Chapter 7

A few days after classes had begun, Felicia found herself wandering toward the Central Hall. It was the busiest part of the castle, and yet, something about the large marble fountain in the center made it feel strangely peaceful—a good vantage point to observe others and quietly take stock of the school's layout.

She settled on the edge of the fountain, parchment in hand as she reviewed her assignments—mostly essays, and all of them expected to be completed in meticulous detail. She was mid-scroll when familiar voices caught her attention.

Looking up, she spotted Penelope and Dedalus approaching. A smile tugged at her lips; she hadn't seen either of them properly since the train ride.

Penelope collapsed beside her with a dramatic groan, her bag hitting the ground with a thud. "Save me. I am dying. Actual death by parchment."

Felicia raised a brow, amused, before shifting her gaze to Dedalus, who remained standing with his arms crossed and an expression that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.

"You two doing alright so far?" she asked, tone casual but curious.

"Barely," Penelope groaned, flopping against the edge of the fountain. "Have you seen how many essays we already have? It's like the professors are trying to drown us in ink before we've even figured out where the bathrooms are."

Dedalus let out a huff and rolled his eyes. "It's called being prepared, Wittle. Maybe if you spent more time organizing your notes and less time doodling in the margins—"

"I do organize," Penelope cut in, lifting a finger. "Just… creatively." She grinned, unrepentant.

Felicia stifled a laugh, her eyes flicking between them. Their banter was becoming its own form of entertainment.

Slytherin had a decent number of shared classes with Gryffindor, but the only house it consistently overlapped with for all joint classes was Hufflepuff. She suspected the arrangement wasn't random. It likely encouraged specific kinds of interactions—competition with Gryffindor, contrast with Hufflepuff. After all, Slytherins weren't naturally inclined to see Hufflepuffs as rivals… the two houses operated on very different principles. Still, Felicia had a feeling there were a few Hufflepuffs who'd surprise people.

Penelope nudged her lightly. "What about you? I heard about your little moment in Potions. The Slytherins wouldn't shut up about it for two days straight. Not that I mind, of course—when it's you, it's worth listening to."

"All I did was tweak the timing on the Cure for Boils potion," Felicia said with a small shake of her head.

Penelope blinked at her, clearly recalling her own near-disaster during that same class. For a Hufflepuff who'd barely managed to get her cauldron under control, the idea of someone improving the potion felt borderline mythical.

"To be fair, I'm just impressed mine didn't explode," Penelope muttered, wide-eyed. "You're basically a miracle worker."

Dedalus, adjusting the strap of his satchel, regarded Felicia with a more measured curiosity. "Speaking of which... how are you handling everything?" His tone held a note of seriousness. "You're not exactly in the warmest house."

Felicia gave a soft laugh. "I knew most of them before I even got here," she replied casually. "Social circles, family events—same faces, different setting. They didn't intimidate me then, and they certainly won't now."

She glanced at Penelope for a beat, then sighed and reached into her bag. "Here," she said, pulling out a sleek blue quill and handing it over. "You probably need this more than I do. It takes notes during class on its own—just be mindful of what you say near it. I barely use it; I'm too picky about how I format my notes."

Penelope's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. She took the quill like it was a bar of gold. "You absolute goddess," she grinned. "You just became my favorite person. Not that you weren't already, but now it's officially notarized."

Dedalus gave her a flat look. "You're absolutely going to abuse that."

"I absolutely am," Penelope replied without shame, clutching the quill like a prized trophy.

Felicia chuckled at the exchange, then caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and spotted Harry passing through the hall, looking somewhat worn from the day. There was something about his expression—detached, thoughtful—that made her pause.

"I wonder how the famous Harry Potter is holding up," she mused aloud. "I can't imagine what it's like having that much attention on you all the time."

Both Penelope and Dedalus followed her gaze. Harry walked with a quiet stiffness, oblivious to the older students whispering as he passed.

"Poor bloke hasn't had a second to breathe, has he?" Penelope said, frowning. "Bet he's regretting not shaking Malfoy's hand now."

Dedalus snorted. "Doubtful. That would've been an even bigger disaster." He folded his arms, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Harry. "But she's not wrong. The attention's only going to turn into expectation. That's the real test."

His gaze drifted back to Felicia.

"It already has," she said quietly. "He didn't get expelled after flying class. In fact, McGonagall pulled him aside and marched him straight to Oliver Wood. He's being trained as Gryffindor's Seeker. Youngest one in Hogwarts history."

Penelope's jaw dropped. "What?! He's a first-year."

"Exactly," Felicia replied, her tone thoughtful. "All eyes were already on him… now they'll be watching even closer."

She knew about Harry becoming Seeker mostly because of Draco's meltdown in the common room when he heard the news. He'd barely managed to contain his fury—his long-coveted spotlight swiped away in one clean swoop. He'd been sulking ever since.

"It's probably for the best that he didn't take Draco's offer," Felicia mused. "Now he has to forge his own path in the magical world. It won't be easy, but… I think he'll manage."

Penelope hummed in agreement, twirling her new quill between her fingers. "Let's just hope he doesn't get buried under everyone's expectations."

Dedalus nodded slightly, his sharp gaze following Harry as a few older students whispered behind cupped hands.

Felicia's eyes drifted again—this time toward Draco, who was holding court near the stairs with Crabbe and Goyle. His usual smug confidence was on full display, his gestures calculated for effect. She sighed inwardly. It was always a performance with him—ensuring people saw what he wanted them to see.

Penelope followed her gaze, then smirked as she leaned in with a mischievous glint. "You keep looking at Malfoy like that, people are going to start thinking you've got a crush."

Felicia turned to her like she'd just been slapped into another dimension. "What?"

Dedalus raised a brow. "She's not looking—she's observing," he said dryly. "Forester doesn't waste time on something as trivial as a crush."

Felicia shot him a matching look of confusion, while Penelope just grinned, waggling her eyebrows with renewed determination. "Mhm. Sure."

Felicia side-eyed her. "Keep wiggling those brows and I'll transfigure them into caterpillars."

Penelope gasped, clutching her forehead. "You wouldn't dare—these are my best feature!"

Dedalus groaned as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "You're both ridiculous."

Felicia glanced at the clock on the wall and stretched. "Last class. Charms. Looks like we all have it together."

Penelope groaned as she mirrored the stretch. "Charms had better be fun. If I sit through one more dry lecture, I swear I'll—" She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering the enchanted quill in her hand. A slow grin spread across her face.

Dedalus gave her a look of dread. "Oh, Merlin. She's going to let it take notes for her, isn't she?"

Felicia chuckled. "It doesn't work that way—but let her believe what she wants."

With a wink, Penelope tucked the quill into her bag and looped her arm through Felicia's. "Come on, my brilliant, generous friend. Let's finish the day with a little magic."

Charms class was taught by Professor Flitwick, a cheerful, sprightly man who radiated excitement the moment the students began to file in. His eyes sparkled behind his spectacles, clearly delighted by the fresh faces of the new year.

He was especially eager to see a few names he'd already heard whispers about—Felicia Forester and Hermione Granger among them. It didn't take long for the faculty to notice a quiet rivalry forming between the two girls—one of wit and academic prowess. It hadn't been declared outright, but ever since Potions, Hermione had become determined to be the top student of their year. She hadn't counted on someone like Felicia—someone who pushed her to work even harder.

"Welcome, welcome to Charms class!" Professor Flitwick beamed, his high-pitched voice echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.

The classroom itself was airy and bright, with four enormous windows flooding the space with golden sunlight. Enchanted paper doves flitted lazily through the air, lending a whimsical feel. The layout was a bit different from other classrooms: long, tiered desks were arranged on platforms, each row slightly higher than the last, giving every student a clear view of the large blackboard and the professor's desk below. The desk itself, though somewhat oversized for Professor Flitwick's diminutive frame, was neatly organized with chalk, scrolls, and a stack of textbooks.

Once everyone had settled, Flitwick took roll, then hopped up onto a small stack of books behind his desk.

"Now then!" he chirped, clapping his hands. "Today, we'll begin with one of the most foundational spells in any young witch or wizard's arsenal—the Levitation Charm!"

He turned to the board where the word Wingardium Leviosa was written in elegant script, alongside diagrams of the proper wand motion.

"For those of you who've never cast a spell before, don't worry. This is a beginner's charm, but it teaches you one of the most important lessons in all magic: the harmony between intent, incantation, and movement."

He raised his wand with a flourish. "Observe! The motion is a swish and flick," he said, demonstrating with practiced ease. "Simple, but essential. It's a movement you'll see echoed in many other spells."

He gestured to the diagrams on the board. "Now, go on—just the motion for now. Swish… and flick!"

The students raised their wands and mimicked the motion. Some were smooth and confident, others hesitant and awkward. Professor Flitwick weaved through the rows with encouraging nods and gentle corrections.

"Very good, very good," Professor Flitwick said with a pleased nod, bouncing slightly on the tips of his toes. "Now, let's pair the motion with the incantation—Wingardium Leviosa. Watch carefully."

He lifted his wand and performed the spell with slow, deliberate grace. The feather before him rose gently into the air, as if gravity had been politely dismissed. It didn't just float aimlessly—it lifted with precision, stopping exactly where he intended.

"Now it's your turn," he said cheerfully, giving a flick of his wand. In an instant, pristine white feathers appeared in front of every student. "Remember—swish and flick, paired perfectly with the incantation. No early flicks, no dragging out the words. Focus your intent. Begin!"

The classroom immediately erupted in a chaotic mix of wand flourishes and mangled pronunciations.

"Wingard-levi—wait—no, that's not right—"

"Win-gar-DEE-um… ugh!"

Flitwick remained calm amid the flurry of misfires, offering gentle corrections as he moved from row to row. Clearly, he was no stranger to the first-day mayhem.

"You're going to poke someone's eye out!" Hermione snapped, grabbing Ron's arm as he nearly jabbed it in her direction.

Felicia, who had just begun to raise her wand, glanced over with a bemused expression. She'd practiced enough wand technique at home to recognize who definitely hadn't.

After a brief exchange of bickering, Hermione exhaled and lifted her chin. "It's *Wingardium Levi-OH-sa," she corrected, emphasizing the syllables like a well-rehearsed line.

With a graceful swish and flick, she spoke the charm—and her feather floated effortlessly into the air.

Professor Flitwick's eyes lit up. "Oh! Very good, Miss Granger! Excellent control!"

Felicia chuckled under her breath as Ron gawked at the hovering feather with a look of open defeat.

Across the room, Penelope accidentally slapped herself in the face with her own feather. "I'm fine! I'm fine," she announced quickly as it stuck to her cheek. Dedalus, seated nearby, was deep in concentration, glaring down at his unmoving feather.

"I don't understand—the theory makes perfect sense," he muttered, flicking his wrist again. "It must be the angle. Or the tempo. Or—"

Felicia finally focused, her hand moving in a smooth, practiced arc—swish and flick. "Wingardium Leviosa," she said with steady intent.

It worked—a bit too well.

Not only did her feather rise gracefully into the air, but so did nearly every loose object within her immediate radius. Parchment fluttered, quills spun, and a nearby ink bottle hovered perilously before righting itself midair. Her wand pulsed with barely contained energy, as though it had taken initiative on her behalf—eager to prove itself, unwilling to be overshadowed by Hermione's precise casting. It almost seemed to guide her, pushing her magic forward whether she willed it or not.

"Oh my!" Professor Flitwick's eyes widened in astonishment. He had seen talent before—many times—but this? This was something else entirely. Extending a targeted charm like that to affect multiple objects wasn't standard beginner magic. He gave a delighted squeak. "In all my years—never—this is absolutely brilliant!"

Draco Malfoy, who had finally coaxed his own feather into the air, paused mid-gloat to observe the spectacle. His smirk twitched. He knew Felicia's wand had a willful streak, but of course it had to make a scene about it. Always dramatic, that one.

Several nearby Slytherins turned to stare, caught between awe and irritation. Penelope leaned in with a crooked grin.

"At least someone's wand is an overachiever," she whispered. "Mine just tried to smack me in the face."

Felicia shook her head, a smirk playing at her lips as she stifled a laugh. Around her, the class gradually returned to order, though the buzz of excitement lingered. Even as they resumed their practice, Felicia remained the student to watch.

Hermione didn't show much reaction, but the furrow in her brow deepened. She wanted to be the best—needed to be—and this time, she hadn't been first. Not yet. But next time? She wasn't going to let that happen again.