "Boys and girls, please. The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa. The wand movement is a swish and flick—like this." She demonstrated with fluid grace, her feather rising smoothly into the air.
"Win-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa," Gwen repeated with perfect pronunciation, her Emma Stone precision making each syllable crystal clear. "It's all about the emphasis on the first and third syllables."
Peter squinted at her. "You sound like you've been practicing this for weeks."
"Maybe I have been," Gwen said primly. "Some of us believe in preparation."
"Show off," Felicia muttered, but there was amusement in it.
"I'm not showing off, I'm being thorough. There's a difference."
"Yeah, the difference is showing off sounds cooler," Felicia grinned.
Harry studied the feather in front of him with those intense green eyes, then looked at his wand. "Intention matters, right? It's not just the words and the movement."
"Exactly," Professor Marshall nodded approvingly. "Clear intention, proper form, correct pronunciation. Think of what you want to happen, not what you're afraid might happen."
"What if what I'm afraid might happen is accidentally launching my feather through the window?" Ned asked nervously.
"Then don't think about that," Harry said simply. "Think about the feather floating gently upward. Like it's lighter than air."
Peter took a deep breath, raised his wand, and... "Wingardium Leviosa!"
His feather twitched. Then it lifted about two inches. Then it promptly fell back down like it was exhausted.
"YES!" Peter punched the air with his free hand, pure excitement radiating from every pore. "Did you see that? It moved! It actually moved! I'm basically Gandalf!"
"Gandalf never got this excited about floating a feather," MJ observed dryly.
"Gandalf fought dragons and stuff," Peter said, undaunted. "I'm starting with feathers and working my way up to dragons. It's called having reasonable goals."
"Your reasonable goals usually involve explosions," Ned pointed out.
"Only sometimes! And the explosions are usually accidental!"
"That's not as reassuring as you think it is," Gwen muttered.
Professor Marshall beamed at Peter anyway. "Excellent start, Peter. The magical connection is clearly there. Now, for your second attempt, focus on sustaining the levitation rather than forcing it. Magic flows better when you guide it, not when you try to wrestle it into submission."
Peter nodded seriously, then raised his wand again. This time, he was calmer, more focused. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather rose smoothly, hovered at eye level for nearly ten seconds, then settled gently back down.
"OH MY GOD," Peter exploded, vibrating with excitement. "Did everyone see that? That was like fifteen seconds of stable hovering! That's... that's practically professional level, right? I mean, for a first day? I'm basically the Mozart of feather levitation!"
"Mozart was a musical genius," Gwen said. "You made a feather float."
"A feather that's now FLOATING!" Peter shot back, gesturing wildly. "With MAGIC! That I did! With MY BRAIN!"
"And your wand," Harry added with a small smile.
"And my wand," Peter agreed. "But mostly my brain! My brain is magic now! This is the best day of my life!"
Ben called from the back, "Better than the day you figured out how to make web-shooters?"
"UNCLE BEN, THAT'S DIFFERENT," Peter called back, then paused. "Okay, it's tied for best day of my life!"
MJ stepped up next, focused like a laser. She raised her wand with deliberate precision, took a breath, and spoke clearly: "Wingardium Leviosa."
Her feather didn't just rise—it danced. It lifted smoothly, then began to twirl and glide through the air like a tiny ballerina, spinning and dipping with perfect grace.
The room went quiet.
Professor Marshall tilted her head, clearly intrigued. "That's... extraordinary, Mary Jane. You're not just levitating the feather, you're choreographing it. That suggests a very sophisticated understanding of magical control."
MJ's expression didn't change, but there was a spark of satisfaction in her green eyes. "I was thinking about it like directing a performance. The feather's the actor, the spell's the script, and I'm the director making sure it hits all the right marks."
"That's... actually brilliant," Gwen admitted grudgingly. "Theatrical magic theory."
"Everything's theater if you think about it right," MJ said, still controlling the feather's graceful movements. "Magic's just theater where the special effects are real."
Peter stared at the dancing feather with open awe. "That's... that's so much more advanced than what I did. You're like the Steven Spielberg of feather choreography."
"Don't compare me to Spielberg," MJ said. "I have better taste in lighting."
Felicia snorted. "Oh, this should be fun." She raised her wand with casual confidence, her athletic grace making even magic look effortless. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Her feather rose instantly—and just hung there. Perfectly still, perfectly balanced, like it was suspended in amber. No wobbling, no drifting, just... perfect control.
She leaned back with that trademark smirk. "Huh. Guess I'm a natural."
"Of course you are," Gwen muttered, though there was admiration mixed with the annoyance.
"Don't sound so surprised, Stacy," Felicia grinned. "I'm good at everything."
"Modest, too," Harry observed with dry amusement.
"Modesty's overrated," Felicia shot back. "Results speak louder than humble pie."
Professor Marshall nodded approvingly. "Natural magical resonance is rare, Felicia. But don't let talent trick you into skipping fundamentals. The students who rely purely on instinct often hit walls later when the magic gets more complex."
Felicia waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Foundation, technique, blah blah. Got it."
From the back, Walter Hardy's voice carried that Paddy Considine edge: "Famous last words, kid. Pride goes before the fall."
"Good thing I'm not proud," Felicia called back sweetly. "Just accurate."
Gwen stepped forward, determination written across her features. She raised her wand with precise, controlled movement. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Her feather rose exactly as high as she intended, hovered exactly where she wanted it, and stayed there with rock-solid stability. No flourishes, no dancing, no showing off—just perfect, controlled magic.
"Textbook execution," Professor Marshall praised. "Excellent control, Gwen. That kind of precision is the foundation of advanced spellwork."
"Thank you," Gwen said simply, though there was quiet pride in her voice.
"Boring," Felicia stage-whispered.
"Effective," Gwen countered coolly.
"Same thing sometimes."
"No," Harry said quietly, cutting through their banter, "they're not. Gwen's approach is sustainable. She can do that spell exactly the same way every single time. That's not boring—that's reliable. And in magic, reliable keeps you from accidentally turning your homework into a badger."
Gwen shot him a grateful look. "Thank you, Harry."
"Plus," he continued with a small smile, "boring magic doesn't accidentally set things on fire."
"I like things that accidentally set on fire," Peter chimed in.
"We know," everyone said in unison.
Ned stepped up, his nervous energy making him vibrate like a tuning fork. Felix had gone from orange to yellow to green and back to orange on his shoulder. "Okay," Ned muttered to himself, "don't think about failure. Don't think about the feather exploding. Don't think about accidentally summoning a tornado. Just... gentle floating. Nice, calm, gentle floating."
He raised his wand with a death grip that made his knuckles white. "Win-gard-ium... Levi-o-sa!"
His feather wobbled, lurched sideways, rose three inches, dropped back down, then suddenly shot up to the ceiling before gently floating back down to hover at eye level.
"HOLY CRAP!" Ned shouted, then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry! Sorry! I mean... holy crap, I did magic! Felix, I did actual magic!"
Felix squeaked triumphantly and turned bright green.
"Outstanding!" Professor Marshall laughed, clearly delighted. "A bit unconventional in execution, but excellent results. Your magical signature seems to involve... enthusiastic energy bursts."
"Is that bad?" Ned asked worriedly.
"Not at all. Every wizard has their own style. Yours appears to be... explosive enthusiasm."
"That's the most Ned thing I've ever heard," Peter grinned.
"Right?" Ned beamed. "I'm magically hyperactive! This is the best!"
Finally, all eyes turned to Harry. The nine-year-old with the impossible green eyes and the unsettling presence of someone much older stood calmly, studying his feather with that Tom Welling intensity.
"No pressure, Brooklyn Boy," Felicia said with a grin.
Harry's smile was small but confident. "I don't really do pressure." He raised his wand with steady hands, his stance perfect without trying. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather rose smoothly, effortlessly, and hung in the air with the kind of control that made everyone else's attempts look like amateur hour. No wobbling, no showing off, no strain—just pure, clean magic.
"Of course," MJ muttered, though there was approval in her voice. "Of course the nine-year-old makes us all look like beginners."
"That's... remarkably advanced control for a first attempt," Professor Marshall said, clearly impressed. "Harry, have you practiced magic before?"
Harry shook his head, still maintaining perfect control over the floating feather. "No, ma'am. It just... feels right. Like remembering something I used to know."
The room went quiet at that. There was something in his voice, something old and knowing that made the adults in the back exchange glances.
"Well," Professor Marshall said after a moment, warmth tinged with curiosity, "natural aptitude like that is extraordinary. We'll want to make sure you're challenged appropriately."
Harry's smile was pure Lily Evans—humble but confident. "I'm just good with feathers, I guess."
"Don't start with the bird puns," Gwen warned.
"I wasn't going to make bird puns," Harry protested.
"Yes, you were," Peter, Ned, and MJ said simultaneously.
Harry's grin widened just a little. "...Maybe one or two."
"NO," came the chorus from his friends.
"Fine, fine. No bird puns. But I can't promise anything about flying jokes when we get to broomsticks."
Professor Marshall clapped her hands, bringing order back to the room. "Excellent work, everyone. What I've seen today suggests you all have strong magical potential and, more importantly, you work well as a team. That's going to be crucial as you advance."
"Speaking of advancing," Peter said, bouncing on his toes again, "when do we learn the really cool stuff? Like, when do we get to make things explode on purpose?"
"Or turn people into badgers?" Ned added hopefully.
"Or shoot lightning from our fingers?" This from Felicia, naturally.
"Or summon dragons?" Peter continued.
"Let's master floating feathers before we start summoning dragons," Professor Marshall laughed. "Though I admire your ambition."
"Ambition's just another word for 'poor impulse control,'" Gwen observed.
"Says the girl who once tried to arrest a pigeon," MJ deadpanned.
"That pigeon was clearly up to something!"
"It was eating a sandwich!"
"Suspiciously!"
From the back, George Stacy's voice cut through: "For the record, the pigeon was not acting suspiciously. My daughter just has control issues."
"I don't have control issues!" Gwen protested. "I have high standards!"
"Same thing," Felicia grinned.
The adults were starting to filter in, drawn by the sound of successful magic and increasingly chaotic banter.
Ben Parker, radiating pure pride, beamed at the floating feathers still drifting around the room. "Well, look at that. Nobody set anything on fire, nobody turned anyone into a badger, and everybody still has their eyebrows. I call that an unqualified success."
"Don't jinx it," May muttered, all sass and maternal worry. "We're only on lesson one. Give them three weeks and something's definitely going to explode."
"I heard 'explode,'" Peter perked up immediately. "Are we talking about explosive magic? Because I have theories about magical combustion reactions—"
"NO THEORIES," May called firmly. "Not until you can float a feather without giving me a heart attack."
"But Aunt May, the theoretical applications—"
"Peter Benjamin Parker, so help me God—"
"Okay, okay! No theories! Yet."
Aurora Sinclair swept into the conversation with all of her theatrical presence. "Magnificent work, children. Simply magnificent. You've taken your first steps into a larger world."
"Did she just quote Star Wars?" Ned whispered to Felix, who squeaked in what might have been amusement.
"I quote what's appropriate for the moment," Aurora replied regally. "And magic does make us all Jedi, in a sense."
"Please don't encourage them," Madelyn Watson sighed with peak exhaustion. "They're already planning to summon dragons."
"I wasn't planning to summon dragons!" Peter protested. "I was just asking when we might theoretically be able to summon dragons! For scientific purposes!"
"Everything's for scientific purposes with you," Gwen pointed out.
"Because science is amazing! Magic is basically science we don't understand yet! Arthur C. Clarke said—"
"Oh God, he's quoting Clarke now," MJ muttered. "Someone stop him before he starts explaining the technological applications of spell theory."
Phillip Watson, leaned forward excitedly. "But that's fascinating! The intersection of magic and technology! The possibilities are, uh, are limitless! Imagine... imagine smartphones powered by levitation charms! Or, or transportation spells integrated with GPS systems! The, uh, the implications for—"
"Phillip," Madelyn cut him off with practiced precision. "Please don't encourage the children to revolutionize the world on their first day."
"Too late!" Peter announced cheerfully. "I'm definitely going to revolutionize everything now! MJ, we should start a magical research group!"
"Hard pass," MJ said immediately.
"Come on! We could call ourselves the... the Magic Science Coalition!"
"That's the worst name I've ever heard," Gwen said flatly.
"The Arcane Research Initiative?"
"Worse."
"The Mystical—"
"NO," came a chorus from everyone in the room.
George Leeds threw his hands up in perfect exasperation. "Aiya! My son wants to be researcher now! First honey badger, now scientist! What's next, he want to be magical astronaut?"
"That's actually not a bad idea," Ned mused, causing Felix to turn a thoughtful blue. "Space magic sounds awesome."
"Don't give him ideas!" Helen Leeds called out with sharpness. "I'm still recovering from when he wanted to livestream himself eating cereal in space!"
"That was a unique content opportunity!" Ned protested.
"It was impossible and ridiculous!"
"Most good content is!"
Walter Hardy gave Felicia a pointed look. "And you—try to keep the showing off to a minimum. Natural talent's great until it makes you complacent."
Felicia twirled her wand with casual confidence. "Relax, old man. I know what I'm doing."
"Famous last words," Walter muttered.
"I prefer 'confident assertions,'" Felicia grinned back.
Professor Marshall clapped her hands for attention, her authority cutting through the cheerful chaos. "All right, everyone! That's enough excitement for one day. Tomorrow we'll be covering illumination charms and basic color-change spells. Tonight, I want you all to practice your wand grip and visualization exercises. No attempting spells at home—we'll save the magic for the classroom."
"Aww," Peter, Ned, and Felicia said simultaneously.
"No magic at home means no accidental magic disasters at home," Gwen pointed out practically.
"But accidental magic disasters sound fun," Felicia said with a grin.
"They sound expensive," George Stacy muttered. "And probably illegal."
"Only if you get caught," Felicia shot back sweetly.
"FELICIA," Walter Hardy's voice carried clear warning.
"Kidding! Mostly."
Harry, who had been quietly listening to all the banter with those unsettling green eyes, finally spoke up. "Professor Marshall? What happens if someone accidentally does magic at home? Hypothetically."
Everyone turned to look at him. There was something in his tone—not guilt, exactly, but... knowledge.
Professor Marshall's expression softened. "Well, Harry, accidental magic happens to young wizards all the time. It's perfectly natural. The important thing is to tell a trusted adult immediately so we can help manage any... complications."
"Complications like what?" Peter asked immediately, his scientific curiosity overriding common sense.
"Like turning your bedroom furniture into livestock," Professor Marshall said with a smile that suggested this had happened before. "Or accidentally making all the windows in your house sing opera."
"That happened?!" Ned's eyes went wide.
"Oh yes. Young wizards are remarkably creative in their accidental magic. I once had a student who accidentally turned his entire breakfast into butterflies."
"What did he eat?" Peter asked with scientific concern.
"Very carefully supervised toast for the rest of the week."
As the kids packed up their practice wands and gathered their things, the excited chatter continued to bounce around the room like verbal pinballs.
"This is just the beginning," Felicia announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder with casual confidence.
"The beginning of what?" Gwen asked suspiciously.
"Everything," Felicia grinned. "We're going to be amazing at this."
"We're going to be average at this," MJ corrected pragmatically. "Maybe slightly above average if Peter stops trying to explain the physics of every spell."
"But the physics are fascinating!" Peter protested.
"Everything's fascinating to you," Ned pointed out. "You think the physics of toast are fascinating."
"Toast IS fascinating! The Maillard reaction creates hundreds of different flavor compounds through—"
"NO TOAST SCIENCE," everyone yelled in unison.
Harry was the last to pack up, his movements deliberate and calm. As he tucked his practice wand away, he glanced back at the classroom once more, those emerald eyes taking in every detail like he was memorizing it.
"Two more years," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Then it's my turn for the real thing."
"Two years is going to fly by," Ben said gently, approaching with that Tom Hanks warmth. "Especially if you keep learning like this."
Harry's smile was small but determined, pure confidence wrapped in nine-year-old packaging. "I plan to be ready."
As they all filed out of the classroom—kids still chattering excitedly, adults trailing behind with expressions ranging from pride to mild terror—Professor Marshall watched them go with a satisfied smile.
The feathers were still floating gently around the empty classroom, a testament to successful first attempts and promising futures. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new spells, and undoubtedly new chaos.
But today? Today had been magic in every sense of the word.
And it was only the beginning.
—
The flames in Professor McGonagall's office fireplace flickered from orange to emerald green, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls of Hogwarts. The familiar whoosh of Floo powder preceded Aurora Sinclair's appearance in the flames, her elegant features animated with professional satisfaction.
"Minerva," Aurora's voice carried clearly through the magical connection, her theatrical presence somehow managing to project authority even through fire, "I'm pleased to report that our American students had a remarkably successful first day at the Institute."
McGonagall looked up from the stack of admissions letters she'd been reviewing, her sharp eyes immediately focusing on Aurora's glowing face in the flames. "How remarkably successful? With this particular group, I've learned to calibrate my expectations for various degrees of controlled chaos."
Aurora's laugh was warm and genuine. "Controlled chaos is an excellent description. All five students demonstrated strong magical aptitude during basic spell instruction. Parker achieved stable levitation on his second attempt, though he spent considerable time explaining the theoretical physics of magical energy manipulation to anyone who would listen."
"Of course he did," McGonagall replied with dry amusement. "And the others?"
"Watson showed remarkable intuitive control—she didn't just levitate her practice feather, she choreographed it like a dance performance. Stacy demonstrated textbook precision that suggests excellent foundational skills. Leeds managed successful levitation despite what I can only describe as 'enthusiastic magical discharge patterns.' And Hardy..." Aurora paused with obvious admiration. "Hardy achieved perfect control on her first attempt with no visible effort."
McGonagall's eyebrows rose slightly. "Natural magical resonance is rare in students of any background."
"Indeed. Though Professor Marshall was careful to emphasize that talent without discipline often creates complications later in advanced studies." Aurora's expression grew more thoughtful. "What may be most significant is how well they function as a cohesive unit. They support each other's learning, challenge each other appropriately, and seem to bring out each other's best qualities rather than competing destructively."
"And young Harry?"
Aurora's smile softened with genuine fondness. "Harry observed the entire session with remarkable focus and asked questions that demonstrated sophisticated understanding of magical theory. Professor Marshall noted that his theoretical grasp appears to exceed that of many first-year students. More importantly, his presence seemed to enhance the group's confidence rather than creating pressure or distraction."
McGonagall nodded with satisfaction. "The reports suggest they'll arrive at Hogwarts considerably better prepared than most incoming students. Both theoretically and practically."
"Considerably better prepared," Aurora confirmed. "But more than that—they'll arrive as an established support system. Whatever challenges they face during their time at Hogwarts, they'll face them together. That kind of foundation is invaluable for students entering an unfamiliar educational environment."
"Particularly," McGonagall added with quiet significance, "for students whose magical education will inevitably attract more attention than most."
Aurora's expression grew more serious. "Harry's presence remained completely unnoticed by other Institute students and staff. The protective measures are holding effectively. He can continue his theoretical education without the complications of public recognition."
"Excellent. Six weeks of systematic preparation should provide them with precisely the foundation they'll need." McGonagall's tone carried both professional satisfaction and maternal protectiveness. "Thank you for the comprehensive report, Aurora."
As the Floo connection ended and the flames returned to normal orange, McGonagall returned to her admissions letters with a small smile. Five exceptional American students and one remarkable nine-year-old observer were beginning an educational journey that would serve them well in the challenges ahead.
The future was looking very promising indeed.
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!