Disclaimer: Harry Potter and anything else you recognize from Rowling's books belong to – guess who? – J.K. Rowling.
Hannah Korvil, along with the other Hufflepuffs in this year and the idea of Mages, belongs to Quilynn, whose story Hannah's Hufflepuff Concerto is well worth reading.
The question of Flitwick's parentage, while probably not significant to this story, was borrowed from Alchemine.
While Tom was running off to Gryffindor tower, Richard caught up with the other Ravenclaws heading to lunch. "Which of those idiots was your friend, Davitt?" Lochrin asked Richard as he joined them. "Please tell me it wasn't Foster."
"No," Richard answered, "Prewett. He and Foster don't seem to get along well."
"No surprise there," said their roommate Nick Finn. "The Foster family is very close-knit; they have to be, because no one else will spend time with them. His parents are permanently banned from my uncle's restaurant in Diagon Alley because of the trouble they caused last year, and I hear he was one of the last to kick them out."
"Aren't social rejects usually less arrogant than that?" muttered Stebbens as they reached their table in the Great Hall.
"Sometimes," said Richard with a shrug. "Unless they're rejected because they look down at everyone."
"We get a fair number of those here," offered an older student whose name Richard hadn't caught. "Ravenclaws who look down at everyone else for being less intelligent than us and wind up being more disliked than Slytherins."
"Yes, but we are smarter than everyone else," pointed out Stebbens, half-joking.
"Of course," agreed Richard, less than half-joking. "But less intelligent doesn't mean worthless. Tom Prewett is a frightful oaf sometimes, but he's still my best friend."
"Good man," said the older student, before turning back to his friends.
"In the Fosters' case," added Finn, "It's because they're one of the oldest pureblood families – there's a story in Hogwarts: A History about how in the 1200s, a Foster head of Slytherin tried to overrule the Sorting Hat and refuse to let a muggleborn named Hugo Malfoy into his house.
"Doesn't hurt that they're rich, too; Uncle Merc would have kicked them out of the restaurant much sooner if they didn't always buy the most expensive things on the menu."
"Come to think of it," Stebbens said, glancing over at Gryffindor's table, "Where is Foster?"
Richard, following her gaze, saw that there were fewer Gryffindor first years at the table than had been in flying – there was Creevey, and most of the others. . . but no sign of Foster or Tom.
"Prewett's missing too," he pointed out. "That can't be good. I'll be right back, someone has to tell their Prefect and the rest of their house is probably too dense to think of it."
"What about Granger?" challenged Finn. "There's one full brain in Gryffindor."
Richard, along with the others, nodded at that. "True enough – two if you count McGonagall – but does a fourth year notice a couple of first years missing on their first day?"
As he headed over, however, he noticed that the second full brain in the house had noticed; McGonagall was talking to the Gryffindor prefects as Richard arrived.
"Yes, Mr. Davitt?" she asked him as he approached.
"Ah, actually I was going to talk to the prefects, Professor," he said.
"I see. If it has to do with the absence of your friend Mr. Prewett and both Foster brothers, I was just sending Mr. Hooper to check on them."
"Thank you, Professor," he answered, feeling much better as he returned to his seat. Tom might be living in a house of fools, but at least there was someone with sense keeping a sharp eye on them.
Tom had no trouble for the first few moments of the fight; he was used to wrestling with his brothers and cousins, and had the vague impression that Foster was more accustomed to magical or verbal fighting. After trading a punch or two with the rich brat, Tom quickly switched tactics and pinned him to the floor, catching one arm with his knee and the other with his left hand, leaving his right free to hold Foster's throat.
"Now listen, Foster, I've had enough of this garbage," Tom began, but never made it any farther.
Foster's brother had entered the room, seen Tom pinning Michael, and jumped in.
Derek Foster wasn't that much better a fighter than his brother, but he was a third year; the size difference between eleven and thirteen gave him enough of an advantage to easily match Tom's experience, and things suddenly became much more interesting. Tom almost managed to get Derek pinned, but then Michael was back into it, and in the time it took Tom to hit the younger Foster square in the face, the older one was tackling him again; he barely got out of the hold, and managed to get a few good punches in before Derek half-shoved, half-threw him into the wall.
By the time the prefect came to check on them, all three boys were lying on the floor, too exhausted and beaten to fight anymore – though if asked, Tom would have said he was just giving his opponents a chance to rest.
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" demanded the prefect, whom Tom vaguely remembered was named Hooper.
Tom glanced at the others, saw that they weren't answering, and volunteered, "Michael and I had a bit of a disagreement. When we got started shoving each other we fell down the stairs, and Derek got pulled along when he tried to catch us."
Hooper gave them a very skeptical look, but didn't challenge the lie. Instead, he tossed some Floo Powder into the fireplace, stepped through, and returned moments later with ointment and three small vials of potion.
"Here, the potion's for pain and the ointment's for bruises. Mike, stop at the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey do something about your nose – I'm pretty sure it's broken.
"And all three of you be careful, the next time you fall down a flight of stairs I'll take you straight to the hospital wing myself and we'll see if you can explain to Madame Pomfrey how you managed to get so much damage to the face and so little to your arms." With that, he walked out.
"You throw a good punch, Prewett," Derek admitted as they applied the ointment, "for a first year from a nothing family, that is." The older boy flashed a smile at odds with his words.
"You two aren't half bad yourselves, for a pair of spoiled aristocrats," Tom answered with a smile of his own. The Fosters would never be his friends, but he imagined they wouldn't be picking any more fights with him. And if word spread about this, it seemed likely that no one else would either.
After lunch, Richard and his classmates headed to what looked to be one of their better classes: charms, taught by their head of house and taken with Hufflepuff. Professor Flitwick was already waiting, standing on a stool so that he could see over the desks to keep an eye on his students. The head of Ravenclaw was no more than four feet tall, and as Richard sat down he idly wondered if the professor was simply a midget, the victim of some sort of shrinking magic gone wrong, or perhaps (not to be suggested aloud, nor even thought too loudly) part house-elf.
Just before the class began, the last two students – a pair of Hufflepuff girls – came running in. Richard didn't recognize either of them, but one was wearing a tiara that seemed vaguely familiar. He couldn't figure out why until Professor Flitwick called roll, and midway through said, "Korvil, Hannah;" the name brought his head around even before the girl with the tiara answered.
A Korvil at Hogwarts? They're mages! Not just any mages, he realized after a moment, but one of the leading families; her father, headmaster of a Mage Academy, might occasionally stop by Bagshott's Books, but never stayed longer than necessary. A Korvil at Hogwarts was like a Malfoy at a muggle school; and yet she wore the tiara and came to Hogwarts, she couldn't be a squib (or whatever the mage equivalent was).
He filed it away to look into later as Flitwick finished attendance and began to lecture. "Charms is one of the core subjects which you will study at Hogwarts. In our first year, we will be studying a variety of basic spells, some helpful in everyday life, some used in particular fields, and others as a foundation for more complex work done in succeeding years.
"Now, today we will be learning a simple spell. I am passing around a box of feathers; you are each to choose one and wait for my instructions." He gestured with his wand, and the box floated over to the front row, where the students began picking feathers and passing the box back.
When everyone had a feather, Flitwick waved his wand at the one on his own desk and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Immediately, the feather floated up into the air. "Repeat after me: Wingardium," he paused, and the class echoed the word, "Leviosa." The class repeated the second part. "Very good." He ran them through it a few more times, then demonstrated the motion and told them to practice.
Richard didn't rush into it himself – he had done this spell earlier, and there was no need to show that off – but glanced around to see how the rest of the class was doing. Most of the Ravenclaws seemed to be at least getting the feathers to twitch; among the few who had trouble at first were muggleborn Lochrin and, surprisingly enough, Sophia Stebbens. The Hufflepuffs were less consistent, with some doing well, some having trouble, and Korvil not even trying.
"Come on, Miss Korvil," Professor Flitwick encouraged her, "Swish and flick. Wingardium Leviosa." The girl made the motion, but still said nothing. Richard glanced around at the rest of the class – Stebbens and Lochrin were actually surpassing the others now – and when he looked back saw that Korvil was putting her wand away. After another moment, her eyes fluttered closed and she fell, convulsing, out of her seat.
Professor Flitwick being in charge, of course, she never reached the floor; calling out "Wingardium Leviosa!" with considerably more intensity than he had before, the Professor caught her in midair and lifted her above the desks. "Miss Grassick," he ordered the girl who had come in with Korvil, "run ahead to the hospital wing and tell Madame Pomfrey what happened." The girl was out the door even as Flitwick turned around, eyes scanning the room before settling on Sophia. "Miss Stebbens, please let me know if there are any problems while I am gone. Everyone continue with the spell, and those who get it fastest help the others." Pointing his wand at Korvil, he snapped "Mobilicorpus," and went out with the unconscious Hufflepuff trailing behind him.
