Sunlight spilled gently over the Austramore courtyard, casting warm golden hues over the lush grass and the intricate stonework. Beneath the comforting shade of his favorite tree, Soya sat cross-legged, leaning against the solid trunk. His sketchbook rested comfortably in his lap, and his quill danced lightly over the pages, each stroke deliberate and careful. As always, he found solace in the quiet rhythm of his drawing, losing himself in the comforting familiarity of ink and parchment.

  A distant voice, sharp and mocking, broke through Soya’s quiet concentration. Frowning slightly, he glanced up, searching the courtyard to find the source of the unpleasant sound. It wasn’t long before he spotted Alara Steele—a timid, gentle girl he’d often seen but rarely spoken to—standing nervously near a bench. Her shoulders were hunched defensively, her soft blue eyes darting anxiously as an older student towered menacingly over her.

  Alara’s usual nervous laughter was absent, replaced by a tense silence as she held her oversized jumper close, clearly uncomfortable. Her tormentor, a taller Ningaloo boy Soya vaguely recognized but couldn’t name, sneered openly, leaning into her personal space with intimidating intent.

  "You really think anyone's impressed with your bumbling, Steele?" the older boy scoffed mockingly. "I swear, every time you open your mouth, you embarrass the entire house. Maybe you should do everyone a favor and just stay quiet."

  Soya's fingers tightened involuntarily around his quill. He watched carefully, waiting, hoping that Alara would stand up for herself, that she'd push back with a strength he knew must be hidden beneath her quiet demeanor. But instead, she merely shuffled backward slightly, her eyes wide and her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

  Soya knew that feeling—had known it far too well since starting at Austramore. He could sense Alara's hesitation, the inward struggle to find words or even the courage to defend herself. The bully seemed encouraged by her silence, his insults growing louder, harsher, digging deeper into her vulnerability.

  He sighed softly, placing his sketchbook carefully aside. He couldn't sit idly by, not when he knew exactly how it felt to be trapped beneath someone's cruelty. Rising smoothly, he dusted off his robes and approached calmly, deliberately projecting confidence he didn't entirely feel, his gentle expression hardening into quiet determination.

  The bully glanced sideways, momentarily distracted from tormenting Alara. His gaze fell dismissively on Soya, and a derisive smirk formed across his face.

  "What are you staring at, Vareen?" the boy snapped irritably, folding his arms defensively. "This doesn't involve you. Why don’t you go back to your useless scribbling?"

  Soya ignored the jab, stepping between him and Alara. His posture was steady, calm, unaffected by the sneer directed at him. "I think you've said enough," Soya replied evenly, meeting the older boy’s stare with quiet resilience.

  "Oh, really?" The bully scoffed incredulously, a mocking edge to his voice. "And who’s going to stop me? You?"

  Soya took a careful breath, keeping his voice calm and controlled. "Bullies rely on intimidation. That's why you’re yelling. Because if you spoke quietly, no one would listen to you. You pick on people who won’t talk back because you're afraid of someone stronger noticing."

  The older student's expression faltered for a split second, anger flickering across his features, mixed with surprise. "What did you just say?"

  Soya kept his voice soft, unwavering. "I said, if you really felt secure about yourself, you wouldn't waste your time harassing someone who can't fight back. You're afraid, and you know it."

  A few curious onlookers had already begun to take notice, turning their heads subtly to watch the exchange. The bully glanced around, suddenly aware of the attention, his bravado faltering under the gentle yet pointed truth in Soya’s words.

  He sneered again, though now it seemed forced, weaker. "Whatever. Neither of you losers are worth my time," he muttered angrily, turning on his heel and stomping off toward the castle, his steps faster and less confident than before.

  Soya exhaled slowly, his heart pounding softly in his chest, relieved that his gamble had paid off. He turned around slowly, his expression softening as he faced Alara.

  She was staring at him, wide-eyed, her mouth slightly agape. Her cheeks were still flushed, but the tension in her posture had eased considerably. "Blimey, mate," she finally whispered, a shaky, grateful smile spreading across her lips, the thick Aussie accent heavy in her voice. "I reckon ya proper saved me from that drongo. Didn’t know ya had it in ya, Vareen."

  Soya offered her a gentle smile in return, shrugging modestly. "I've had a lot of practice," he admitted quietly, glancing briefly back toward the castle. "People like that—they’re all talk. You just need to remind them they’re not as strong as they think."

  Alara laughed softly, the familiar whistle evident in the sound, genuine warmth shining in her eyes. "Well, reckon I owe ya one," she said shyly, tugging nervously at her oversized jumper again. "Maybe I can repay ya sometime."

  Soya shook his head gently, the warmth returning to his smile. "No need. Just…don't let people like that make you feel small. You're stronger than you think."

  She blushed slightly but nodded earnestly, gratitude clear in her eyes. "Cheers, Soya. Means heaps to hear that."

  Soya returned her nod, a quiet sense of satisfaction settling in his chest as he walked back toward his spot beneath the tree. He settled once more, picking up his sketchbook and glancing toward the page. Yet this time, he found himself smiling softly, feeling lighter and warmer.

  Maybe standing up wasn't always easy, but every now and then, he could make a real

  The peace of the courtyard returned once more, settling quietly around Soya like a comforting embrace. He sank back into his familiar spot beneath the tree, the tension from the confrontation earlier slowly fading away. With a gentle sigh, he flipped open his sketchbook again, his fingers finding their place easily as he resumed drawing.

  For a few tranquil minutes, the courtyard remained quiet except for the soft whispering of leaves above and the gentle scratch of Soya's quill against parchment. His focus returned effortlessly, the world around him fading into comforting obscurity as he let himself become absorbed by the lines and curves forming beneath his fingertips.

  Yet, the serenity was softly interrupted once again—this time not by conflict, but by quiet footsteps approaching hesitantly across the grass. Soya paused mid-stroke, glancing up curiously to find Manaya Moon standing a short distance away, watching him with a thoughtful, slightly uncertain expression.

  Manaya's long brown hair was characteristically untamed, framing her gentle features in wild, loose strands. Her hazel eyes shifted subtly between green and brown as they often did, and for a moment, they locked onto his, filled with quiet uncertainty. Soya knew her only distantly—they had exchanged occasional nods and polite greetings, but rarely anything more. She was quiet, reserved, and often seemed hesitant to approach others directly. Usually, when Manaya appeared at this spot and saw him beneath the tree, she simply turned and found another place to sit, unwilling to disturb him.

  But today, she stood her ground, drawing in a small breath and offering him a tentative, gentle smile. "Hi," she said softly, her voice calm but carrying a gentle confidence he hadn't noticed before. "Mind if I join you today?"

  Surprised but pleased, Soya returned her smile warmly, nodding and gesturing to the grass beside him. "Of course. It's a big tree—plenty of shade for both of us."

  Manaya’s smile grew a little more relaxed as she settled quietly beside him, pulling her knees gently to her chest as she rested her back against the sturdy trunk. A comfortable silence stretched between them for a few moments, the distant rustling of leaves the only sound breaking the stillness.

  Soya continued sketching quietly, aware of Manaya's presence beside him but not at all disturbed by it. The quiet felt peaceful, natural. After several more moments, Manaya glanced sideways at his sketchbook, clearly intrigued.

  "You’re really talented," she murmured softly, watching as lines formed effortlessly into intricate patterns on the parchment. "I've seen you sketching before, but never this close. It's beautiful."

  Soya flushed slightly at the unexpected compliment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks," he replied softly, genuinely grateful for her quiet appreciation. "It's something I've always done, even before coming here."

  She hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words before gently asking, "What was it like? You know… before Austramore. In the Muggle world?"

  Soya's quill paused briefly, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Different," he admitted softly. "Much simpler, in some ways. Magic changes everything—mostly for the better, but it's still… confusing sometimes."

  Manaya tilted her head slightly, curiosity shining gently in her shifting eyes. "Do you ever miss it?"

  "Sometimes," Soya admitted quietly, glancing away for a moment, lost briefly in thought. "It's where I grew up—it's familiar. But Austramore feels right too. Even with all its challenges, I feel… I don't know, like this is where I'm supposed to be."

  Manaya nodded slowly, understanding reflected warmly in her quiet gaze. "I'm glad," she murmured softly. "I wondered how you'd cope here. Everyone talks about you being special, being the first Muggle-born student in centuries… That's a lot of pressure for anyone, let alone a first-year."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Soya smiled shyly, his cheeks flushing faintly again. "I try not to think about it too much," he confessed quietly. "I never asked to be special. I'd rather just be… myself."

  Manaya watched him thoughtfully, a gentle warmth radiating from her soft expression. "Well, if it helps… you seem to be handling it better than most purebloods would. People notice you, you know—not because you're Muggle-born, but because you treat everyone with kindness. It's… refreshing."

  Soya laughed softly, embarrassed but genuinely touched by her kind words. "Thanks, Manaya. That means a lot."

  Another quiet silence settled comfortably between them, the sun casting gentle shadows as it slowly moved across the courtyard. Eventually, Manaya leaned her head gently against the tree, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke again, this time hesitant, shyly curious.

  "Do you ever worry people won't accept you here? Because you're different?"

  Soya paused, gazing thoughtfully into the distance for a moment before answering. "Sometimes. But I think… we're all different, in our own ways. I'm just learning that it isn't always bad. Different can mean special. It can mean finding your own path."

  Manaya smiled gently, the tension visibly easing from her posture as she absorbed his words. "I like that," she said softly. "Finding your own path."

  Soya glanced sideways at her, returning her gentle smile. "You seem to have your own path too," he observed quietly. "I've noticed you tend to keep to yourself a lot."

  Her expression turned shy again, a hint of guardedness creeping back into her voice as she murmured, "It's easier that way sometimes. I'm not always… good with people."

  Soya shook his head gently, offering a reassuring smile. "You're easy to talk to, Manaya. People would see that if you let them."

  She blushed lightly, but a quiet smile warmed her features once more. "Thanks, Soya."

  Together they sat, enjoying the calm of the courtyard and the quiet comfort of gentle company. For the first time in what felt like ages, Soya felt a deep, sincere gratitude that despite all its mysteries and struggles, Austramore had led him to meet people like Manaya—people who could understand the quiet struggles he carried, without needing them to be fully explained.

  Perhaps, he thought gently, feeling at ease, finding one's place wasn't so much about fitting into what others expected, but discovering who you were meant to become.

  The comfortable silence lingered pleasantly between Soya and Manaya, allowing the two of them to simply sit and enjoy the peaceful afternoon beneath the sprawling tree. The gentle breeze carried faint scents from the surrounding gardens, and the rhythmic rustling of leaves above felt oddly comforting, like nature itself had granted them a rare moment of peace.

  Soya continued sketching, occasionally glancing up to offer a quiet smile to Manaya, who seemed content to simply watch the movement of his quill. But their shared tranquility was disrupted as measured footsteps echoed softly across the courtyard's stone path, each step unmistakably purposeful.

  They both turned their heads almost simultaneously, eyes falling upon the familiar tall figure of Professor Seikan Blackthorn. His emerald gaze, intense and unyielding as always, met theirs briefly before coming to rest squarely on Manaya. His expression betrayed little beyond his usual disciplined composure, yet Soya sensed there was something deeper behind the professor's carefully maintained mask—an unusual sense of urgency, carefully concealed behind controlled stoicism.

  "Miss Moon," Seikan spoke calmly, his voice clear and cool, yet carrying an undertone of gentle authority. "A word, if you would."

  Manaya hesitated only a moment, exchanging a brief, somewhat tense glance with Soya before rising gracefully from her spot beneath the tree. Her earlier relaxed demeanor had faded slightly, replaced by a quiet nervousness that she masked quickly. She brushed some grass from her robes and walked toward Seikan, who stood a few feet away, awaiting her patiently.

  Soya watched them curiously, still sitting with his sketchbook in hand, not wanting to intrude but unable to quell the small wave of curiosity bubbling within him. It was unusual for Professor Blackthorn to approach a student like this—at least, it seemed unusual to Soya. The potions master rarely sought students out in public, much less students he wasn’t particularly known to interact with frequently.

  Seikan leaned down slightly to speak to Manaya, his voice lowering just enough that their conversation drifted out of earshot. Soya strained subtly to hear their words, but only quiet murmurs reached him, carried away by the gentle breeze. Manaya nodded occasionally, her expression somber, her usual quiet confidence now shadowed with an edge of seriousness.

  Then, just as Soya was about to give up trying to decipher the indistinct murmurs, a fragment of their conversation floated gently across the courtyard to him—Professor Blackthorn's voice distinct and clear for just a brief instant.

  "…you hadn’t come for your elixir yet," he stated quietly, a gentle reprimand threaded carefully into his calm tone. "You know perfectly well what tonight is, Miss Moon."

  The words sent a small shiver down Soya’s spine, an unexpected chill creeping across his skin despite the warmth of the sunlit courtyard. What elixir? And what exactly was tonight? He knew it wasn't any of his business, but the exchange left him quietly unsettled nonetheless, curiosity gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

  Manaya merely nodded solemnly, her posture slightly stiffening. She glanced back toward Soya for a fleeting moment, offering a quiet, apologetic smile before quickly turning back to Professor Blackthorn.

  "Sorry, Professor," she murmured softly, her voice too quiet for Soya to fully hear, though the apology was evident in her body language. "I'll come right now."

  Seikan nodded once, his features softening subtly—a rare display of quiet reassurance from a professor usually defined by cool detachment. Together, Manaya and Professor Blackthorn turned and walked away, their footsteps gradually fading across the stone path, leaving Soya once more beneath the quiet shade of his tree, alone.

  He watched them disappear into the castle, a thoughtful expression settling over his features. There was something about Manaya that was deeply private, something quietly guarded that he’d always respected without prying into. But now, seeing her taken aside like this by the potions professor, he couldn't help but wonder about the secrets she carried.

  With a small sigh, he shook his head slightly, pulling his gaze away from the castle entrance. Whatever it was, it wasn't his place to pry. After all, he understood better than most the comfort of quiet secrets—and the necessity, sometimes, of keeping them.

  Once again, solitude settled comfortably around Soya, like a familiar cloak he hadn't worn in a long time. The gentle breeze whispered softly through the leaves overhead, and with no one nearby to distract him, he could finally return his full attention to his sketchbook. His fingers tightened lightly around his quill as he breathed slowly, recalling Professor Blackthorn’s careful instructions about his ink magic.

  "Clear your mind," Seikan had told him, voice soft but firm, full of authority yet strangely comforting. "Your magic is alive, responsive to your emotions. Focus on what you wish to create—hold that thought firmly. Guide the magic, don’t let it control you."

  Soya closed his eyes briefly, centering himself, steadying his breathing. He let the gentle quiet of the courtyard calm his mind, feeling the warmth of the sun filtering through the canopy above. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze focused sharply on the blank parchment. He envisioned clearly in his mind a single, perfect flower—a soft bloom with gently layered petals and delicate leaves.

  He began drawing, the tip of his quill gliding gracefully across the paper. Each stroke came effortlessly, guided not just by his hand, but by an instinct he was slowly learning to understand. With every line, every subtle shift in direction, he could feel the gentle hum of magic resonating through his fingertips.

  The image of the flower took shape swiftly, flowing naturally from his hand in smooth, confident strokes. But Soya did not stop there—he channeled the warmth and quiet joy he felt, pouring the emotion gently into the drawing. He could feel the magic responding, his heartbeat quickening with quiet excitement as the lines darkened, shimmering slightly beneath his touch.

  “Just a little more,” he whispered quietly to himself, urging the magic forward gently but firmly. "Come on, you can do this."

  Then suddenly, as if responding directly to his soft encouragement, the flower moved. It twitched slightly at first, the petals quivering like they’d been brushed by a faint breeze. Soya held his breath, watching with wide-eyed fascination as the ink lifted ever so slightly off the parchment, gradually shaping into something more substantial. Petals shifted and stretched, delicate and vibrant, blossoming beautifully into a living flower right before his eyes.

  A genuine smile spread slowly across Soya’s lips, wonderment and joy bubbling up inside his chest. He had done it. For the first time, his ink magic hadn’t turned chaotic or unpredictable—he had created something purposeful, beautiful. And most importantly, controlled.

  Quickly, driven by a sudden instinctive urge, Soya reached out and gently grasped the flower, pulling it from the page before the magic could fade. It came away effortlessly, smooth and weightless in his fingers. He stared at it, astonished and mesmerized, turning it slowly to admire every delicate detail, every silky petal. It felt real, warm, alive in his hands.

  Footsteps drew him out of his awe-filled reverie, and he glanced up quickly to find Manaya returning toward him. Her expression was softer now, more relaxed, her previous tension evidently resolved by whatever had passed between her and Professor Blackthorn. Her eyes widened curiously as she approached, clearly noticing the flower that Soya now held awkwardly.

  “Oh,” she murmured softly, stopping beside him and tilting her head slightly, eyes shining with curiosity and surprise. “That flower is gorgeous, Soya—where did you get it?”

  His pulse quickened nervously, suddenly aware of how strange this might look to someone else. He felt the warmth creeping into his cheeks and quickly scrambled internally for an explanation. How could he even begin to explain what he'd just done, something even he barely understood?

  He hesitated for just a moment, then—deciding that it was easier than attempting an explanation—he offered a small, shy smile and held the flower out to her gently.

  “It’s… for you,” he said quietly, the warmth in his cheeks intensifying as soon as the words left his lips.

  Manaya stared at him for a moment, clearly taken aback, her expression shifting from surprise to a quiet, gentle delight. A faint blush touched her cheeks, and she reached out slowly, almost reverently, to accept the flower from his outstretched hand. Her fingertips brushed softly against his for just a brief moment, sending a jolt of warmth through his chest.

  “Thank you,” she whispered softly, her voice quiet and sincere. Her eyes met his briefly, filled with shy gratitude and something else—something deeper, almost hopeful. She hesitated only briefly before lifting the flower to her hair, carefully slipping it just behind her ear, allowing its petals to nestle gently amongst her wild curls.

  “It suits you,” Soya said softly, surprising himself with his own boldness. But it was true; the flower fit her perfectly, accentuating the gentle, quiet strength she carried so effortlessly.

  Manaya’s blush deepened, though she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled warmly, her eyes brightening subtly as she studied him thoughtfully.

  “That's very sweet of you,” she murmured quietly, a faint smile playing at her lips. "You're always so kind, Soya."

  He ducked his head bashfully, embarrassment mingling with a quiet warmth in his chest. "It's nothing, really," he insisted softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. But inwardly, he felt strangely contented, glad to see her smiling.

  As Manaya settled beside him again beneath the comforting shade of the tree, neither of them spoke. She simply sat quietly, a soft, private smile on her lips, her fingers occasionally brushing gently against the flower tucked in her hair.

  She didn't say it out loud, but the warmth in her eyes as she glanced occasionally at Soya was unmistakable—her quiet heart had begun to wonder if perhaps the kind, thoughtful boy beside her was trying to say something more meaningful than words alone could express.

  And as they sat quietly together in peaceful silence, Soya’s own heart felt a gentle stirring—uncertain, hopeful, and deeply comforting all at once.