POV: Jessa Thorne
The moment Hope Everhart walked into Spellcasting 101, it felt like the room got colder and hotter at the same time.
She didn't look threatening—not in the usual way. She wasn't dressed like she was trying to stand out. Her black boots were worn, her dark jacket too big, and her long hair hung slightly in her face. Still, every head in the classroom turned. The energy changed.
The kind of change that meant trouble.
Jessa sat back in her chair, legs crossed, wand resting in her lap as her fingers tapped idly against it. Her emerald eyes followed Hope with thinly veiled suspicion.
Something about her didn't make sense.
Hope had no aura. No magical signature. Nothing a witch, vampire, or werewolf should give off. But her presence—it was loud. Too loud.
"Is that the new girl?" someone whispered behind Jessa.
"She doesn't have a wand," another muttered.
Professor Lynford, as usual, was already frazzled before the lesson even began. The old warlock's mustache twitched with anxiety as Hope took the only empty desk… right in the middle of the front row.
"Alright," he sighed, "basic shielding charm, class. Let's begin with partners."
Hope didn't have one.
No one moved. A few students shuffled away from her row.
"Erm... Ms. Everhart, you may demonstrate solo then, yes?" the professor offered weakly.
Hope stood slowly. Her eyes briefly met Jessa's from across the room—just for a flicker of a second. Not fear. Not defiance. Just… weight. A heavy sadness Jessa couldn't place.
And then Hope raised her hand. No wand. No incantation. Just instinct.
The magic surged from her like a pressure valve had been kicked open.
A concussive blast of gold-and-violet light cracked across the classroom. Desks were shoved backward. Students screamed. The chandelier burst into sparkling embers and glittered down in slow motion like fireworks.
Books slammed shut on their own. The windows frosted. One poor boy fainted dramatically into his cauldron.
It was spellcasting mayhem.
And in the center of it all, Hope stood frozen, shocked. Her eyes wide. Her mouth parted like she hadn't meant to do anything.
Professor Lynford gasped and dropped his wand. "Well… That's quite… That's enough, Ms. Everhart!"
---
By lunch, the story had morphed into full-blown legend.
"She destroyed the entire classroom!"
"She used dark magic—I'm sure of it!"
"She didn't even chant! Who does that?"
"I heard she's not even human."
"Headmistress is hiding what she is."
Blackmoor Academy wasn't built for subtlety.
The entire hallway between class periods was an emotional powder keg—side-eyes flying left and right, whispers like snakes sliding from locker to locker.
Hope walked past the gossip like she didn't hear it—but Jessa could see the way her fists were clenched tight in her sleeves. She was holding back.
Holding everything back.
"She's like a walking spell hazard," Raphael muttered in the courtyard later. "I don't like it."
Jessa raised a brow. "Because she's powerful? Or because she's not explaining herself to you?"
Raphael didn't answer.
Even Celeste, always quiet, had her opinions. "There's something off. Not evil. But not… normal."
Then came the real fireworks.
At lunch, Hope walked into the Great Hall like a ghost. She carried her tray and sat down at an empty table. All it took was one second—just one—for the room to change.
A vampire girl nearby scooted her chair farther away—loudly.
Two werewolves sneered as they walked past. "Monster."
Jessa caught Stephen doing an exaggerated bow behind Hope's back, whispering, "All hail the uninvited storm."
Daemon just watched her like he was calculating which level of threat she fit under.
Jessa stirred her soup with far more force than necessary.
"She's not even trying to make friends," someone murmured across the table.
"She's acting like she's better than all of us."
"No. She looks like she's scared out of her mind," Jessa said under her breath.
Hope didn't eat.
She sat perfectly still. Every bite would've been another spark in a room full of dynamite.
When she finally stood and left the hall, the buzz only grew louder. More stares. More whispers. More social fireworks flaring behind her back.
And Jessa? She watched it all like a storm building in the distance.
Because something was coming.
And Hope Everhart was the lightning before the thunder.