Folksburywoods Story Blog

Zwekel was the smallest student in Miss Panoptes’s school for Phantasmagoria and Witchcraft. Being small didn’t bother Zwekel, but it did make wearing the robes tricky.

One morning, the headmistress entered the classroom and proclaimed that classes would be canceled until further notice due to a sickness in her family. Still, the pupils were to continue their studies independently.

After the headmistress exited the room, the students raised a cheer and began to romp around. Zwekel’s oversized robes made romping impossible.

Packing his primer into his school bag, Zwekel slipped out the side entrance and headed straight to the practice lab, where the students would be tested on the school’s ridged curriculum each term.

The boy wrangled a large pot next to the podium, then placed Porick’s Tome on Poisonous Fungi on top to act as a platform so he could read from Maldor’s Maximus Triquetra.

As everyone knew, the Triquetra was the sole depository of witchcraft and wizarding knowledge anywhere. Students were forbidden to look at it, let alone read from its time-worn pages.

Zwekel knew that with the headmistress gone and the students having an impromptu holiday, no one would be coming around to check the lab.

On page one, spells of transformation; on page seven, spells of transmogrification; on page thirty, potions of invisibility, and so it went until late in the afternoon when Zwekel had read the entire book cover to cover.

Zwekel safely put his notes into his book bag and headed for dinner. After gobbling down his mutton stew and oat bread with tea, the boy headed for the Common Room.

Zwekel always wondered why they called it the Common Room since no one ever used it. Here, he could sit by the fireplace and read through his notes, ensuring he remembered all the details.

The following morning, Zwekel rose before dawn, ate his cold mush, and drank his hot milky tea before heading out to the moors.

Out here alone, the boy began to practice the craft of enchantment with surprising success. The spells seemed to flow off his lips as easy as reciting the Greek alphabet.

By noon, he had mastered most of the wand-based magic and awaited potion-based magic after lunch. Zwekel sought out the school’s caretaker and convinced him he needed access to the teaching classroom to practice potion-making.

All afternoon was spent carefully learning the shapes and colors of each ingredient required to concoct the potions. By dinner, he had finished creating all but one of the magical liquids. He felt the potion of never-ending flatulence could wait for another time.

Miss Panoptes returned to the school the following day, and all returned to normal. Zwekel improved his magical skills, and when the year-end test came, he stunned the headmistress with his ability to perform even the most advanced enchantments.

“Young man, in all my years, I have never had a student with such ability as to graduate after only one year,” said Miss Panoptes as she handed him his diploma.

“Thank you, mam. It was all due to your amazing instruction,” said Zwekel. The boy knew very well that he might have never gotten out had he followed her.

“I think it’s time to go out and see what I can do,” said the young wizard as he commanded his flying carpet to find the lost city of Acraba, where the fabled genie of the lamp lies hidden in the sand.