By some miracle—or, more likely, a truck-load of magic—the mess from the attack is already cleaned up by lunchtime. It’s hard to think that a few hours ago, the castle was in chaos, explosions shaking the walls and debris raining from the ceiling.
Now, it’s like nothing ever happened. The corridors are spotless, the air smells faintly of lavender instead of smoke, and the only sign of anything being off is the weight of unanswered questions and theories lingering over everyone.
Somehow, classes weren’t canceled. I guess because nothing says normalcy like forcing us to sit through algebra and potions right after nearly being crushed by falling rubble. The teachers are all pretending this is just a totally regular day, but the way their eyes dart toward every shadow tells me they’re as rat
