During the first week of term, Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall temporarily swapped classes. As a result, Charms was replaced by Transfiguration for several sessions. Although it seemed like a minor scheduling adjustment, each professor had to juggle different year groups and houses, which caused considerable confusion.
It wasn't until midway through the semester that the Tuesday afternoon Charms class—originally scheduled with Ravenclaw—finally returned to its proper order.
Now, inside the spacious Charms classroom, chaos reigned.
Dozens of white feathers flew wildly through the air as students shouted incantations at varying volumes.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
"Oh, come on—why does it keep falling?"
Feathers wobbled, dipped, and occasionally smacked into unsuspecting classmates.
Tamara, however, was not participating.
Because she had already demonstrated flawless mastery of the Levitation Charm during a private lesson, Professor Flitwick had granted her special permission to skip the basic exercises. She was even allowed to read during class.
Thus, an unusual scene formed in the corner by the window.
While students waved their wands frantically and chanted with rising desperation, Tamara sat serenely at her desk. In her hands rested a book thick as a brick: The Origins of Medieval Charms.
Her posture was elegant, her expression composed, as though the surrounding noise belonged to an entirely different world.
Occasionally, a stray feather drifted toward her face. She would simply tilt her head slightly to avoid it, never bothering to raise her wand.
This privilege did not go unnoticed.
"Hey, look at that Slytherin."
Terry Boot, a freckled Ravenclaw boy, nudged Padma Patil beside him.
"Why isn't she practicing? Doesn't Professor Flitwick care?"
Padma glanced at Tamara, her expression faintly dismissive. "Maybe she gave up. Everyone says Riddle is impressive, but I think she's average at best. The Levitation Charm requires focus and precision. Slytherins aren't exactly known for patience."
Michael Corner leaned in, clearly eager to join the discussion. He had just managed to raise his feather two full inches and was brimming with confidence.
"They only know flashy jinxes," he said smugly. "Delicate work like this? That's Ravenclaw territory."
As if to prove his point, Terry raised his voice deliberately.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
His feather rose steadily, wobbling only slightly before hovering at head height.
"Look! I did it!" Terry exclaimed triumphantly.
Several Ravenclaws clapped and cheered.
Terry's chest swelled. Turning toward the quiet corner, he called out loudly:
"Hey, Riddle!"
Tamara's finger paused mid-page. She did not look up.
"What?" Terry continued mockingly. "Can't manage it, so you're hiding behind a book? If you need help, we Ravenclaws don't mind teaching you proper wand technique. Academic exchange knows no house boundaries, right?"
Laughter erupted.
A few Slytherins stiffened, ready to retaliate—but Tamara raised one hand slightly, stopping them.
She closed her book.
Clap.
The soft sound cut through the noise with startling clarity.
"Academic exchange?" Tamara repeated, her lips curving into a faintly ironic smile.
A notification echoed in her mind.
[Ding! Academic authority detected under provocation.]
[Mission: The Weight of Knowledge.]
[Requirement: Demonstrate strength while maintaining patience.]
[Reward: Wisdom +2. Special Reputation unlocked.]
Tamara stood gracefully, smoothing her robe.
"Since you're so eager to see," she said calmly, drawing her holly wand and twirling it lightly between her fingers, "I suppose I can offer a demonstration."
She stepped forward slightly.
"Watch closely. This," she said softly, "is what you call delicate work."
She did not chant.
She did not shout.
She simply flicked her wand.
In the next instant, something happened that every Ravenclaw present would remember for the rest of their lives.
It wasn't only the feather on Tamara's desk.
It wasn't just Terry Boot's proud display.
Every feather in the classroom—those resting on desks, those on the floor, even those clutched in students' hands—suddenly tore free from their owners' control.
Gasps filled the air.
"Hey! My feather—!"
"What's happening?"
But the feathers did not scatter randomly.
They moved with purpose.
Dozens of white plumes converged midair, swirling together in a synchronized spiral. They rotated, aligned, and began forming a shape.
Tamara lifted her wand slightly.
The feathers fused into the shape of a long white dragon.
With a soft rushing sound, the dragon circled the ceiling once, its body rippling as though alive.
Professor Flitwick, standing atop his stack of books, froze in astonishment.
Then Tamara lowered her wand sharply.
Whoosh!
The dragon dissolved instantly.
Dozens of feathers halted midair—directly above Terry Boot's head.
The classroom fell into absolute silence.
Terry stared upward, his mouth hanging open. Cold sweat beaded along his forehead.
If those feathers dropped at once, he would be buried beneath them.
The precision required for such control was staggering.
This was no ordinary Levitation Charm.
This was mastery.
Professor Flitwick trembled with excitement.
"This… this…" he stammered, adjusting his glasses. "A perfect Mass Levitation Charm! With multi-threaded precision control! Merlin's beard!"
Tamara gave a small flick.
The feathers lost magical support and fluttered down like snow, landing precisely on each student's desk.
Every feather—except Terry's.
His stuck neatly in his hair.
A few suppressed snickers echoed through the room.
Tamara returned to her seat and reopened her book.
"This," she said calmly, without looking up, "is the academic exchange you requested."
Her voice was even.
"Now, shall we practice quietly?"
No one spoke.
The Ravenclaws who had been boasting moments earlier stared at their desks, faces burning red.
The gap in ability had never been clearer.
They celebrated lifting a feather two inches.
She orchestrated dozens into art.
The bell rang.
Students packed their belongings in stunned silence.
Before Tamara could resume reading, Professor Flitwick hurried toward her desk, nearly tripping in his enthusiasm.
"Miss Riddle! Miss Riddle!"
His eyes shone brightly.
"Incredible! That magical flow—your control—simply brilliant!"
"Thank you, Professor," Tamara replied politely.
Flitwick clasped his hands eagerly.
"I have a request. A humble one."
She looked at him expectantly.
"Would you consider joining the Charms Club?"
Nearby students gasped.
The Charms Club was among Hogwarts' most prestigious academic circles. Typically, only third-year students and above were invited—and even then, only those with exceptional talent.
A first-year invitation was unprecedented.
"Ordinarily, we only accept upper-year students," Flitwick admitted sheepishly. "But clearly, conventional limitations do not apply to you. We meet every Friday evening to explore more advanced and theoretical aspects of charm work."
A familiar notification chimed in Tamara's mind.
[Mission Completed: The Weight of Knowledge.]
[Reward: Wisdom +2.]
[Current Wisdom: 22.]
Tamara allowed herself a small, elegant smile.
"It would be my honor, Professor."
Flitwick beamed.
As students filtered out, whispers followed her.
No one mocked her now.
No one questioned her ability.
They had witnessed raw strength—not brute force, but refined, controlled, overwhelming superiority.
Tamara returned her attention to her book.
The classroom gradually emptied.
Outside the window, afternoon sunlight streamed across the stone walls of Hogwarts, illuminating drifting dust motes that glittered in the air.
She turned a page calmly.
Power did not require noise.
True strength spoke for itself.
And today, she had spoken clearly.
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