Chapter 13
Felicia sat up in the nearly empty Slytherin dormitory—not that she minded the solitude. In fact, she found it rather peaceful.
Redscale stirred beside her, stretching with a soft creak of enchanted joints. Sometimes Felicia forgot he was just a magical replica and not a living creature. Her father's craftsmanship was that convincing. The ruby-like scales shimmered in the flickering lantern light, glowing softly in the dim room.
"Good morning, Redscale," she murmured, giving him a gentle scratch beneath his chin. The Ruby Snarltooth chirped happily, releasing a puff of warm, smoky breath from his nostrils.
Then her eyes widened as she abruptly sat up straight.
It's Christmas.
She immediately swung her legs over the side of the bed, already reaching for her things. She wasn't entirely sure how Hogwarts handled Christmas morning, but if the usual feasts were any indication, the food was bound to be spectacular—especially the sweets.
Redscale watched her from the bed, his small head tilted inquisitively as she darted back and forth across the room. Her enchanted grooming tools, a gift from her mother, floated around her in a well-practiced routine, tidying her hair with quiet efficiency.
Felicia rummaged through her trunk, looking for something to wear besides the standard uniform. Today, they were allowed to wear regular clothing. She hadn't brought many outfits from home, but what she did bring was carefully selected. Even casual clothes had to be balanced—polished, but effortless.
After her deep brown hair was swept into a stylish half-bun—sleek on top, with soft waves flowing down—Felicia slipped into a dress she'd carefully selected. It wasn't overly ornate, just elegant enough to show she cared about the occasion. The emerald green fabric complemented her house colors, and she'd chosen matching shoes to complete the look.
With a flick of her wand, she added silver embellishments to the hem and sleeves—subtle but refined. She was a Slytherin, after all.
Felicia twirled once in front of the mirror, admiring the finished result. "What do you think, Redscale?"
The little dragon tilted his head, as if truly considering it, before chirping his approval.
Smiling, Felicia held out her arm, and Redscale flew from the bed, landing neatly before climbing up to nestle behind her neck, partially hidden by her hair. So far, none of the professors had said anything about him—likely because he hadn't caused any trouble. But he certainly hadn't gone unnoticed.
Descending the stairs into the common room, she found a handful of older Slytherins lounging near the hearth. Their heads turned at the sound of her steps, eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. Dressed in simpler attire, their reactions were a mix of surprise and mild amusement.
"Well, that's quite the lovely dress, Forester," one of the Slytherin girls remarked with a sharp but impressed look. "Outshining us—even on Christmas."
The others chuckled lightly, but the mood was far from hostile. Without the likes of Flint and the usual intense personalities hovering around, things felt... calmer.
Felicia offered a smirk. "It's not every day we get a break from the uniform. I'm not one to waste a perfect opportunity."
The other Slytherins didn't argue with her response—they understood. One of them nodded toward the tree by the windows that overlooked the Black Lake.
"There are some gifts for you under the tree. We already took ours."
Felicia turned toward the Christmas tree, its lights reflecting softly off the dark water beyond the glass. Nestled beneath the branches were several elegantly wrapped parcels—she recognized her parents' wrapping style instantly. These weren't just thoughtful gifts; they were overcompensations. A subtle way to say we're sorry for leaving her at school alone.
She smiled softly. "You two really didn't have to…"
She knelt beside the tree and began opening them one by one.
The first was an enchanted hairpin—one she had admired for ages. It could hold a single protective spell at a time, and she was eager to examine its enchantments and understand how it worked.
The next gift was from her father: a pair of finely crafted dueling gloves. Felicia laughed quietly to herself. Of course he'd anticipate that she'd end up dueling eventually.
She worked her way through the rest, grateful and amused in equal measure, until one small box stood out. It wasn't from either of her parents—but from Charlie Weasley.
She raised a brow, intrigued, and opened it carefully.
Inside was a dragon scale. Not just any scale, either—a Hungarian Horntail. Judging by its size and sheen, she suspected it came from the very same dragon.
Most would've been terrified after such an encounter, but Felicia hadn't come away from that experience with fear. If anything, it deepened her respect for dragons. She lifted the scale gently, letting the light play across its ridged surface. A quiet smile touched her lips.
She really did love that dragon… and hoped she might see it again someday—under better circumstances.
Glancing at the clock, her expression softened. Draco would be opening his gifts soon.
She remembered how, back in Madam Malkin's shop, he had mentioned wanting his school robes to stand out. He cared about the details—wanted to be seen. Embellishments were allowed, as she'd later discovered once term began.
Draco sat in the Malfoy Manor drawing room, surrounded by neatly stacked piles of opened gifts. Wrapping paper lay discarded at his feet—though only for a moment before the family's house-elf whisked it away.
Silks. Fine, leather-bound books. Expensive sweets he didn't particularly care for.
Only one package remained. His fingers hesitated over it—the one from Felicia.
He hadn't forgotten. If anything, he'd been waiting for this moment.
With uncharacteristic care, he began to unwrap it, peeling back the paper slowly, deliberately. Inside, nestled in velvet, were a pair of silver snake pins.
His breath caught—just slightly.
They were perfect. Elegant. Refined. Distinctly Slytherin, yet not gaudy or overdone. The kind of detail that would set his uniform apart—subtle, but impossible to miss.
For a long moment, he simply stared.
Then, without thinking, he rose and made his way to his room, where his school robe lay neatly folded in preparation for his return to Hogwarts. He slipped it on and carefully pinned one of the silver snakes to the cuff, adjusting it until it sat just right.
The metal caught the light, blending seamlessly with the dark fabric.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
Of course she'd know exactly what to get him.
Felicia made her way to breakfast in the Great Hall and immediately spotted Harry and Ron. It was hard not to notice Ron—his knitted sweater stood out like a beacon, especially given his height. If Draco had been there, he undoubtedly would've made some snide remark about the sweater's gaudy nature.
Felicia, however, didn't share that sentiment. If anything, she saw it for what it was—a testament to how much Ron's mother loved him.
As she approached, she noticed that Harry looked especially cheerful. He must've had a good morning.
"Well, don't you look adorable, Ron," Felicia teased lightly.
Ron's head snapped toward her, eyes widening. His cheeks—and ears—flushed a deep red, both from her words and the implication behind them.
"Relax, I come in peace," Felicia giggled, then promptly reached across the table and snatched the sweetcake in front of him.
He groaned. "A deal's a deal," she reminded him, taking a triumphant bite.
"Right…" he muttered, sulking only a little.
"Happy Christmas," she said with a bright smile to both of them.
Harry returned the smile. "Happy Christmas. You dressed up for the occasion."
"Of course. I plan to take full advantage of our one day of freedom," she said with a grin. Her gaze shifted back to Ron, who sat a little straighter, bracing himself for another jab.
Felicia laughed. "Ron, you look like you think I'm about to bite you."
Ron scoffed. "You just might."
Felicia raised a brow, then pulled out a small basket of sweets she'd put together for them. "Enjoy," she said simply, setting it down on the table.
With a soft hum, she turned and walked away, her robes swishing behind her.
Harry and Ron both stared after her.
Ron eyed the sweets like they might be poisoned. Harry, on the other hand, unwrapped one of the chocolates—Honeydukes, no less—and popped it into his mouth. His eyes lit up almost immediately.
"I could definitely get used to her bringing these," he said, grinning. He glanced at Ron. "I know she's a Slytherin, but come on—she's not that bad. You act like she's about to hex you into oblivion."
"It's not the Slytherin part," Ron replied, his tone verging on theatrical. "It's the fact she's a Forester. Her dad's a master duelist. Her mum's a big-shot Potions Master. And she's neck-and-neck with Hermione. She's terrifying! The Slytherin bit just makes it worse."
Harry blinked, surprised. He hadn't known all of that.
He turned to glance at Felicia as she walked away. She came from a powerful family, that much was clear—similar to Malfoy in background, but not in how she carried herself. She was... controlled. Composed in a way Draco rarely was.
Now it made sense—why she always seemed so knowledgeable. He had only known her father was a Dragonologist, thanks to Ron and the whole Charlie story. But this... it added a new layer.
Still, he was grateful. Especially after everything—her help during the troll incident, her insights, her steady presence.
She was definitely someone to have on your side.
January arrived, and with it, the return of the full student body to Hogwarts.
Felicia was sitting in the Slytherin common room when Draco strode in, already wearing the silver snake pins. They caught the light, gleaming sharply against the dark fabric of his robes.
He spotted her immediately. His cheeks tinted pink before he quickly looked away—just in time to catch the knowing smirk on her face.
"Wow, Malfoy, those look really nice," Felicia said with a smile.
Several other Slytherins glanced over at her comment, their gazes following hers to Draco's cuffs. It didn't take long for the murmurs to start—though, for once, they weren't teasing.
The consensus was clear: approval.
The pins were a subtle but powerful statement—elevating Draco's appearance, solidifying his image as someone who clearly belonged in Slytherin House.
Adrien raised an eyebrow as he passed by, noting Felicia's tone—and Draco's increasingly smug expression. His nose practically tilted higher with every passing second as the attention fed his ego.
Adrien leaned in as he walked past Felicia, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
"I hope giving him all these wins doesn't come back to bite you."
Felicia didn't miss a beat. "I doubt it," she said, her tone light, almost dismissive.
Draco could be an idiot sometimes, sure—but he wasn't foolish enough to turn on her. They'd been friends since they were in nappies. He let his father get into his head too much, but Felicia was one of the few who saw him for who he really was.
Adrien smirked faintly, though there was a hint of genuine concern in his eyes.
"Right... well, I hope you're right."
He watched Draco a moment longer before moving on, mulling over his own quiet worry.
Lucius Malfoy was a man of heavy expectations, and even at eleven, Draco already carried that weight. Adrien wondered—when the real burdens of legacy came down harder in the years ahead, would Felicia still see Draco the same way?
A few weeks later, Felicia was in the library, scanning the shelves for a particular book on spell crafting—something about the theory behind creating spells or combining existing ones.
As she searched, she noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione tucked away at a corner table, surrounded by an intimidating pile of books.
Curious, Felicia wandered over, a faintly cool smile playing on her lips. She leaned over Hermione's shoulder without a word.
"You ought to be hired by the Ministry at this point," she said smoothly.
Hermione nearly jumped out of her chair, clutching her book to her chest. "Merlin's beard, Forester, don't do that!"
Felicia raised an unimpressed brow, her expression speaking volumes.
Ron, flipping aimlessly through a battered tome titled Magical Beasts and Where Not to Find Them, snorted. "Yeah, well, she probably will be in the Ministry someday—assuming she doesn't drive herself mad first."
Harry gave Felicia a sheepish smile and sighed.
Hermione huffed and snapped her book closed with a thump. "So I suppose we've been caught."
Ron's eyes widened. "Does this mean—?"
Hermione shot him a warning glare. "No. If she were going to tattle, she would've done it back when we fed her that cover story about the troll."
Harry looked back at Felicia, studying her for a moment before asking, "So… are you here to warn us again?"
Felicia flicked her gaze over Harry, then to the others, surveying the table stacked high with books. She exhaled quietly.
"Since you three seem determined to throw yourselves into a dragon's den…" she muttered, eyeing the towering pile critically. "None of these books have what you're looking for. You need to think more historically."
Hermione's eyes widened as realization clicked into place.
"Oh!" She shoved the book she was reading aside and practically lunged for another one in the stack. Hogwarts: A History slid free from the pile, and she quickly flipped to a particular chapter, her fingers flying across the pages.
It all started to come together—the thing Hagrid had retrieved from the vault at Gringotts, the small, mysterious package...
"Here! The Philosopher's Stone!" Hermione said triumphantly, reading aloud from the passage. She now remembered why the name Nicolas Flamel had sounded so familiar when Hagrid had let it slip.
It all made sense.
"That's what Snape's after, then," Harry said, leaning in. "And that's what that three-headed dog has been guarding."
Felicia sighed quietly to herself. They were still convinced it was Snape.
Hermione turned to look at Felicia, frowning thoughtfully. "How did you know?"
Felicia met her gaze evenly.
The truth was, she hadn't known exactly—but she knew one thing: if it had anything to do with Hogwarts' deepest secrets, history would leave a breadcrumb trail.
"Hogwarts wasn't just built to be a school," she said coolly. "It's been known to be safer than Gringotts for protecting powerful things."
She exhaled softly, her tone growing sharper. "Also, you three really need to think harder about your suspects. Snape is one of the best Potions Masters alive. If he were after something like the Philosopher's Stone, don't you think he'd also be working on brewing potions to mimic its effects?"
There would have been clear signs if Snape were brewing something suspicious in the Potions classroom—but there weren't.
Felicia, however, did suspect someone else. More importantly, she suspected someone truly obsessed with immortality…
You-Know-Who.
Her gaze flicked briefly to Harry's scar.
She didn't like thinking about the Dark Lord. It brought up memories of the stories her father had told her—the horrors he'd endured, not to frighten her, but to make sure she always stayed alert. You could never truly know who might still be carrying out that dark legacy, even now.
Still, nothing about Snape set off alarms for her. He was simply a gruff, short-tempered professor with an alarmingly sharp mind.
"Whoever's after it," Felicia said in a low voice, "they definitely aren't an amateur."
Hermione nodded slowly, absorbing her words. "That's true…" she murmured, brows furrowing. "Still… we can't rule anyone out."
Harry's expression darkened. "No, we can't. If it's Voldemort's followers—"
Felicia's brows shot up at the casual use of the name. She looked at Harry in surprise.
Hermione and Ron both caught her reaction.
"He does that," Ron said, grimacing slightly. He still felt a shiver every time Harry said the name aloud.
Felicia glanced at Ron, then back at Harry. "I suppose Harry has that luxury, considering," she said, her tone carefully neutral.
Hermione glanced between them before refocusing. "So we can agree: whoever's after the Stone is also after Harry for some reason—and they aren't some novice with a wand." She tapped the open book lightly. "We need to find out who it is, quickly. Otherwise, Harry might be in even more danger."
Felicia didn't argue.
The only reason she was even staying in this conversation was because she recognized the danger was real. The professors must have suspected something—but given how exposed Harry still felt, there clearly wasn't much the staff could act on.
It was infuriating.
"Just… promise me you'll be careful," Felicia said at last, exhaling a sigh.
She wasn't even sure why she cared so much. This whole situation reeked of classic Gryffindor recklessness.
"We'll do our best," Harry said with a small, earnest smile.
It was the most Felicia could reasonably hope for.
Felicia's birthday came later that same week, on January 26.
She might have forgotten entirely—if not for the three owls that swooped down during lunch. She looked up, her eyes widening as she quickly reached out to catch a letter and two parcels. She managed to grab one, but Adrien Queensbury stood up and easily caught the other before it could fall.
"Well, aren't you popular today," he said with a lazy, confident smirk.
Several students from other houses noticed the commotion as well.
Draco glanced over—and his eyes widened slightly in realization before he quickly masked it with his usual air of indifference.
"Already turning twelve, Forester?" Draco called out, loud enough for both the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables to hear.
Heads snapped toward her almost instantly, and just like that, a wave of "Happy Birthday!"s rippled across the Slytherin table—and even from other houses.
Felicia blinked, a little taken aback. She hadn't expected that kind of reception.
"Blimey, Forester, you should've said something," Adrien added, raising a brow. He wasn't great with dates—despite having known her family for some time.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked over, surprised.
Ron scoffed. "Of course she's older."
Hermione shot him a flat look. "Would it have mattered?"
Ron didn't answer—he just shrugged, his expression holding a faint bloody Slytherins attitude.
Harry, meanwhile, watched Felicia closely. He smiled a little, noting how she handled the unexpected attention.
She had been caught off guard at first, but she didn't shy away. She turned to face the crowd, offering a composed, graceful nod of thanks—nothing showy, but confident all the same.
Harry admired that.
He wished he could master that kind of composure one day—the ability to handle attention he never asked for, the way she just did.
At another part of the Gryffindor table, the twins had taken notice of the commotion.
"Well, would you look at that—it's our favorite Slytherin's birthday," George said with a smirk, glancing over at Felicia.
Fred leaned forward, surveying the Slytherin table thoughtfully. "Think we should do something for her?" he asked, already scheming—not something mean, but a prank that might actually make her laugh.
George rubbed his chin in exaggerated contemplation.
Across the table, Lee Jordan caught part of the conversation, raising a brow in interest.
"Planning to prank the Slytherin girl?" Lee grinned. Anything that involved pranking Slytherins was usually considered high entertainment.
George and Fred turned to him in perfect synchronization—both wearing matching looks of confusion.
"Now why would we do that?" they asked in unison.
Lee blinked, thrown off by the genuine surprise in their voices.
He had never heard them hesitate when it came to Slytherins before. Their tone made it sound like pranking her was completely off-limits.
Lee glanced over at Felicia again, his curiosity piqued.
Whatever sort of anomaly she was, she had clearly done what no other Slytherin had managed—earning the twins' respect.
After the excitement finally settled down, Felicia turned her attention to her gifts.
The first parcel was a puzzle—though not just any puzzle. Her mother had clearly chosen it with care, something complex enough to match Felicia's level of intellect. A note was tucked inside, promising a reward for solving it. Knowing her mother, the prize was likely a potion of some kind—and probably something impressive.
The second parcel was from her father.
Felicia's eyes widened as she unwrapped it—a journal. But not just any journal. It was a Forester Journal, specifically belonging to her grandfather.
A grin spread across her face, so bright it caught Adrien's attention from across the table.
"I never thought I'd see someone get so excited over an old journal," he teased lightly, though there was no malice in his tone.
Felicia barely looked up as she ran her fingers over the worn leather cover. "My father found my grandfather's journal and knew I'd want to read it."
She could hardly contain her excitement.
The Foresters weren't just a name; they were a legacy. A true lineage of witches and wizards who had contributed to the safety and balance of the wizarding world in their own ways—sometimes through battle, sometimes through quieter forms of mastery.
Not every story was grand, but every story mattered.
And something about that truth struck deep within her.
As Felicia walked through one of the side halls off the Great Hall, she became aware of two towering figures behind her.
Her lips twitched, but she kept her composure.
"Fred, George. How can I help you?" she asked smoothly, without even turning.
"Mm… getting used to our presence, are you?" Fred smirked, leaning forward into view on her left.
"We might have to start dropping in from the ceiling," George said, mirroring his brother's lean on her right.
Felicia glanced between them, unimpressed but faintly amused. "You're both ridiculous."
"That we are," George agreed, grinning.
"But we know you wouldn't have it any other way," Fred added with a wink.
"Happy Birthday, Forester," they said in unison.
Fred produced a small object from his pocket—a delicate, glass-like spinning top—and handed it to her. Felicia accepted it, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.
"Why, thank you," she said with a polite smile, though it was clear she had no idea why they thought this was the perfect gift.
They both smirked.
"It's a Sneakoscope," George explained.
"It spins and lights up when someone untrustworthy is nearby," Fred finished.
Felicia examined it more closely, her smile softening as she understood the gesture.
It was their way of looking out for her.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, slipping it into her robe pocket. "You didn't have to get me anything, though."
"Nonsense. We certainly weren't using it," George said breezily, shooting a glance at Fred—whose idea it had clearly been.
"Besides, now we'll always remember when our favorite Slytherin's birthday is," Fred added with a grin, ignoring George's knowing look.
Felicia shook her head lightly as she continued down the hall, a faint smirk playing at her lips. Somehow, she suspected the twins knowing her birthday would make next year even more chaotic.
As they watched her disappear around the corner, George raised an eyebrow at Fred, studying him with exaggerated suspicion.
"You're absolutely mental," George said, teasing.
"Shut up," Fred shot back with a pointed look.
Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure why Felicia fascinated him so much.
Not that George didn't find her interesting too—but for once, their perspectives didn't completely align.