Chapter 3

"Do you have everything you need?" Galdur asked, his gaze steady as he and Felicia stood together on Platform 9. Her luggage was already stowed aboard the train, every trunk and case carefully accounted for.

He looked at his daughter—only eleven, and yet already carrying herself with the grace and composure of someone far older. Pride swelled in his chest, tempered by a familiar thread of caution. He had trained her well, and Selene had done the same. But they had also tried—tried—to let her be a child when they could. In high society, that was no small task.

Still, the wonder in her amber eyes as she looked at the gleaming scarlet train soothed him. She was ready. And yet… she was still young.

"Yes, I have everything. We've gone through the list four times," Felicia replied with a faint note of exasperation. Redscale let out a contented chirp from his perch on her shoulder, clearly in good spirits.

"I promise, I'll send an owl as soon as I'm able."

"Good girl." Galdur leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "We love you. Behave yourself… and try not to put young Malfoy in a ditch somewhere."

"I'll try," Felicia said, grinning.

Selene stepped forward then, pulling her daughter into a close embrace.

"I slipped some enchanted hair tools into your case," she murmured with a fond smile. "I won't be there to fix it every morning, but they should do the trick. And remember—you're a Forester. Don't do anything foolish."

"Of course, Mother," Felicia said, smiling as Selene fussed gently with her hair one last time.

Then, with a deep breath, Felicia turned and made her way to the train. She paused at the doorway, turned back, and gave her parents one final wave before disappearing into the carriage.

As Felicia made her way through the train, she noticed it was still early—plenty of compartments remained empty. She chose one near the back in the designated first-year area and slid the door shut behind her before settling into a seat by the window.

There were no house distinctions yet, so for now, everyone was still on even footing. Still, she knew exactly who she wouldn't be sitting with.

Malfoy.

Especially not if Crabbe and Goyle were around. They weren't a problem on their own, but together they inflated Draco's ego to unbearable levels. She would sooner lick a toad than suffer through that for the duration of the ride.

After a moment, she pulled a book from her bag—one she'd just started, written by one of her father's colleagues. It covered recent breakthroughs in dragon behavior and conservation—a blend of magical theory and fieldwork that fascinated her.

"Excuse me… excuse me…"

A voice echoed from the corridor outside—loud, breathless, and accompanied by the sound of someone awkwardly pushing through students and bags. Felicia barely looked up, assuming it was just someone passing by, until the door to her compartment slid open with a clack.

Her golden eyes flicked up from the page.

A girl stood in the doorway, looking like she'd just lost a wrestling match with a Whomping Willow. Blonde hair stuck out in wild tangles, her pale blue eyes wide and disoriented. Her robes were askew, one sleeve torn at the seam.

She glanced rapidly between the empty seats, almost suspiciously, as though it were a trap.

"Are… are these seats taken?" she asked, voice cautious.

Felicia arched a brow, observing the girl with mild curiosity. She looked like a mess—but not in a pitiable way. More like someone who survived something and just hadn't realized it yet.

"No," Felicia said calmly, marking her place in the book. "These seats are open."

The girl let out a relieved sigh, brushing stray strands of blonde hair from her face as she stepped into the compartment.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" she exclaimed, dropping into the seat across from Felicia with the grace of a baby hippogriff. Her trunk wobbled beside her as she tried to settle it, and a small stack of books nearly toppled out before she caught them at the last second.

"Ugh—sorry," she groaned, shoving the trunk back into place. "I swear this thing has a mind of its own."

She looked up at Felicia with a bright, slightly frazzled smile.

"I'm Penelope Wittle, by the way. And you are—?"

Penelope paused mid-sentence, her gaze catching on Felicia's golden eyes. Recognition flickered across her face.

"A Forester…"

The words left her in a breathy whisper as the realization dawned. Of course. That explained the empty compartment. Even without an introduction, those unmistakable golden eyes made people hesitate. Not much was publicly known about Felicia, but the Forester name carried weight—an old magical lineage, a reputation for precision, talent, and especially for dueling.

Most students wouldn't want to end up on the receiving end of a Forester's wand... even in their first year.

Penelope looked as though she was about to apologize for not realizing sooner—but her attention suddenly shifted.

Her pale blue eyes widened as she caught sight of something nestled beneath Felicia's dark hair—Redscale, perched neatly on her shoulder, his jeweled body barely visible at first glance.

Her mouth fell slightly open in awe.

"Is that a—? That's amazing!" she gasped, leaning forward eagerly. "It looks so real! Is it real? No… of course not, there aren't any dragons that small… right?"

She was practically sparkling with curiosity, her voice tumbling over itself.

"What kind of enchantment is that?"

Any thoughts about family names or reputations vanished in an instant. She hadn't even realized Felicia hadn't introduced herself yet. Her hands hovered near Redscale, clearly unsure if she was allowed to touch him, but utterly fascinated all the same.

"It's a sort of complex transfiguration," Felicia explained, her tone measured. "But it requires organic materials—like the shells of a chestnut—as a base. Then it's bound with a permanent enchantment to maintain its intended form. In this case, a Ruby Snaggletooth dragon. A miniature replica of the real thing… though the personality is more or less the same."

Penelope's eyes widened as she listened, her curiosity giving way to genuine admiration.

"That's brilliant," she breathed. "A transformation from an organic base combined with a lasting enchantment… I've read about spells like that, but I've never seen one in person. I mean, sure, animated figures and charmed toys exist, but this—this is so detailed!"

Felicia extended her arm, allowing the tiny dragon to climb down with practiced ease. Redscale coiled gracefully around her wrist, his serpent-like body winding securely as his claws latched gently onto her hand. It was clear he trusted her completely.

"He's a bit temperamental," she warned with a faint smile. "Doesn't like being touched. You can look, just… don't try to pet him."

"Well, he's earned the right to be fussy," Penelope said with a soft laugh. "I'm sure he's had more than a few curious hands trying to snatch him up."

Felicia smiled, gently guiding Redscale back to her shoulder. He nestled under her hair once more, his ruby-like scales catching the light as he settled.

"I'm Felicia," she said finally, her voice warm but composed. "And yes, you guessed correctly—I am a Forester. It's a pleasure to meet you, Penelope."

Penelope's smile widened into a grin. "Felicia Forester. I don't know much about the big wizarding families, but even I know that's a name."

She tilted her head, letting a curtain of messy blonde hair fall over one shoulder. "Me, on the other hand? I come from a long, proud line of nobodies."

She laughed softly—self-deprecating, but not bitter.

"My parents are half-bloods. Lots of bookish types. No big names. No famous legacies. I don't even know what house I'll end up in. What about you?"

Felicia studied her for a moment, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Penelope radiated Hufflepuff energy—but she didn't say it aloud.

"I'll likely end up in Slytherin," Felicia replied, thoughtful. "Though Ravenclaw's a possibility too."

Most Foresters were Slytherins, though her mother's lineage had strong Ravenclaw roots. It was uncertain for now, but she wasn't worried. House placements were important, yes, but what mattered more to her was stepping into the thick of things—earning her place, proving what she could do.

Slytherin suited her mindset best, even if the name carried baggage. That old reputation—cunning, ambition, and the shadow of You-Know-Who—wasn't so easy to shake. She wouldn't blame Penelope if she decided to find another compartment. Few were eager to align themselves with a Slytherin unless they were one.

But Penelope didn't flinch.

She hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. "Slytherin or Ravenclaw, huh? That's quite the combination."

She tilted her head again, studying Felicia like a puzzle she was eager to solve.

"Ambitious and clever… sounds like you'll be unstoppable."

There wasn't a hint of hesitation or discomfort in her tone. If anything, she sounded impressed.

Penelope leaned back against the seat, stretching her arms above her head before letting them flop lazily into her lap.

"Honestly, I haven't got the foggiest idea where I'll end up," she said with a chuckle. "Mum was a Gryffindor, Dad was a Ravenclaw… but me?"

She laughed again, light and self-aware.

"I think I'll be lucky if the Sorting Hat doesn't spontaneously burst into flames."

Her tone was playful, but there was a subtle thread of nervousness woven beneath the humor—uncertainty that Felicia easily recognized.

Penelope caught the flicker of something thoughtful in Felicia's expression and her own voice softened.

"You know… just because people say things about Slytherin doesn't mean they know anything about it. A house doesn't make a person—you do."

She shrugged, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"Besides, you don't seem so bad. Slytherin or not, you're still pretty brilliant."

Felicia's golden eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness. Penelope, in all her scattered energy, had moments of quiet clarity—and this one struck a chord.

It wasn't just her words. It was the acceptance behind them.

Felicia hadn't been sure what to make of Penelope at first… but now, she knew.

She liked her.

"I think the Sorting Hat will place you in the house where you're meant to thrive," Felicia said at last, her voice softer, sincere.

Penelope blinked, then smiled—wide and bright, but touched by something gentler. She looked as though those words had landed deeper than she expected.

"Thanks," she whispered, her pale blue eyes shining. "I really hope you're right."

After a comfortable lull in their conversation, the compartment door slid open with a gentle clack. In came the familiar trolley, pushed by a kindly witch with rosy cheeks and a warm smile creasing her weathered face.

The cart was a delightful mess of color and scent, piled high with gleaming chocolate frogs, fizzing bottles of pumpkin juice, and honey-glazed toffees that shimmered like amber in the light. Neatly wrapped Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans sat in glass jars, their bright hues catching the eye. Delicate pastries were tucked into little paper boxes, and sugary confections sparkled with spells to keep them perfectly fresh.

But it was the sweetcakes that caught Felicia's attention.

Golden brown, dusted generously with cinnamon sugar, the little round cakes sat nestled in a woven basket, still faintly warm as if just pulled from the oven. She could already taste the soft crumb, the way the sweetness lingered on the tongue with just a hint of spice. They were, without question, her weakness.

"What would you like, dear?" the old woman asked kindly.

"I'll have five of the sweetcakes," Felicia said, eyes never leaving the basket. "And a chocolate frog, please."

She glanced over the chilled bottles on the lower shelf.

"A pumpkin juice as well."

Then, with a glance toward Penelope, she added casually, "And I'll pay for her choices too."

Penelope blinked, momentarily stunned by the gesture. "Oh—really? That's—thank you! You didn't have to."

Felicia just gave a faint shrug, already savoring the idea of her first bite.

Penelope turned eagerly to the cart, eyes sweeping over the dazzling display before she selected a flaky pumpkin pasty and a chocolate frog of her own. She reached for a bottle of pumpkin juice as well, beaming as she did.

Both girls offered their thanks, and the trolley woman left them with a nod and a gentle take care now before moving on.

Penelope settled back into her seat and immediately began unwrapping her chocolate frog with the careful precision of someone who'd learned the hard way. The enchanted treat gave one last, defiant wiggle before she caught it between her fingers. It froze, its little chocolate limbs twitching in defeat.

"Let's see who I got…" she said, flipping over the card with anticipation—only to groan in exasperation. "Ugh, Dumbledore. Again! I swear, my brother got five of him last year. He's everywhere."

Felicia glanced up from her own sweets, then down at her unopened chocolate frog box. She wasn't particularly interested in the cards—more curious about the enchantments woven into the chocolate itself. She opened the box with a flick of her thumb just as the frog leapt—and Redscale, ever alert, snatched it mid-air by the leg.

He landed gracefully on the seat beside her, the frog still wriggling between his tiny claws. Felicia waited until it stilled before breaking it in half and handing one piece to Redscale, who began nibbling at it with delicate bites. He didn't need to eat, not really, but Felicia often fed him as if he did. It felt right.

Penelope looked up with a playful huff, waving her card like a lost lottery ticket.

"Wanna trade? Who did you even get?"

Felicia picked up the card, her movements unhurried. She turned it over and read the name. "Merlin."

Penelope gasped—loudly and theatrically—clutching her chest as though she'd just been struck by lightning.

"Merlin?! Are you kidding me?"

She leaned forward, eyes wide with exaggerated awe. "That's like the holy grail of chocolate frog cards!"

Penelope looked down at her Dumbledore card and sighed in mock defeat.

"Merlin for Dumbledore? That has to be the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals."

Felicia let out a quiet chuckle, and Penelope laughed at herself, shaking her head.

"Figures you'd pull something legendary," she said, taking a bite of her pumpkin pasty. She chewed thoughtfully, then glanced over at Felicia again, her tone softening slightly. "You know, this might be the most fun I've had all day. I was kind of dreading the train ride—figured I'd end up stuck with someone too serious, or worse… someone who snores."

With a playful grin, she held out her Dumbledore card.

"Go on, take him. If I get another one, I might start a Dumbledore collection out of spite."

Felicia hesitated only a moment before reaching out, wrapping her fingers around the card. She looked down at it, the gesture feeling oddly significant. She'd never really done this sort of thing before—simple, easy fun with someone who wasn't judging her pedigree or measuring her worth.

Draco and the others in high society always seemed too far above things like chocolate frog cards. Too busy posturing to laugh at silly odds.

Her gaze shifted to the Merlin card still resting beside her. She didn't have any personal attachment to it—she knew its worth, of course—but the idea of card collecting had never meant much to her.

Unless it was dragons.

"Did you want the Merlin card?" she asked, holding it out.

Penelope's jaw dropped.

She stared at Felicia like she'd just offered her the keys to a vault full of Galleons. She blinked, mouth opening slightly as if to protest, then shook her head rapidly.

"No—no, you keep it! That's Merlin! You don't just give away Merlin!"

Felicia felt, rather absurdly, like she was about to commit a crime given how excited Penelope looked. The blonde was clearly touched by the offer, though she still grinned.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "You really don't collect these, huh?"

She glanced down at the Dumbledore card now resting in Felicia's hand. "Well, if you get any extras, I'll take them off your hands. Keep those as a token—for your first year."

Something about the way she said it made Felicia pause.

A moment ago, she'd thought nothing of the cards. Now, they suddenly felt like something worth holding onto. She slipped them into the inside pocket of her robes and gave a small, almost reluctant smile.

"Fine… I'll keep them. As mementos."

Penelope leaned back again, arms stretching behind her head with a satisfied groan. "I'm going to tell everyone that a Forester tried to give me a Merlin card," she said, snickering. "They'll think I made it up."

Felicia smiled softly, shaking her head.

A few minutes passed in easy quiet. At some point, Felicia reached over to mend the tear in Penelope's robe, muttering a small charm as she smoothed the fabric back into place. She wasn't as skilled with cosmetic spells as her mother, so the hair situation remained… ambitious.

Still, she tilted her head and offered, "Why not pull it back into a bun for now?"

Penelope took the suggestion with a nod and gathered her hair into a loose bun. It was still a bit wild, but now it looked intentional—less like she'd survived a magical whirlwind and more like she had style.

"Thanks," she said with a grin. "Now I won't look completely mad in front of the whole school."

Suddenly, the compartment door slid open, and a tall, dark-skinned boy stepped inside. At first glance, he could've been mistaken for a fourth year—his height and composure set him apart from most other first years. His posture was rigid, formal, and there was a flicker of irritation behind his sharp brown eyes.

He adjusted the collar of his neatly pressed robes and cleared his throat.

"Apologies for the intrusion," he said, his tone clipped and precise. "I was seated a few compartments over, but—" he exhaled sharply through his nose, visibly annoyed. "Two boys thought it would be amusing to test out a Zonko's product before we've even reached the castle."

He smoothed the front of his robes with slow, controlled movements, though the tension in his jaw suggested he was still seething.

"It exploded everywhere," he added flatly. "I refuse to sit in a compartment that reeks of…" He paused, sniffing the sleeve of his robes with a grimace. "...bubblegum and rotting cabbage."

His gaze flicked from Penelope to Felicia, coolly assessing them and the available space.

"I take it these seats aren't claimed?"

At that very moment, the stench wafted into the compartment. Penelope immediately covered her nose and mouth with a muffled groan. Felicia, ever composed, reached for her wand without hesitation.

"Odos removeō."

The spell's motion resembled that of the Mending Charm—precise, but with a swift whipping flick at the end. It was one of her experimental spells, noted in her private journal—a charm designed to isolate and dispel odors entirely. As she cast it, the foul scent visibly lifted from the boy's robes like a shimmer in the air before dissipating into nothing.

The air cleared instantly.

The boy blinked, surprised. He sniffed his robes again, this time cautiously, and when no trace of the foul smell remained, his posture eased—minutely.

Felicia gave him a subtle nod and gestured toward the open seat.

The boy blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the precision of the spellwork. He gave an approving nod, smoothing his robes once more before stepping fully into the compartment.

"Efficient," he remarked, his voice cool but clearly impressed. "Thank you."

He lowered himself into the empty seat with the composure of a Ministry official rather than an eleven-year-old, his posture flawless as he sat perfectly upright. Every movement was deliberate, measured.

Penelope, meanwhile, was finishing the last sips of her pumpkin juice, eyeing him over the rim of the bottle with an amused expression.

"You could relax, you know," she said, raising a brow with a smirk. "You look like you're about to preside over a legal hearing."

The boy gave her a flat, unimpressed look but didn't bother responding.

Instead, his gaze shifted back to Felicia.

"Forester, correct?" he asked, eyes sharp and observant. He'd already noticed the unmistakable amber hue of her eyes. "Your father is Galdur Forester. He's written several respected papers on the practical applications of dragon physiology—particularly in a way that honors the creature's natural integrity."

He tilted his head slightly, voice devoid of mockery, but heavy with expectation.

"You have quite the legacy to live up to."

Felicia met his gaze evenly, her tone calm and neutral.

"Mm… but do I?"

There was no defensiveness in her words, just quiet honesty.

She adored dragons, yes—but she didn't see her father's path as a destiny carved in stone. Her parents had made it clear: her future was hers to shape. Whether she followed in Galdur's footsteps or blazed a different trail, their only wish was that she do it well.

"I think you might be assuming my family functions like yours, Dedalus Bell."

Felicia knew exactly who he was.

She'd seen him in the Daily Prophet more than once, standing beside his parents—usually in formal portraits near the Prime Minister or other high-ranking officials. The Bells were among the most respected minds currently working within the Ministry, having secured places in the top twenty most influential magical figures in recorded history. On occasion, they even collaborated with her mother.

Penelope, mid-slurp, paused and looked between Felicia and Dedalus with barely concealed fascination. She was clearly invested in the exchange—two names with weight behind them, sitting across from one another like an unscheduled debate. There weren't sides yet, but if there had to be, she was firmly on Felicia's.

Dedalus didn't respond immediately. He held Felicia's gaze, his face unreadable, before exhaling softly through his nose.

"Fair point," he conceded at last, a slight furrow pulling at his brow. "Apologies."

He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, his voice still cool, but no longer rigid.

"Expectations are a constant in my world," he said simply. There was no bitterness—just a quiet, resigned truth. "I imagine you're familiar with the feeling, even if your parents are… more flexible in their approach."

Felicia nodded.

She was. All too well.

High society—whether by bloodline, title, or Ministry rank—had rules. Even if her parents were kind, even if they allowed her space to choose her path, the world outside demanded perfection. The Forester name came with its own gravity. Her parents had raised her to carry it with dignity, with poise. Even if they never said it outright, she knew.

She was expected to be composed. Capable. Controlled.

Always.

Dedalus's gaze shifted briefly to Redscale, who let out a tiny yawn before curling up on Felicia's shoulder, his jeweled body glinting in the late afternoon light. After a beat, Dedalus returned his attention to Felicia.

"Either way," he said calmly, "I don't believe any of us will be less than exceptional, regardless of what's expected."

His tone wasn't arrogant—it was measured, confident, a simple statement of fact.

Then his eyes slid to Penelope, brow arching ever so slightly.

"Some of us, at least."

Penelope blinked at him, mock-offended, before scoffing.

"Excuse you," she said, grinning. "I'll have you know I am very exceptional—exceptionally chaotic, thank you very much."

Felicia pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh as she glanced out the window to compose herself. Dedalus wasn't as stiff as he initially seemed—just serious to a fault. And Penelope was a whirlwind, the kind of presence that filled every corner of a room with ease.

She glanced between the two of them, and a quiet warmth settled in her chest. She didn't know how often their paths would cross once school began, or whether they'd all be sorted into different houses—she was grateful.

If this was her first glimpse into life at Hogwarts… it felt like a good sign.

Outside the window, the countryside blurred past in golden streaks. The train rattled gently along the tracks, carving its way through rolling green hills and winding around misty forests. The sky had begun to shift—soft lavender clouds painted against a pale orange horizon, the last blush of sunlight kissing the land.

The rhythmic hum of the train, the steady clatter of wheels on rails, the distant calls of other students in neighboring compartments—it all blended into a low, comforting melody.

Felicia leaned back against her seat, eyes fixed on the scenery as it rolled by, each mile bringing her closer to the school she had heard stories about her entire life.

Closer to magic, to discovery… to becoming someone more.

A quiet smile curved her lips.

She was ready.

She was excited.

She was going to Hogwarts.