When you pull behind Carter Hall, the building that houses your department, the choice of where to park has been made for you. Someone has taped a piece of paper to a sign in front of a parking spot. Your name's on the paper.
You wedge your car into the parking spot and take a closer look at your sign. The sign author used a black Sharpie, but the calligraphic handwriting is ornate. A skilled practitioner. Likely Dr. Ellison. She always had the neatest pattern-work of all of your professors.
A rustle in the bushes that hug the back of Carter Hall betrays a student crouching behind them. He's staring at a thin scrap of paper.
It's disposable pattern paper. He's about to channel magic.
The tradition of pranking new Winfield Phillips professors of magic lives on.