The Midnight Portal: Secrets of Goulhearth Academy

The Midnight Portal: Secrets of Goulhearth Academy

Night drew Sienna Rosewood in like a hungry moth to a kindred flame—deep azure and cerulean blue flickers, mirroring her own slow-burning fire. The sky above was dotted with stars, faintly illuminating the path beneath her feet. The chirping of crickets whispered softly in the distance, swallowing the silence until only the sound of her footsteps trudging through sand remained, mingling with the relentless crashing of waves against the heavy rocks below.

Sienna’s heart raced. She knew she had to get back to the school before the moon struck twelve. None of the other witches’ dragons had appeared at the monthly meeting. And now, she risked everything—her housing, her scholarship, her place on the committee. All for what? An old wives’ tale? A secret superstition about paintings no one truly believed? She wondered if she was doing the right thing after all. Who did she have to prove herself to? Herself? Her professor? Birdie Mandrake? Sienna was a fellow fourth year, soon to graduate, and should’ve known better than to make a bet with Ambrosia Mandrake’s elfin daughter.

With a heavy sigh, Sienna reached the front door of the lighthouse shanty, running her sullen fingers over its worn surface. She half-expected to see Headmistress Goldfinch standing behind it—her hobbled frame and pointed nose hiding a weary smile. But no one was there. From the outside, the school looked like a crudely built dwelling, patched together around the stone basin of an old lighthouse—its front lit by flickering candles set within a roughly laid stone façade. But those who had lived here knew better: beneath the surface lay a labyrinth of magical rooms, extending deep underground. This school rivaled any other in the wizarding world, and it showed.

The wide corridors overflowed with boxes of potions, spell books, scrolls, and all manner of arcane artifacts—feathers, crystals, hourglasses, transfiguration trinkets, old maps, cursed charms. The usual essentials.

“Salazar’s Brew,” Sienna whispered desperately, her fingers tracing the tavern door in the painting just as the moon struck twelve. A silver light bathed her in pale alabaster glow. The flames from the hallway sconces dimmed—and to her horror, none of her usual tricks to open the girls’ dormitory worked. The painting wouldn’t budge.

“Go figure. Who’d have thought a building as old as any competent dragon would be so complicated,” she muttered, kicking herself for thinking she could bend the rules.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, dearie,” hissed a voice from one of the nearby paintings.

“Oh, let her figure it out herself,” chimed another faceless voice eagerly. “Besides, she’s too late…”

Sienna staggered backward, counting the paintings along the stairs, certain she must have missed one. But no—one up, three over, two down—the same.

She must be dreaming. Paintings couldn’t be alive. They couldn’t talk. That was impossible.

“No charm or knock will open the portal now. You missed your chance. The portal’s closed for the night,” the first voice continued. Several paintings began to stir; faces peeked closer to their frames, curious, intrigued by the lone student defying the school’s rules.

“Oh my, what good luck—someone out of bed after hours…”

Sienna looked around nervously. No headmistress, no professors—just the quiet, empty halls. Surely, they were all fast asleep, unaware of her predicament.

“You’re supposed to be safely tucked in your room, love. Many dark and dangerous things happen after midnight,” the voice warned.

“You can’t touch me—I’m a student,” she whispered, trying to sound braver than she felt.

A low hiss came from a corner painting. “Finally, she’s back. We counted all the students; one fell short. Looks like you drew the short wand tonight…”

Laughter echoed softly through the hall. More witches and wizards emerged from their frames, gathering like a mob to stare at the rule-breaker. Sienna had been warned to ignore these portraits, especially if unsure of their history or origin.

“Not all paintings are created equal. Never touch one without express permission,” Professor Higgsbreath had lectured her during a stormy Friday class—Perfect Parchments: Dangers of Deadly History, Harmless Exhibitions, and All the Creatures Inhabited Within. But right now, Sienna couldn’t remember why.

“Come, dear child, help an old lady out,” whispered a low voice. The witch in the frame was no taller than five inches, perched within her gilded borders. Other portrait witches watched eagerly as Sienna edged closer.

What was the worst that could happen? She’d been through worse—being out past curfew, meeting dragons, losing a bet.

Her hand hovered near the painting, close but not quite touching. A hazy glow emanated from the frame’s center, a warm mist that enveloped her fingers. Then the woman in the frame clasped Sienna’s hand firmly. Together, their combined magic pulled the woman out onto the cold stone floor.

“That feels much better,” she smiled, towering above Sienna, her dusty green shawl and giant crystal-like rings growing larger the longer Sienna stared.

“No, no, no!” Sienna cried, as more witches and wizards crawled out of their own portraits. Soon, the room swelled with creatures of every size and shape—some floating, some flying, some stacked atop one another.

“Probably should’ve warned you,” the woman said, “I accidentally touched another frame, opening their portals too—especially those paintings over there.”

She pointed to a small gold plaque beneath one frame. Sienna squinted through her crystal magnifying glass. It read: Madam Moody’s Gathered Menagerie of Ghoulish Monsters and Banished Beings. Other plaques read: Celia’s Colossal Cauldrons and Classical Creatures, Speakeasy Secrets and Risky Rituals, Claire Gristle Wald's Boundless Broomsticks for the Incapable of Flying, and Medical Magic, Tiniest of Creatures, and Sorcery Unbound.

How had no other student bumped into these paintings before? The creatures multiplied, their clamor threatening to awaken the entire school. Sienna feared she might be trampled or worse—banished to their frames forever, wandering painted worlds for eternity.

The woman in green noticed her fear. “Dear child, have faith. Nothing bad will happen. These are some of the finest witches and wizards—our paintings are priceless. We hold the combined knowledge and years of service to the Magistrate to govern another world entirely. You should be honored to stand among us. Thank you for granting us freedom. It’s been centuries since we’ve roamed beyond these walls. I’m dying to see the world outside.”

For the first time, Sienna stood silent and still, overwhelmed. How could she undo this? Would anyone believe her? Forgive her? The paintings would sit empty for the next generation, and the school might banish her to their frames forever.

As the room cleared, witches and wizards shook off their painted prison, stretching limbs and bowing to Sienna in gratitude. Only a few remained in their portraits, afraid of what awaited outside.

The woman smiled, running a sharp nail across Sienna’s cheek. “You had your reasons for being out, and we have ours. Take this lesson and use it wisely. Remember us when you break the rules. We all deserve a moonlit stroll now and then. Tonight, you’ll sleep peacefully. When you awake, you will find your answers. No harm comes to those willing to learn. You show promise and fight. Use it well, and you will be set for life. Time will turn back just enough. Oceans may part, clouds may fall, but these paintings will house our spirits—come one, come all.”

The last thing Sienna saw was the fading smile of the lady in green before everything went black.

She awoke in her bed, the morning sun filtering softly through the curtains. It was as though nothing had happened. Her cheek tingled where the old witch’s spell had marked her. She sat up, startled, expecting professors or the Magistrate—but the dormitory was empty.

She crept to the door, peered down the hall. All was as she had left it the night before.

Her eyes caught the portrait of the woman in green. The inscription beneath read: The Peculiar Witches Guide: Memorials of Dreams, Hidden Meanings and Second Chances, Trapped Witches and Spirits Guild, Circa 1548. Head Witch, Pearle Stagheart.

In the daylight, the painting sat quiet and still, blending the unseen with reality. Sienna swore the lady in green winked.

This must be how Birdie Mandrake and her mother won their bets—sneaking in and out unnoticed.

Sienna Rosewood would do the same. After all, she had a dragon to meet, and she wasn’t about to let anyone down. Magic and well-intended secrets could fight side by side.

She turned toward the front door. Thin wisps of smoke curled beneath it, greeting her.

For the first time, all felt right—in this world and the next.

She was lost in the labyrinth of paintings, forevermore.

Her dragon, Percy, waited outside. The crest of a new day was upon them.

It had begun.

The itch of curiosity, the tempting grab of mystery.

Under the light of the full moon, the waves crashed, scattering her secrets to the wind as the stars fell into their sordid alignment.

Sienna Rosewood wondered what else Goulhearth hid behind its hallowed walls.