Marion clasped her hands together as she floated about the classroom and beamed at the effort and sincerity being shown by her students. It was not the kind of broad, performative grin some educators favored as a pleasantry, but the gentle slightly crooked kind that suggested she’d was genuinely moved.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaarvelous,” she sung loudly above the echoes of uttered incantations and hints of sound produced by the instruments. “Absolutely marvelous. Each attempt, regardless of how long it held or how wild the aurora danced, is a success in its own right. Your ears are not deceiving you, it simply takes time for notes to reach a level and frequency that living humans can hear.” She floated forward and gave the harp a fond glance, where faint glimmers of light still shimmered along the strings. “Magic, especially emotionally driven enchantments like Memorae Lucentia, rarely behaves identically between witches and wizards. It’s like a Norandola where its seed form is the the only time in the plant's life cycle when its appearance can be predicted. Those seeds are your instruments. Buuuuuuuut, once the seed is planted ― or in your cases the spell cast ― the Norandola develops a physical appearance that varies depending on the planter. This is a good, a VERY good thing, and absolutely correct.” She paused, sweeping her gaze across the students. “What you've witnessed—brief flares, jagged bursts, long curling wisps—are not failures. It’s your magic learning to listen to you. And, just as importantly, you learning to listen to it.”

She made a slow orbit of the class as she spoke, glancing at the candles that had gone out but without a means of reigniting them herself. “In magical theory, this particular charm draws on something called emotive transference. That is, you aren't just conjuring a memory—you’re channeling the raw emotional resonance of that memory through an object. In this case, the instrument acts as a conduit, much like a tuning fork vibrates with a specific frequency. But it’s your emotion—your personal magic—that tunes it and it is by the grace of Lyra's light that you are able to harness it.”

Burbage reached the edge of the room and plucked a single note from a lute. A pale blue wisp flickered briefly, curling around her fingers before vanishing. “In Muggle neuroscience, they’ve found that strong memories—especially emotional ones—activate sensory parts of the brain. That’s why scent, sound, even texture can trigger memories years later. With our spell, that same emotional resonance is given form. You’re building a bridge between your internal world and the external one.” Her eyes twinkled. “And bridges take time to build. It is very possible to not perfect it this evening buuuuuuuuuut we are in luck that we still have a bit of time with Lyra in peak position in the sky for you to try again outside of this lesson if you wish.”

She paused a moment, considering her next words carefully and with a little shimmy to her translucent form as she floated in place. “Now, some of you may have held back a bit for reasons that are your own. Whether because the memory felt too small or too much, a gentle reminder that this isn’t Legilimency by any stretch. You are not showing anyone your memories unless you choose to. The spell doesn’t reveal thoughts and simply color, shape, and a whimsy sort of texture to feelings. Magic favors the vulnerable, dearies, so dooooooo keep that in mind as you continue your practice.”

She looked to the few darkened candles and gave a small nod. “Oh—and for those of you experienced more...hmmmmmmm...shall we say physical responses? Well, that does tend to happen as spells of this nature doooooo have a habit of reaching beyond its container. Though I must implore those of you utilizing more heated memories to distance yourself from peers and windows, just in case.”