Ilvermorny: Where Memory Sleeps

Morning light filtered through the high windows of the Thunderbird common room, casting golden streaks across the stone walls. Aevelle sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wand in her hand.

It had arrived the night before, delivered in a velvet-lined box bearing the sigil of Ilvermorny. No note. No explanation.

The wand was slender and pale, the wood cool to the touch, with a faint silvery grain that shimmered in certain angles. When she first touched it, it had warmed instantly, vibrating with a kind of awareness. Alive.

"Ash wood," Cassandra had whispered over her shoulder. "And is that a thunderbird tail feather core? You're basically bonded to your House mascot."

"I didn't choose it," Aevelle said, still mesmerized.

"It chose you," Cassandra corrected, raising an eyebrow. "That's how it works. You're not just holding a wand—you're holding a reflection of yourself."

Down in the Great Hall, breakfast had already begun. Platters of spiced scones and pumpkin butter floated past steaming mugs of tea and thick parchment of classes. Students buzzed with nervous energy—some already trading spellbook tips, others groaning about Herbology.

Aevelle scanned the list in her hand:

Charms with Professor Whitlow

Potions with Professor Noxridge

Transfiguration with Professor Greaves

Herbology with Professor Windmere

—

She spotted Ruby and Serene across the hall, sitting at the Horned Serpent table. Serene waved her parchment in the air and mouthed: "We have Charms together!"

Relieved, Aevelle tucked her wand into her robe and headed to class.

----

Charms turned out to be held in a sunlit greenhouse—like tower, where the walls were made of enchanted glass that shifted between translucent and transparent as the light moved. Professor Whitlow was a stout, cheerful woman with frizzy white hair that crackled slightly with static magic.

"Your first spell is simple," she announced, "but powerful. Luxa—the light-calling charm. Wand movement, like this." She traced a loop in the air.

Students whispered the incantation and flicked their wands. Some got sparks. Others—nothing.

When Aevelle whispered Luxa, her wand flared—not a flicker, but a steady, glowing orb of white-gold light that floated above her palm like a miniature moon.

Professor Whitlow paused mid-step. "Miss Nourin... is that a resonance reaction? Extraordinary."

Aevelle felt it too. A subtle hum, deep in her bones, as though the spell had come from her core—not just the wand.

----

Later that day, after her classes ended, Aevelle wandered the stone corridors, following shifting staircases and echoing arches. Ilvermorny felt like it was constantly shifting—gently, almost thoughtfully—guiding students where they were meant to be.

That was when she heard it.

A whisper.

Not a voice, not quite. But a pull. Like something's calling—not with sound, but with knowing.

She stopped in front of an old wooden door she didn't recognize. It was partially open, revealing a disused room. Dust hung in the light like snow.

On the back wall was a large, cracked mirror. And on the mirror, written in what looked like condensation:

"We remember what they tried to forget."

Aevelle blinked. The message was gone.

Her wand warmed in her pocket.

Someone—or something—wanted her to find this place.

And Aevelle, for the first time since arriving, felt the air shift not with magic, but with mystery.