Spells, potions, creatures.

A giant spider species. One of them was raised from an egg in the castle and then had to live in the forest.

A giant serpent whose gaze is lethal and whose voice is more than a hiss. The second book builds a mystery around it.

A shape-shifter that becomes the fear of whoever faces it. Laughter is the counter, not courage alone.

Star-readers who live in the forest and refuse to be filed as the school’s neighbors.

Creatures that feed on happiness and leave a fog of despair. The state uses them as prison guards.

A shy, ape-like creature whose hair can turn a cloak invisible, and whose sight runs a little ahead of the present.

Large, classified, and illegal to hatch in a wooden hut. The books use them as both wonder and regulatory problem.

A small water creature with too many fingers, fond of ankles, at home in the school lake.

Half horse, half eagle. Proud, rideable if you bow first, and the center of a third-year injustice.

Magical people bound to households, with power the books both rely on and argue about.

The post of the wizarding stories. Owls carry letters, parcels, and sometimes a howler that shouts.

A bird that burns and is reborn. Tears with healing in them. Loyalty that is not the same as obedience.

Skeletal winged horses that pull the school carriages. You see them only after you have seen death.

People who transform under the full moon. The condition is a curse and, in these stories, a pretext for prejudice.

A love potion that smells like what attracts the smeller. The books do not pretend that is the same thing as love.

A sleeping draught so deep it mimics death. It appears as a riddle obstacle and, later, as a brewer’s prize.

Liquid luck. For a few hours the drinker’s choices tend to come good, which is more unsettling than a simple blessing.

A hospital-wing remedy for colds. Steam comes out of the patient’s ears. The comedy is the point.

A slow brew that lets the drinker borrow another person’s appearance. It does not borrow their knowledge.

A painful potion that regrows bones. The stories use it when a vanish-the-bones joke goes too far.

A truth potion. Three drops, and the stories treat the answers as compelled — and still not the whole truth of a person.

A difficult monthly brew that lets a werewolf keep a human mind through the transformation.

A summoning charm. Name the object, and it tries to come to you.

A charm for locked doors. It opens some of them, and teaches that not every lock is meant to be casual.

A shield made from a happy memory, shaped often as an animal, used against dementors.

A disarming charm. It knocks a wand out of a hand, which in these stories is often enough.

A small light at the tip of a wand, used when a corridor, a cupboard, or a forest path has no lamp.

The charm that ends a wand-light. Useful, and easy to forget until someone needs the dark.

A memory charm. It edits what a person can recall, which the books treat as both tool and injury.

A shield charm. It meets another spell in midair more often than it wins a duel by itself.

The charm used on a boggart, forcing a fear to wear a ridiculous shape.

A cutting curse written in the margin of an old textbook. Using it without understanding it is part of the damage.

A stunning spell. It drops a person without being one of the three criminal curses.

A levitation charm, and the first classroom reminder that pronunciation is part of the work.