Maria,
I have received a letter from the head of House Forthnall complaining about your behaviour at dinner tonight. While I know that you had nothing but the kindest of intentions towards the young neophyte-to-be, you must realise that his chaperone saw your interference as an insult to their ability.
Rest assured that I will be speaking to Miss Forthnall about her duties towards your young friend, and I do not believe that you were in the wrong tonight. But I must request that, in future, you be more careful! You have to remember that our House is under a great deal of scrutiny right now, and you most of all as our neophyte. I urge you to be cautious, and do try not to insult anyone else from an ancient House (even if they are being terribly poorly-behaved themselves.)
Good luck with lessons tomorrow: some teachers really do up the pressure in fourth year!
Love,
Dad
“Good morning, class.”
A dull, monotonous rumble that almost sounded like “Good Morning, Deputy Headmaster” filled the air. Appearing satisfied—it was, after all, first period on a Monday—Professor Whitetail lit his horn and raised four pieces of chalk to the blackboard, with which he began to write up some introductory notes.
Maria and the other students had learned early on that Rabastan Whitetail was a stallion of habit: every Illusion lesson would begin with a brief sentence or two outlining the lesson’s focus written up on the blackboard, and the students would be expected to copy it down to their notebooks, and to keep up with the deputy headmaster’s writing. Anyone still writing by the time he turned back around would earn a somewhat vicious stare from the professor.
Which is why it was quite so surprising that, today, he was writing with four pieces of chalk, and writing different lines of notes simultaneously. Maria was staring, eyes wide, her own quill abandoned merely one line in: around her was the desperate scratch of quills trying to keep up with the professor.
This time, when Whitetail turned around, he was smiling.
“Multiple-object levitation is a difficult skill,” he began, “and I certainly don’t expect any of you to keep up with that pace of note-taking—the skill itself might be taught to you this year, but it takes decades of practice to be able to write multiple notes at once. The mental discipline alone is such that most unicorns simply never manage it.
“That said, showing off one’s skills and finesse at magic has always been an important aspect of our society; and as long as that has been so, less powerful but more creative unicorns have been finding ways to cheat.”
At this, the professor cast a Disillusion on the whiteboard—slowly, Maria noted, so that the students were all given a chance to study the spell in action—and a few gasps echoed around the room as the writing vanished before their eyes.
“Some methods of cheating,” he continued, a wry smile twisting at the corners of his lips, “have become so prolific that they are on your fourth year syllabus.”
The task for the rest of the lesson was simple: the students were to write a four-line paragraph of their choice and then rewrite it several times, carefully noting how their quill moved on each line. They were then to produce an Illusion of writing that paragraph with just one quill, which Professor Whitetail felt would be more than enough challenge for the first lesson of the new school year. Any students who had successfully created that Illusion would be given the choice of helping those who hadn’t quite managed it yet, or practicing the same Illusion with chalk on the blackboard—though the professor made it very clear that he didn’t expect anyone to actually manage it.
Despite all the practice she had put in over Summer, with the Illusory door in her trunk being particularly challenging, Maria found that a fully-animated Illusion was a demanding task—they had only studied them for a month at the end of the previous year, since a very basic form of the spell was required on the Illusion exam for third years. This was far more intricate and detailed than anything they had performed for that exam—and Maria was pleased to find herself among the few students who could replicate one line of writing by the end of the lesson.
As the bell rang to signal the lesson was coming to a close, Professor Whitetail called out that the homework was to practice the Illusion, as any one of them could be called upon the next lesson to demonstrate the technique to the class. While some of the students grumbled—perhaps only at the idea of homework on the first day of school, but more likely because not even Professor Von Trots had set such demanding pieces of work last year—most were pleased that the deputy headmaster had, at least, not set them another essay.
“Miss Everfree.”
Maria was just about to leave the room—she was last to leave, as always—when she heard Professor Whitetail’s voice calling her back. She turned to face the old stallion.
“Is everything alright, sir?” she asked.
“Be careful, Miss Everfree,” he said. “I know you are a talented and studious young mare, but this year the magic that you are learning will start to be a little more… serious. In my experience, there are some students who take great offence at a neophyte performing better than them.” The deputy headmaster smiled at that, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes. “I know that it is a great burden to be asked to hold back for the sake of other students’ egos, but in your House’s position I’m afraid you might have to do it.”
Maria felt her throat tighten, and the slightest of pressure build behind her eyes. She wasn’t going to let herself cry, but every ounce of pride that she had been feeling in her achievements was starting to crumble. It hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Professor Whitetail added, softly. “If you ever need someone to talk to… well, I’m here. And I assure you, it gets better.”
“Why does it have to be like this?” Maria asked, before gasping and trying to formulate an apology faster than her mouth could move. It was the one complaint she was never, ever supposed to voice.
“I don’t know,” Professor Whitetail said, before she could get an apology out. “But it’s normal to feel frustrated. I did, too, at your age.”
With that, Rabastan Whitetail turned back to his lesson plans, leaving Maria to see herself out of the room—and even though her pride had taken a bruising, Maria felt that, for the first time since she joined the Arcana, her future might not be so bleak as she had once thought.
P.S. How did that Enlargement hold up? I know you were trying to keep it secret, but Heather accidentally let slip that you were working on it. Your mother and I are really proud of you for trying, and hope it worked out well!