The silver light of a Highland dawn filtered through the arched window of the girl's dormitory, hitting the silk sheets at exactly six o'clock. Ashlyn didn't need an alarm; her internal clock was as calibrated as her strategy journals.
While the rest of the castle slept, she moved through her morning ritual with quiet precision. She dressed in fresh robes—crisp and smelling of the lavender sachets she'd brought from home—and double-checked her bag. Today was Friday, a gift of a start date. With only one day of classes before the weekend, she would have forty-eight hours of uninterrupted time to map the library's Restricted Section and locate the best hidden alcoves for studying.
When she descended the spiral stairs, the Ravenclaw Common Room was nearly empty, save for a few "early birds."
By the statue of Rowena, she found Alex looking uncharacteristically pale, surrounded by a small cluster of first-years. There was Lyra Selwyn, a girl with sharp, observant eyes who was already clutching a copy of Hogwarts: A History, and a boy named Soren Vance, who looked like he hadn't slept a wink.
"Ashlyn! You're awake," Alex said, looking relieved. "We were just debating if the stairs change more often on Fridays. Soren thinks it's a lunar cycle."
"It's a heuristic pattern, Alex. Logic, not luck," Ashlyn said, offering a small, encouraging nod to Lyra. She recognized a kindred spirit in the way the girl handled her books—with reverence. "Stay close to the inner rail. The stairs can't swing as far if you're hugging the pivot point."
The trek down from the tower was a marathon of shifting stone. By the time they reached the ground floor, the group was breathless, but Ashlyn's posture remained perfect.
The Great Hall in the early morning was a different beast than the night of the feast. The enchanted ceiling was a pale, misty grey, reflecting the fog rolling off the Black Lake. Students were scattered thinly across the long tables, the low hum of conversation echoing off the rafters.
The spread was, as always, lavish. Ashlyn bypassed the heavy sausages and fried bread, opting for a bowl of steel-cut oats topped with sliced pears and a cup of Earl Grey tea—no sugar. It was "brain fuel," clean and efficient.
Adrian joined them a moment later, looking far more awake than the first-years. He dropped a thick envelope onto the table. "Already finished my letter to Mum and Dad. Detailed the sorting, the feast, and the fact that Alex managed not to fall into the lake during the boat ride."
"I forgot!" Alex gasped, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "I haven't written a word. Ash, can you borrow Vortex later? I need to tell them about the eagle knocker."
"You can use him," Ashlyn replied, "provided you actually sit down and do it before lunch. Mother will worry if she only hears Adrian's version of events."
Ashlyn glanced toward the Staff Table. Professor Flitwick was perched on his stack of cushions, chatting animatedly with Professor Sprout. But her gaze soon drifted toward the Gryffindor table, where the atmosphere was decidedly more frantic.
The rumors had been sprinting through the corridors since last night: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had allegedly flown a Muggle car into the Whomping Willow.
"Look at them," Adrian muttered, nodding toward the red-and-gold table. "Potter looks like he wants to vanish, and Weasley is holding his wand together with Spellotape."
The peace of the morning was shattered by the sudden, frantic flapping of wings. A prehistoric-looking owl plummeted toward the Gryffindor table, crashing into a jug of milk. It delivered a deep red envelope into Ron Weasley's shaking hand.
The Great Hall fell into a vacuum of silence.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
The Howler exploded. Mrs. Weasley's voice, magnified a hundred times, shook the plates on the Ravenclaw table. Ashlyn winced, her sensitive ears ringing as the letter screamed about the stolen car and the shame brought upon the family. When the letter finally tore itself into scraps, the silence that followed was heavier than the noise.
"Note to self," Alex whispered, wide-eyed. "Never, ever steal the car."
"Note to self," Ashlyn corrected, pulling out her quill as Professor Flitwick began moving down the table. "Never get caught being that loud."
The tension broke when the schedules were handed out. Ashlyn took hers, her eyes scanning the parchment.
Time Subject Professor
9:00 AM Charms Filius Flitwick
"Charms first," she said, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "The foundation of all practical application. Come on, Alex. Let's see if your wand work is as good as your riddle-solving."
As they rose to head toward the Charms corridor, Ashlyn felt the first real spark of the term. The library could wait until this evening. Today, she had charms to master and a reputation for brilliance to uphold.