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    Comic Books 
Sing, o muse, of student life at the Brakebills College for Magical Pedagogy. Sing of mornings devoted to warping fingers into hitherto unknown configurations. Sing of terror-filled lunchtime seating arrangements — of tables diversely populated, such that the right to sit without asking is but fantasy. Sing o muse of the degree to which I do not want my college experience to suck absolute balls. Sing of sugar-crashed afternoons spent memorizing endless lists of magical facts and infinite tables of figures. Of evenings woven with longing and untreated social anxiety. Of nights without sleep, waiting to face another day of disappointing myself and others. Sing, muse, of Alice's icy fear... which bore Alice out of her bed once more.

    Fan Works 
Kazuriya Sakura: So we're actually going to learn magic? Like casting spells and flying on broomsticks?
Kyogoku Maria: You will be learning spells, that's for sure. But for the broom-flying though, I wouldn't expect anything too stereotypical.
Sengoku Basara fanfic Having fun while you can

    Film — Live-Action 
Dr. Stephen Strange: I went to a place called Kamar-Taj and I talked to someone called the Ancient One, and...
Dr. Christine Palmer: Oh, so you joined a cult.
Strange: No, I didn't. Not exactly. I mean, they did teach me to tap into powers that I never even knew existed-
Christine: Yeah, that sounds like a cult.
Strange: It's not a cult.
Christine: Well, that's what a cultist would say.

    Literature 
Once, Eltisley Hall and the Maze had been two separate schools, representing two styles of magic that were at odds, but now they were joined because magic had been united, at great cost. The passage between them was a sandy hedge-lined walkway that only opened at certain times. Patricia would send weeks mastering some delicate healing art at Eltisely Hall, and then they would send her back to the Maze and she would be so confused and tangled up in herself that she forgot all her fancy skills. She would solve some nonsense puzzle at the Maze and figure out how to do some clever trick, only to be sent back to Eltisley Hall, where they'd drum endless rules into her again, and she would lose the twisty shape she'd been holding in her mind.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy, Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare, and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.

Unseen University was much Bigger on the Inside. Thousands of years as the leading establishment of practical magic in a world where dimensions were largely a matter of chance in any case had left it bulging with places where it shouldn't have places. There were rooms containing rooms which, if you entered them, turned out to contain the room you'd started with, which can be a problem if you are in a conga line.
And because it was so big, it could afford to have an almost unlimited number of staff on the premises. Tenure was automatic, or more accurately, non-existent. You found an empty room, turned up for meals as usual, and generally no-one noticed, although if you were unfortunate you might attract students. And if you looked hard enough in some of the outlying regions of the University, you could find an expert on
anything.

Dean Fogg: You wouldn't put off college. You would abandon college. Brakebills would be your college. There would be no Ivy League for you. You wouldn't go off to school with the rest of your class. You would never make Phi Beta Kappa or be recruited by a hedge fund or a management consultancy. This isn't summer school, Quentin. This is the whole shebang.
Quentin: So it's four years—
Dean Fogg: Five, actually.
Quentin: At the end of which, I get what? A bachelor's of magic? I can't believe this is happening.
Dean Fogg: At the end of which you will be a magician, Quentin.

You think: because I'm so very strong, I need fear nothing. They actually tell you that, in fourth year: once you've completed this part of the course you should never be afraid of anything ever again, because nothing will have the power to hurt you. It sounds marvelous, and you write home: Dear Mother and Father, this term we'll be doing absolute strength, when I see you next, I'll be invincible and invulnerable, just fancy, your loving son, etc. We believe it, because it's so very plausible. Then you get field assignments and practicals, where you levitate heavy objects and battle demons and divert the course of rivers and turn back the tides off the sea — heady stuff for a nineteen-year-old — and at the end of it you believe. I'm a graduate of the Studium, armed with strictoense and protected by lorica; I shall fear no evil. And then they pack you off to your first posting, and you start the slow, humiliating business of learning something useful, the hard way.
Return of the Pig, by K.J. Parker

INVISIBLE COLLEGE is used for training WIZARDS and usually occupies a prime site in some major CITY. Once you have penetrated its invisible exterior, you will find it has the usual features of an Oxbridge college — dining hall, buttery, library, towers, lecture rooms, tutors, and even students — but all a little skewed. The Rule here is that, if something magical could possibly go wrong, it will. Be prepared for the Universe to split and for coloured explosions, levitating towers, and tutors in ANIMAL form.

    Live-Action TV 
"Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies was established as a premiere girls' finishing school in 1790. During the Civil War, it was converted into a military hospital. Afterwards, it came under new management. Our management. In 1868, Marianne Wharton, a prominent East Coast society matron, early suffragette, author of several popular children's books — and, as it happened, the reigning Supreme of that time — purchased this facility, retaining the name as a cover, establishing a safe haven where young witches could gather to learn."
Cordelia Foxx, American Horror Story: Coven

"This school exists for a single and timeless purpose: to reveal your innate abilities and hone them to the highest degree. Now, what you do with it after that is entirely up to you. If you want to take over the world, we don't teach that, but give it a go."
Dean Fogg, The Magicians (2016)

    Tabletop Games 
"For all you novice wizards thinking about magic training, seriously consider apprenticing. I know liches who are still paying off their academy loans."
Tasha, Dungeons & Dragons: Tasha's Cauldron of Everything

    Video Games 
On a cliff overlooking the dark waters of Lake Calenhad stands the tower fortress that is home to the Circle of Magi. This tower is the only place in Ferelden where mages may study their art among others of their kind; within the high stone walls, the Circle practices its magic and trains apprentices in the proper use of their powers. But the Circle Tower is as much a prison as a refuge: the ever-vigilant templars of the Chantry watch over all mages, constantly alert for any sign of corruption.

"Such a picturesque institution, such an integral part of the short but intense history of Kingsmouth. It offers the town a boosted economy, attracts scholars, and bestows academic prestige. Only gifted children are admitted, under very strict entry exams. Students rank at the highest aptitudes of natural science, history and archaeology. The academy is considered one of the premier prep schools in the United States.
Public faces are so very pretty. Initiate the secret faces. Gaze through the half-light.
Powerful wards lace the outer walls of the school. Chalk outlines form ritual shapes on the blackboard. The shelves are lined with the sort of books that one might have been burnt at the stake for, only a few centuries ago. The young doodle in notebooks, dreaming of bright futures in the secret cabals. Along with mundane curriculum, seasoned magi teach spellcraft, alchemy, and occultism. One faculty member is fond of his yearly demonstrations of cephalonomancy, the art of divination via the boiled head of a donkey. Another scent haunts the halls."
The Buzzing, on Innsmouth Academy, The Secret World


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