It began on a Thursday afternoon.
There was something different in the air—a quiet tension, the kind that makes portraits tilt their frames and whisper to one another. But nothing obvious. Nothing anyone could prove.
Until Professor Vector sent a second-year Ravenclaw to retrieve her forgotten notes from an unused classroom on the fourth floor.
He opened the door, stepped inside—and the room greeted him.
"Is that another student?" a scratchy voice muttered, clearly from nowhere.
"Oh hush, it's probably just someone looking for parchment again," replied another, higher-pitched voice.
The Ravenclaw froze mid-step, eyes darting to the empty desks and abandoned quills.
"Don't you recognize that one?" a third voice chirped. "He's the one who spilled ink all over his Arithmancy chart!"
"I knew I recognized the nervous energy!"
The boy shrieked, spun around, and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him.
The quills cackled softly to themselves.
By the end of the day, four different unused classrooms were declared "Possessed by Chatty Spirits." A fifth was locked shut by a frantic caretaker muttering about cursed supplies.
Every one of the affected rooms had one thing in common: desks with old quills.
Professor Flitwick was the first to investigate properly. He entered one of the rooms with calm dignity, muttering detection spells.
The moment the door shut behind him, a quill on the far table declared cheerily, "Oh look! It's the kind one! Act sharp!"
Another whispered, "He's too clever. Play dead."
A third muttered, "Too late! He heard you, you ink-soaked traitor!"
To his credit, Flitwick chuckled before lifting his wand and identifying the subtle layering of Ventus Auditus and Lumos Echo charms worked into the feathers of each enchanted quill.
Clever. Very clever.
That evening at dinner, the whispers among the professors were not unlike those between students.
"Could it be Peeves?" McGonagall asked with a raised brow.
"The use of charms shows that is not the case," Snape replied, eyes scanning the Hufflepuff table where three particular first-years looked just too innocent.
Sprout beamed with unusual pride. "Well, whoever did it, no harm was done. Some pranks are part of Hogwarts' charm."
Dumbledore simply smiled into his goblet of pumpkin juice.
In the Hufflepuff common room that night, the trio sat close to the fire.
Iris was still giggling over one of the quill's lines: "Pretend we're parchment!"
Dora high-fived Hadrian, whose smile was small but satisfied.
"No one suspected us," Iris whispered.
Hadrian leaned back with a thoughtful look. "They will soon. But not yet. Let's give them one more echo."
They grinned in unison.
The castle was awakening.
And it was laughing.