Chapter 4 New Beginnings

By the time the sun began its descent beyond the mountains, casting long golden rays through the high, glass-paneled windows of the western wing, Elara’s legs ached and her brain buzzed with too many names, too many rules, and too many places she could barely begin to remember. The tour had been long—more ceremony than necessity, clearly designed to overwhelm as much as inform—but beneath the pageantry, Elara couldn’t shake the subtle, lurking realization that everything they were being shown had been chosen with deliberate purpose. And now, several hours and a thousand footfalls later, the Ruby first-years stepped across the threshold of their House Commons. Elara nearly collapsed into the nearest overstuffed armchair the moment she spotted it.

The room was warm. That was her first impression. Not just in temperature, but in texture—deep red rugs stretched across the wooden floors, flickering lanterns floated overhead like fireflies, and cushions in every conceivable shape and color were arranged in haphazard piles around low tables and cozy nooks. The central hearth burned with magical fire—more decorative than functional—but it added a soft crackle to the room that gave it a strange, lived-in feeling. Bookshelves lined the far wall, filled with a chaotic mix of textbooks, magical games, plush animals, and what looked suspiciously like coloring books. A few stuffed dragons lounged among the shelves like sleepy guardians, their button-eyes stitched into grins. Elara tried not to stare at the shelf of labeled sippy cups.

She dropped into a seat with a sigh, and Quinn plopped beside her moments later, still vibrating with residual energy. “Okay,” Quinn said, exhaling dramatically, “I love the courtyard. Did you see that swing set? And the dragon-shaped slide?”

Elara gave a tight smile, though she didn’t answer right away. Her mind was still running laps through the school grounds, trying to catalog it all. The tour had taken them through the Great Hall, the lower lecture chambers, the rotating stairwells of the academic tower—Quinn had nearly tripped when the stairs began to turn mid-step—and past a surprisingly expansive courtyard nestled between the east wings. That space in particular had stood out. There, among the flowers and fountains, they had passed not a dueling circle or a training yard, but something entirely more juvenile: wide sandpits with conjured buckets and enchanted shovels, a row of rainbow swings that adjusted in size depending on the sitter, and a sprawling playset shaped like a pirate ship, complete with enchanted sails that fluttered even without wind.

It had been… unsettling.

She’d glanced around then, hoping to catch some kind of joke in the others’ eyes. But no one had laughed. In fact, the upperclassmen leading the tour had moved right past the area without comment, as if it were no more unusual than a library or potion lab. It is as if, of course, a school for witches and wizards would need a designated play area.

Another memory flashed, this one colder. They’d passed a second-year near the alchemy corridor—an older girl standing silently as a fourth-year leaned in close, murmuring something sharp and condescending. The girl had nodded, meek and compliant, her eyes downcast. Whatever she’d done wrong wasn’t obvious. Her shoes had been polished. Her sash was straight. But the moment had lingered with Elara longer than it should have. There were rules here. Rules with teeth.

Back in the commons, the new first-years had begun to drift into couches and armchairs, some already pulling out notebooks or personal trinkets from their bags. Elara noticed, with a sinking stomach, that hers, which had been collected by staff earlier, had not been returned yet. A small thing, maybe. But she’d grown used to small things being deliberate.

Another Ruby CG entered, a different fourth-year boy from earlier. This one was stocky with an easy voice and a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Alright, little flames,” he called, his grin too wide to be truly friendly, “let’s go over some house rules. Don’t worry—there’ll be charts and reminders everywhere, so you don’t have to memorize everything tonight.”

The room quieted.

“Curfew for first-years is eight o’clock. That means you need to be in the commons by then. Lights out is nine. Anyone caught out of their room after that—well, let’s just say you won’t enjoy the consequences. You may not enter another student’s room under any circumstances, even if invited. Violations of that rule are taken seriously. No magic outside supervised lessons or permissioned practice zones. Caregivers have full authority within House Ruby—yes, that means they can give you orders, enforce rules, and assign consequences. And no, you don’t get to argue.”

The words had barely left the CG’s mouth—room assignments, curfews, the stiff, inflexible structure of obedience—when Elara could no longer hold her tongue. The pressure had been mounting for hours, coiling in her chest like a serpent, tight and waiting. And here, in the Ruby commons, surrounded by soft blocks, oversized teddy bears, and magical mobiles slowly spinning in the corners of the room like watchful eyes, she couldn’t take it anymore.

She rose halfway from her chair, arm gesturing around the room, her voice tight with barely contained frustration. “Can someone please tell me what all this baby stuff is about?”

A hush fell instantly. Every head turned.

Elara realized, too late, that she had spoken too loudly. Too clearly. The red flush rising in her cheeks deepened, but she didn’t sit back down. She stood now, fully committed, glaring toward the group of CGs with challenge in her eyes. “I mean—this.” Her hand swept again, toward the shelf of sippy cups, the bin of plush toys, the books with oversized fonts and crayon-colored covers. “Why is all of this even here? What is going on? Why—”

“Oh, darling,” Selena purred from across the room.

The voice cut through the tension like silk through paper.

She stepped forward from the edge of the hearth where she'd been leaning, arms crossed, and posture elegant. The flickering firelight cast her shadow long and sharp across the rug. The other CGs moved aside instinctively, giving her the floor—and all the attention. Her amber eyes glinted with something far too pleased.

“Why don’t you come up here, Elara,” she said, her smile coiled like a spring, “so I can answer your question properly.”

Elara hesitated, suddenly regretting everything. But Selena’s tone allowed no room for refusal. With stiff legs, she stepped forward toward the center of the room, toward the firelight, toward the waiting CG with the clipboard and the hungry smirk. She stopped a few feet away, chin tilted defiantly upward, hands clenched at her sides.

She didn’t see Selena move until it was too late.

In a blur of movement as practiced as it was deliberate, Selena’s hand snapped out—fingers curling around the hem of Elara’s uniform skirt—and with a swift tug, she lifted.

Elara gasped, breath catching in her throat as her skirt flew up, revealing everything.

The silence shattered into gasps, shocked murmurs, and even a stifled laugh or two, but mostly staring. Elara’s thick and unmistakable white diaper was on full display beneath the flickering light. Though the garment was still clean, it left nothing to the imagination.

Selena held the skirt up for a beat too long—long enough before letting it fall.

Elara didn’t breathe. Her face burned hot enough to light the hearth on its own. Her eyes flicked across the faces of her fellow Ruby first-years—wide-eyed Quinn frozen in shock. They had all seen it.

Selena turned back to the group, voice smooth and cold as polished marble. “You’ve all no doubt noticed by now that each year of your schooling comes with different privileges… and restrictions.” She let her hand fall to Elara’s shoulder, not harshly, but possessively. “Fourth-years have the least restrictions. First-years…”

Her lips curled upward in a slow, amused grin. “The most.”

Elara stood rigid, the humiliation prickling across every inch of her skin, her mouth opening but no words coming out.

“At Littlewick,” Selena continued, pacing now in front of the group, “we believe in starting fresh. We are tearing down what you think you are so that we can build something better in its place. A proper witch or wizard begins not with arrogance… but with humility. Submission. Obedience. And yes…” she gestured toward Elara with a casual flick of her fingers, “that means diapers.”

No one moved. No one laughed now.

“To that end, you all will begin this year as babies. That is the role you’ve earned by entering this school. Babies obey. Babies listen. Babies learn. You will follow your assigned Caregiver. You will respond to your Mommy or Daddy when spoken to. You will adhere to routines, eat what you’re given, wear what you're told, and use your diapers. Fully. Publicly. Without complaint.”

Elara twitched at that, eyes snapping toward Selena in alarm.

Selena caught the look. Her smile widened.

“No exceptions. No excuses. Your training begins here, in the House. But it doesn’t end here. You’ll be treated accordingly in classes, in public, everywhere. The more you resist, the longer you stay in diapers. The more you submit…” She paused, tilting her head slightly, “the sooner you may earn back some privileges.”

She turned to face them fully now, arms behind her back like a general addressing recruits.

“Each of you has already been assigned a CG to guide you, to mentor you, and yes… to discipline you. If you have questions, ask us. If you have fears…” She gave a light, mocking shrug. “Wet your diaper. That’s what it’s for.”

Laughter rippled from a few CGs nearby, but the students remained silent, frozen in place, trying to absorb a reality none of them had been remotely prepared for.

Selena gestured once more to Elara. “Let this one be your first lesson. Disobedience, defiance—even questions—carry consequences. I expect better from the rest of you.”

Selena’s gaze returned to Elara as the girl slunk back toward her seat, red-faced and hollow-eyed, the echoes of her exposed diaper still crackling in the minds of every student present. The CG’s amber eyes sparkled with triumph—not loud or cruel, but subtle and dangerous, like a flame licking along a fuse. She took a step forward, tilting her head, and in a voice dipped in mock affection, she cooed, “I’m so sorry I had to do that in front of everyone, baby. But we just can’t have you speaking out of turn like that, can we?”

Elara froze, her jaw tightening as she turned slightly, but Selena was already beckoning her, fingers curling with the authority of someone used to being obeyed. Elara hesitated. Her classmates were still watching. Her humiliation hadn’t yet settled, and now it was being dragged further. Deeper. But she obeyed, because what choice did she have? She followed Selena toward a side hallway just off the commons, away from the crackling hearth and scattered toys, away from the soft gasps and shifting eyes of her peers.

The hallway turned sharply and ended at a heavy wooden door with a carved ruby emblem gleaming in the center. Selena pushed it open with a whisper of magic and stepped aside, gesturing Elara in with the same sickeningly sweet smile. “Room Three,” she said simply. “Your home for the year.”

Elara stepped inside and froze.

The room was massive, far larger than she expected, and far worse than she feared. The floor was carpeted in a thick, plush red that muffled every footstep. Against one wall stood two cribs—each one large enough to hold a full-grown student, their frames enchanted to shimmer faintly with protective runes. Each crib had a nameplate—hers read Elara, in curly silver script. Between them sat a fully stocked changing table, its surface padded and gleaming beneath overhead shelves filled with creams, powders, and stacks of thick, white diapers, each one decorated with innocent stars, clouds, or bouncing animals. A playpen filled with plush toys, rattles, and spell-safe blocks filled the far corner, and beside it sat a squat bookshelf covered in picture books and coloring tomes enchanted to glow and sing. A small alcove near the back revealed a bathing chamber—complete with a padded seat, sprayers designed for assisted baths, and hanging towels shaped like cartoon animals.

It was not a dormitory; it was a nursery.

And Elara had no illusions about who it was meant for.

“No,” she breathed, spinning to face Selena. “You’ve got to be kidding. This is—I didn’t—what even is this?!”

Selena closed the door behind them with a quiet click, sealing them inside, and walked past Elara without answering, her eyes scanning the room for last-minute details. Elara followed her, words spilling from her lips faster now, panic wrapped in anger. “Seriously? You’re not even going to explain? Is this just… it? I spoke out once, and suddenly, I am your diapered baby. What, you’re going to bottle-feed me, too? Tuck me in and read me bedtime stories?”

She laughed—too loud, too sharp. “Do you think this is normal?! I’m eighteen, not eight months!”

Selena said nothing. She walked to the changing table, adjusted a few jars, and straightened a folded blanket. It was like Elara’s outburst hadn’t even reached her.

“Answer me!” Elara shouted, stepping forward, fists clenched. “What is this place, and why—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Selena said, finally turning to face her, voice syrupy with condescension. “Be quiet, honey. I’m sure you’re just fussy from the long trip.”

Elara’s mouth fell open, her rant dying mid-breath.

Selena stepped closer, her smile soft now, almost maternal, her fingers reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from Elara’s cheek. “You’re probably soaked, aren’t you?”

Selena’s fingers moved with practiced grace, lifting the hem of Elara’s skirt once again. However, this time there was no audience—just the quiet hum of the softly enchanted nursery and the unspoken tension hanging between the two of them like a coiled spell. Elara flinched at the touch, her instincts firing too late, the humiliation already ignited as her padded undergarment was revealed once more. Selena’s hands, careful but sure, pressed lightly against the front of the diaper—and then paused.

Her brow lifted.

“Elara,” she said, with that same sickly-sweet voice that coiled more like a noose than a comfort, “this diaper is still dry, and what happened to these tabs?”

Elara’s lips parted. “I… I used the bathroom on the train. In the toilet.”

Selena blinked. Slowly. Then her mouth curled—not in amusement, but in a kind of cold, disappointed understanding. “I see,” she said, stepping back, folding her arms across her chest with the stillness of a storm gathering behind a closed door. “So you opened your diaper. You undid the tapes. Without permission. And then deliberately refused to follow your very simple instructions.”

“I didn’t know there were rules!” Elara snapped, heat rising in her voice now, shame transmuting into defiance. “You can’t just expect me to—what, to use it like an actual baby? That’s insane!”

Selena’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly—just enough to turn warmth into warning. “Oh, sweet girl,” she murmured, and Elara felt the temperature in the room drop a degree. “You don’t have to understand the rules. You just have to follow them.”

She stepped forward again, her heels clicking softly on the nursery’s padded floor as she crossed the space between them in two easy strides. “And since you’ve touched your diaper, spoken out of turn again, and now made two separate infractions in an hour…” She reached behind Elara and firmly grasped her wrist.

Elara froze. “Wait—no, hold on—”

“I think it’s time,” Selena said sweetly, “for your very first lesson.”

She guided Elara with effortless strength to a nearby cushioned bench near the changing table, enchanted to fit adults but styled like something lifted from a preschool room—soft edges, pastel piping, no dignity. Elara tried to pull back, but Selena sat down smoothly, dragging the flailing girl across her lap with practiced ease. Elara gasped, eyes wide, limbs tensing in a useless attempt to rise, but Selena had her secured with one arm before she could even struggle.

“You—you can’t be serious—”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Selena said, lifting the skirt and folding it neatly up Elara’s back. “Discipline is vital in early development.”

The first smack landed with a sharp crack against the seat of Elara’s diaper. The sound echoed, absurdly loud in the quiet nursery, and Elara yelped—more in shock than pain. The padding absorbed most of the impact, but not the shame. Not the heat curling up her neck as another swat landed, firmer now, sending a bloom of sensation across her backside.

“Spanking?!” Elara shouted, her fists balled against the bench. “You’re actually—”

“Yes, I am,” Selena said, calm as ever, delivering another swat. “You touched your diaper, baby girl. That’s a big no-no.”

Another smack. Then another.

Elara kicked her legs, not violently—more out of sheer disbelief than resistance. “I’m not a baby!”

“Not yet,” Selena agreed. Smack. “But that’s why you’re here.” Smack. “To learn.” Smack. “To regress.” Smack. “To accept.”

Elara’s breath hitched. The rhythm was steady now, not cruel but firm, unrelenting. Not enough to bruise. Just sufficient to reinforce. Her protests had become shallow, reduced to grunts and gasps, her pride bleeding from her cheeks and bottom in equal measure.

When Selena finally stopped, she didn’t release Elara right away. She simply rested a hand on the girl’s diapered rear, letting the weight of the moment settle into the fabric of the nursery. Her voice, when she spoke again, was low and even.

“Those spankings were for each infraction. There will be more if you disobey again. But if you’re a good girl… if you listen, follow the rules, and start accepting your place… We’ll get along just fine.”

Elara didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her body trembled with barely contained rage, shame, and something else—something heavier. A sinking understanding that the diaper hadn’t been the beginning.

It had only been the start of something far more elaborate.

Selena helped her up, adjusted her skirt, and gently smoothed the hair from Elara’s face like a mother soothing a tantrum-prone toddler.

The final swat still echoed through Elara’s body as Selena helped her upright, the crisp fabric of her skirt falling back into place with far too much ceremony. Her cheeks still burned—not from the spanking, which had been firm but survivable—but from the unbearable humiliation of it all. It wasn’t pain that cracked the veneer of her defiance—it was the way Selena looked at her afterward, as if the whole ordeal had only confirmed what she already believed. That Elara belonged exactly where she was: diapered, corrected, and utterly beneath her.

Selena didn’t say a word as she retrieved a onesie from the nearby drawer—a soft, stretchy thing in a pale shade of lavender, decorated with tiny enchanted fireflies that glowed gently in the dim light. She held it up, inspected it like one might a uniform piece before stripping Elara of her uniform and bra, then began slipping Elara’s arms through it with clinical precision. Elara didn’t resist. Not because she had given in, but because the fire in her chest had been drowned under the weight of exhaustion. She was too tired to fight. Too tired to yell. Too tired to think.

The onesie zipped up the back with a soft hum, locking into place with a shimmer of enchantment. The moment it clicked, Elara felt it—magic settling into her limbs, dulling her muscles slightly, encouraging rest like a lullaby humming against her spine. She hated how good it felt.

“There we go,” Selena murmured, patting the front of her diaper through the soft onesie with the air of someone completing a chore. “Now into bed. Sleep off that little tantrum.”

Elara was gently guided—placed, really—into the crib. It wasn’t rough. It didn’t need to be. The bars rose the moment she was inside, sliding upward with a soft mechanical click, glowing faintly with containment runes. She slumped against the pillows, staring up at the enchanted mobile overhead. Tiny plush dragons circled lazily, trailing sparks of light. She hated it. She hated how soft the mattress was. She hated how she didn’t want to move anymore.

And then the door opened.

Quinn’s voice reached her first, mid-sentence, light, oblivious. “—so the whole place is basically a playpen with extra steps, huh? I mean, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong, but they’re really committing to the theme—oh.”

She stopped short just past the threshold.

Behind her, a tall figure entered with calm, heavy steps—broad-shouldered, long golden hair tied back, and the unmistakable air of someone in charge. His eyes scanned the nursery with no hint of surprise, settling first on Selena and then on the crib.

Then on Elara.

Quinn’s voice dropped. “Wait… Elara?”

Elara didn’t answer. She didn’t even sit up. Her cheeks burned again as her friend’s gaze traveled from her face… to the bars… to the soft crinkle now unmistakable beneath the lavender onesie.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Selena said breezily, brushing her hands off and stepping back toward the door. “She’s just fussy from the train. Needed a firm hand. And now…” she smiled, cruel and satisfied, “she’ll sleep like an angel.”

Selena lingered by the changing table as Quinn stood frozen near the crib. She didn’t move, didn’t run. She just stared, some combination of confusion and unease beginning to flicker in her eyes.

“Your turn,” said the man—her CG, apparently. He stepped forward, already pulling open one of the lower drawers. “Come on, Quinn. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Quinn blinked. “Wait, wait, you’re serious? I thought the diaper thing was, like… a symbolic thing. Or just for Elara. She did yell in front of everyone—”

“It’s not a punishment,” the man said. “It’s your uniform.”

Quinn backed a half step. “Okay, yeah, no. This is too far. I’ll wear the uniform, I’ll do the rules, whatever, but you’re not putting me in that.”

“Quinn.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “You will lie down. You will behave. Or I will take you over my knee just like your roommate here.”

Quinn glanced at Elara, whose eyes were wide now, full of fresh panic. She shook her head once, almost imperceptibly. Don’t fight it. That’s what she meant. Don’t give them a reason.

But Quinn’s shoulders lifted with resistance anyway. “I’m not a baby,” she said—too loudly. “And I’m not—”

The CG grabbed her wrist, spinning her gently but firmly around, and guided her to the changing table in a motion so practiced it looked choreographed. She yelped, kicking slightly, but he already had her on her back, her skirt flipped, her legs lifted. The diaper was unfolded and in place before she could say another word. Her face twisted—not from pain, but from pure shock.

“No! Stop—stop— you can’t just—”

Then came the first spank.

Sharp, clean, muffled by nothing but her modesty. It rang out like a whip crack.

Quinn howled.

The second came harder. Then a third.

Elara flinched with each one, her knuckles clenched white around the bars of her crib, breath caught in her throat. She didn’t want to watch. She tried to turn away, to close her eyes and pretend she didn’t know this girl, didn’t hear her cries, didn’t recognize the very specific, very brutal humiliation of being spanked by someone who spoke to you like you were three.

But she couldn’t look away. Her gaze was locked, drawn not by cruelty or curiosity, but by something else entirely. A cold, growing awareness.

Quinn’s protest fell apart in real time—what had been angry shouting moments ago now crumbled into gasps, each breath hitching like it couldn’t quite find its shape. And then, finally, the surrender: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good—please!”

Elara’s heart twisted.

Not just for Quinn.

For herself.

Because that voice—that tone—the way it cracked and shrank and broke—Elara recognized it. Not as an outsider. Not as a bystander. But as someone who had made that same plea barely moments before. Her mind replayed the sound of her yelp, her own wide-eyed shock as Selena’s hand fell in measured rhythm, her own breathless whimper as her dignity peeled away under the soft weight of the tight-fitting onesie.

And now Quinn was there too. Another girl was dragged to the same helpless threshold. Another spark smothered under the weight of enforced submission.

“Good girls wear their diapers,” Quinn’s CG said calmly, without venom or joy, like he was reciting a bedtime story. The words slotted neatly into place like rules carved in stone. “Good girls don’t talk back. Good girls don’t disobey.”

Elara's throat burned. She hated the way her stomach twisted—not just in sympathy, but in recognition. She saw now how small Quinn looked as the pink onesie was drawn over her head and zipped snugly around her trembling body. She saw how easily her friend folded once the pressure became real. How quickly bravado became begging. And she saw, clearer than she wanted, how she herself must have looked through the eyes of her classmates, crinkling beneath Selena’s hand, skirt raised, legs pinned, crying without even knowing it.

The CG lifted her with ease, cradled her against his chest, and laid her down in the crib opposite Elara’s without a word.

The bars rose.

The door closed.

Silence settled in.

Quinn rolled onto her side, facing away. She said nothing. Just trembled.

Elara stared up at the ceiling again, her pulse finally slowing, but her thoughts spinning like the mobile above them.

She had thought the diaper was the worst of it.

She’d been wrong.