The National Curriculum of Magic

Chapter Seven: Aura Painting

After that, Nora spent a lot more time with Ian. His calm and pleasant cadence rubbed off on her like a magic ointment, and she spent a lot less time harassing Jake and much more time asking questions and listening to the young dragon.

Nora's behavior had an unexpected effect on her twin brother Will too: he began to participate much more in group activities and his confidence soared. As he had observed the shy little boy, Harold saw a lot of himself when he was a boy, many years ago.

The staff room was quiet; Darren was there but as per usual, was skulking in a corner waiting for his blood packet to warm up by heating the bowl with a gentle fire in his hands. Harold stirred his tea and blew on it to cool it.

"How's Jake been today?" he asked Darren. The vampire shrugged.

"A complete little shit, what do you think? Still, as long as he isn't with George, he's manageable, especially now Nora's stopped trying to get on his wick."

Harold chuckled. "Yeah I have George this afternoon. I'm going to attempt aura painting."

Darren stopped mid-sip. "What? So you have a death wish then?"

"Children should be able to demonstrate their magical abilities, that's the reason I have this damn job in the first place. Practice what you preach and all that." Harold groaned and necked the last of his lukewarm tea. It was time to reenter the fray.

George was a bright little boy with a naughty streak that went the length of the university. The most irritating thing about the five year old was he was very aware of his abilities as a summoner, and if George was paired with Jake, odds are the poor summoned creature would be on fire before morning snack time.

"It's admirable though. What you do. I don't have much experience with children, but I've people watched for the last five years I've been a vampire, and let me tell you, we probably wouldn't have half of the rabid pyromancers and necromancers hungry to test their mettle because they weren't trusted as children."

Harold looked at Darren as he opened the door of the staff room. "You've only been undead for five years?"

"What, you were expecting me to be centuries old?"

"Well...yes, actually."

The two chuckled. "Thanks Darren, I needed that."

The vampire winked. "Any time, old man."

*****

Aura painting was, in theory, a very beautiful practice. It involved extracting the colours from people's auras and literally creating an artist's palette from it. The paintings drawn from them carried personality traits of the people whose auras had been extracted. Many beautiful pieces of art could be created from an aura painting, but today Harold was letting a gaggle of four to five year olds at it.

They sat on the carpet, staring up in awe at the glass beakers that would be used to extract a portion of their aura. Nora was sitting by Ian who was stretched out at the back, coiling his tail around the other children like a kind of perimeter fence around them. It worked like a charm, and Nora was sitting right by him on her haunches. Her brother Will was at her side, busy chewing on a nail.

"Now then, children. Listen very closely. Extracting auras doesn't hurt - George, sit down, please - but it might tickle a bit.

"Tickle?" piped up Olivia, a young shapeshifter.

"Yes, come on up, Olivia."

She scampered up, sprouting a cat tail in her excitement and stood by Harold, pulling at her fingers nervously. Olivia had recently been relieved of her suppressor wristband slapped on her by her parents and, much to Harold's relief, they had been talked into taking it off her. He smiled at her and gave her a full phial to hold.

"Be careful with it, okay? It's made of glass." Her pudgy fingers gripped the glass tighter and nodded. "Do you think you can drink this in one go?" he asked with a grin, "I bet you can't."

Olivia scoffed. "Yes I can!"

"Let's see it then," said Harold, intentionally leading her, and it worked as the girl tipped her head back and began to guzzle down the drink.

"I wanna try!" came the trilling voice of Nora, and Harold held up a placating hand as Olivia downed the last of the liquid.

"Okay, now breathe out into the phial! There's a good girl!" Olivia blew, spewing out a beautiful amber plume into the bottle. As it hit the side of the glass, it liquified and pooled at the bottom. The children all cooed simultaneously in wonder, and several hands shot up in the air, begging to be next.

"Alright, everyone will get a turn! The one who is the quietest will get to go next!" Silence fell immediately and they all went rigid - with the exception of Ian, of course - as the desire to be next suddenly became the most important issue of the day.

*****

One by one, each child drank the liquid, and breathed the colour of their eyes back into the phial. Greens, blues, browns and even reds swirled in the glass beakers, both weightless and heavy, like a gas heavier than air. Ian's was the most interesting of all, as a dragon, his eyes swirled with many colours like a nebula. His phial looked like it held a galaxy, and the children all gathered around it, suitably impressed.

"Alright, children, go and get yourselves an apron," Harold swallowed the liquid for himself and blew his own deep brown aura into the glass. The children scurried off, all alarmingly attentive and engaged. Harold smiled as they hurried to tie their aprons around their backs.

"Ian! Come sit with me!" Nora was beckoning him as she tied the long sleeves of her robe back with the apron. The dragon blinked as he smiled in acknowledgement and sat by the edge of the table. Nora held up a paintbrush, and Ian merely lifted his tail and curled it round the handle in effortless dexterity. Nora squealed in delight at this and clapped her hands in delight. "You're amazing, Ian!"

Harold smiled, and clapped his hands to draw the children's attention. "I want to see big happy smiles! Paint yourself smiling!"

For at least seven minutes, a phenomenal expanse of time for a bunch of five year olds, they all painted with their auras, dipping the paintbrushes or their fingers into the colours and spreading it across the paper. Some were a little crude, but all resembled figures: usually stick arms and bloated heads with ghoulish smiles. As they painted, Harold heard little whoops of joy as they saw their portraits waving back at them or dancing in place. Auras created what the world called "living paintings", where trees painted would blow in the wind and birds would flap their wings. Often, the painter's own personality would shine through, and Harold saw that on the pictures the children painted. Some paintings were exuberant and full of life, others less so. Will's painting of himself for example looked timid and tentative. His sister's smile next to his grinned like a goon back at her. It really was very beautiful.

*****

As parents came to pick up their children, many were amazed to see their aura paintings jumping around as they were waved in their faces. Nora and Will's mother was most impressed by her children's efforts, particularly Will's. She looked at Harold with her liquid brown eyes that were full of warmth and life and smiled so broadly Harold wondered if her face would crack. As she held Will close and gripped Nora's hand, she murmured a simple "Thank you" to Harold as she took her placid, happy children home. Harold smiled, and he remembered why he would never give up this job for anything in the world.