Chapter 12

On the day students began preparing to leave for the holidays, Felicia strolled through the Great Hall and spotted Harry and Ron deep in a game of Wizard's Chess. Her eyes lit up with curiosity as she approached, leaning over Harry's shoulder just in time to see one of his pieces get smashed into rubble.

"So, who's winning?" she asked with a teasing lilt. She was intrigued—she rarely saw anyone her age playing, aside from herself and Draco.

Ron didn't bother looking up, too focused on the board to register who had spoken. "Me, obviously," he said with a smug grin. "Harry's rubbish at Wizard's Chess."

Felicia raised a brow. For a brief moment, Ron's posture and tone reminded her of Draco. The resemblance made her smirk. She turned her attention to Harry.

He huffed and slouched slightly as one of his knights was shattered by Ron's bishop. "I'm learning," he muttered.

Felicia's eyes swept the board. She could see Ron's strategy unfolding—and just as easily saw that Harry was unfamiliar with the deeper mechanics of the game. He was more reactive than tactical, unsure of how to position his pieces for broader control.

Ron leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "It's all about strategy, see? Gotta think three steps ahead." He grinned at Harry. "You have to play like your life's on the line."

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. "Didn't realize chess was that cutthroat."

"Only if you're good at it," Ron replied with a shrug.

"Don't worry, Harry," Felicia said with a light laugh. "Not everyone sees it as a life-or-death scenario."

Ron finally looked up—and froze slightly when he realized who he'd been chatting so casually with. His ears flushed pink. She was a Slytherin, after all. But then a curious swell of pride bubbled in his chest. If he could beat Felicia Forester...

"You play?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I do," she replied with calm interest, then turned back to Harry. "You're focusing too much on the immediate outcome of a single move. You also need to read the flow of the board—watch the way the surrounding pieces are positioned."

She pointed to several spots Harry could have moved to on his last turn, her tone thoughtful but never condescending.

Harry glanced at the board, following where Felicia was pointing. His brows furrowed as he realized—too late—that he'd missed a much better move.

Ron snorted.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think my brain's still wired for Quidditch, not chess."

"Don't say that," Felicia said with an encouraging smile. "If you brush up on things like Wizard's Chess, you'll actually become more formidable at Quidditch too. Being able to see a few steps ahead is never a bad thing. But being able to act on the fly when plans fall apart—that's just as important."

Ron leaned forward, eyes glinting with challenge. "Tell you what, Forester... how about you teach him by example? Fancy a match after I wipe the floor with Harry?"

Harry groaned. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron just grinned. "What? I'm helping you learn." He turned back to Felicia with a raised brow. "So? Think you can take me?"

Felicia smirked. "Well, I never back down from a good challenge. But let's make it more interesting, Weasley. If you lose, any sweetcakes you get for the next week are mine."

The kitchens didn't make them often—meaning she had to be sure the prize was worth it.

Ron's eyes widened slightly. Giving up food—especially sweetcakes—was practically sacrilege. Still, he couldn't help but admire the boldness of her wager.

"My sweetcakes?" he repeated, scandalized. A glint of reluctant admiration flickered across his face. "Blimey, Forester. That's cold."

Harry grinned. "Guess you better win, then."

Ron scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for battle. "Oh, I will." He moved his queen, trapping Harry's last rook. "Checkmate."

Harry sighed and slid over on the long bench, making room for Felicia. "Alright, I'm out." He gestured to the empty space. "Your turn, Forester."

Ron smirked as he reset the board with a flick of his wand. "Hope you're ready. Those sweetcakes aren't going anywhere."

Felicia smirked back and gestured toward him. "You've got white. Go ahead."

Ron cracked his knuckles with theatrical flair. "Alright then."

And the game began.

As they played, Felicia spoke with casual ease. "So… you and Granger seem to be keeping busy these days. You three haven't been throwing yourselves into danger, have you?"

It wasn't quite an accusation—more a pointed observation. She had already noticed them skulking about the castle, chasing whispers and shadows. Her brow arched as she looked at Ron, then side-eyed Harry.

Ron nearly knocked over a pawn as he startled under her gaze. "What? No—why would you think that?"

Harry, watching as one of Ron's knights was neatly taken by Felicia's pawn, tensed slightly. "We've just been… exploring," he said, attempting nonchalance. "Looking around the castle. Curiously."

"Right," Felicia replied, tone cool. "So you haven't been in the library researching what's behind the forbidden corridor—the one we were specifically told not to go near?"

She waited for Ron to make his move.

He frowned, nudging his remaining knight forward, clearly trying to divide his focus between the board and the increasingly sharp conversation. "Look, it's not like we're sneaking around doing anything dangerous."

Felicia flicked her eyes to him, unimpressed.

Ron cleared his throat. "Okay, maybe it's a little dangerous."

Harry sighed and glanced over at her. "You remember the Quidditch match, yeah? Hermione and Ron told me you were there—you saw it too. Something was off. Someone was jinxing my broom."

Felicia didn't answer right away. She simply looked at him, thoughtful.

She understood the drive to uncover the truth. Someone was targeting Harry. She felt it in her bones. But while they were certain it was Professor Snape, she had her doubts. No—she was almost sure it was Professor Quirrell.

Still, hard to convince anyone otherwise when Snape was already wearing the villain's mask in their eyes.

Ron, still focused on the board, muttered, "And you're a Slytherin—you lot are good at piecing these sorts of things together, yeah?" His eyes flicked up at her as he made his move. "So what do you think is going on?"

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be an insult or a compliment," Felicia replied, raising a brow. She moved a piece with precision. "Check."

Ron grimaced, eyeing the board as he realized just how badly he was losing. He shifted his bishop defensively, but the move lacked any real confidence.

Felicia looked at Harry. "I understand why you suspect Snape. I do. But I really don't think he's the one trying to harm you."

Harry's brows knit as he studied her. "You really don't think it's Snape?" he asked, quieter now, more thoughtful.

Felicia sighed, glancing briefly between the two of them. "I'm not saying this because I'm in Slytherin. I'm saying it because it's something my father told me—dark wizards don't always look like villains. They're not always cloaked in doom and gloom. Sometimes they're the ones smiling at you. The ones who seem kind."

Then she moved her queen for the first time. "Check again."

Ron scowled at the board and spotted the trap she'd set. "Bloody hell…"

Harry nodded slowly. "We'll be careful… but we can't just sit around, either. I don't want to be an easy target."

Felicia turned toward him at that, something shifting in her expression. She felt a flicker of something in her chest. That was likely the reason she'd spoken up at all.

Harry hadn't asked to be the center of danger—but there he was, caught in it anyway.

Ron made one final attempt to salvage the game, but Felicia studied the board calmly and made her last move.

"Checkmate."

Harry chuckled. "She got you, mate."

Ron groaned and dropped his head to the table. "This is the worst day."

"Well, this was fun," Felicia said as she stood. "We should play more often."

She pulled out a Chocolate Frog, then gave Ron a dramatic flick to the top of his head where it rested on the table—a final punctuation mark on his defeat.

"Hey!" he scowled, rubbing the spot, but before he could complain further, she tossed him the box. He caught it with a surprised grunt.

"I still expect my sweetcakes," she said with a smirk, stretching her arms before turning to head toward the main gates. She had work to do—and needed to find somewhere quiet to test a few new spells, along with the ones her father had drilled into her.

"Yeah, yeah… you'll get your ill-gotten sweetcakes," Ron sighed theatrically, though there was no real bite to it as he looked down at the box in his hands.

As Felicia walked away, Ron unwrapped the Chocolate Frog. With the ease of long practice, he caught it mid-leap and bit off the head. "I guess she's not that bad… for a Slytherin."

Harry, however, was still staring after Felicia, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. When he finally looked back at Ron, it was just in time to catch the decapitation of the still-twitching frog. He raised a brow, then grew more serious.

"She's right, though. We do need to be careful."

Ron glanced at the Chocolate Frog card. "Oh, I don't have this one—Bertie Bott."

He looked back at Harry and muttered, "If she really wanted to be helpful, she'd tell Malfoy to stay out of our business."

Harry didn't respond right away. Something told him she already was.

Felicia spent the following day searching for one of Hogwarts' secrets—a particular one mentioned in the Forester Journals, a treasured collection passed down through her family. The entries spanned generations, some dating back over two hundred years. One journal in particular, written by Lyra Forester, had caught her interest.

Lyra hadn't manifested her magic until her fifth year at Hogwarts—a rarity in itself. Her journal, dated to the late 1800s, chronicled the unusual path her magical life took. Felicia remembered vividly one entry in which Lyra described being shown a hidden room by two Slytherins: Ominis Gaunt, a descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself, and a duel-obsessed classmate named Sebastian Sallow. The room was called the Undercroft.

It was said the room was first discovered and used by a girl named Isidora, someone with the rare ability to perceive and manipulate a mysterious form of ancient magic. Felicia didn't possess that kind of sight, but the story fascinated her all the same. The magic, the secrecy, the weight of legacy—it had all lingered in her thoughts. Whatever its original purpose, the Undercroft sounded like the perfect place to practice spells she couldn't risk testing elsewhere. And that was reason enough to find it.

She would have gone looking sooner, but she thought she'd lost the parchment where she'd jotted down Lyra's directions. It wasn't until she opened her private tome of personal spellwork that the slip of parchment fell out—and her eyes had lit up with excitement.

Now, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, Felicia wandered slowly through the corridors, murmuring to herself. "It's supposed to be some sort of clock…?"

She descended a side passage near the stone steps—an unassuming corridor, easy to overlook. As she turned the corner, she paused.

There it was.

Felicia blinked at the strange structure before her. "Is this… it?"

It resembled a cabinet more than a clock—tall, ornate, and covered in arcane carvings. Its face held multiple clock hands, but there was no ticking, no movement at all. It looked more like a puzzle than a timepiece.

She glanced around. No footsteps, no voices. The corridor was silent.

Perfect.

"All right," she murmured under her breath, drawing her wand. "Only one way to find out."

According to the journal, the trick was to point all the clock hands upward using magic. She slipped the parchment back into her robe pocket and began.

A series of soft clicks and mechanical whirs filled the corridor as her magic flowed through the device with precise control. One by one, the hands rotated, aligning perfectly at the top. Then—with a final, resonant click—the clock face opened like a door.

Felicia's eyes widened. She'd actually found it.

Stepping inside, she took in the space with a slow, reverent gaze. The room was large—more than enough for her purposes. It echoed faintly with potential, as though waiting to be filled with spellwork and secrets.

Redscale chirped excitedly from her side, sensing her joy as she jogged a small circle around the open floor.

"Ooo! This is perfect," she grinned, her voice full of delight. A private retreat. A hidden room. And all the space she needed to practice safely.

She already had her bag slung over her shoulder, her personal spellbook tucked securely inside.

"Well then," she said with a spark in her eye, "let's get started."