The next day dawned with a peculiar sense of expectation, like the world itself was holding its breath and daring someone to exhale first. By breakfast, the academy's walls hummed with magical unrest. Lesson plans reappeared as manifestos on "Fair Distribution of Cake." Every portrait in the central corridor now wore a protest banner, some spelled out in illusory flames: "DOWN WITH UNFAIR CURFEWS!" and "NO TAXATION WITHOUT SNACKS!"
Even the stone statue of Headmistress Weller (a woman whose iron bun was rumored to be a magical artifact in its own right) was animated, banging her bronze gavel and declaring, "Order! Order! All students in favor of skipping class, say 'Aye'!"
The 'Aye' was thunderous.
My group regrouped beneath the excuse of "gardening club" after a morning of dodging bewitched flyers and a brief, bewildering confrontation with a portrait of my great-aunt, who now insisted on being called Comrade Petronilla and had taken to reciting revolutionary limericks.
