Chapter 13 : Feathers and Rivalry
Charms Classroom, Second Floor — September 3, 1991, 9:00 AM
Professor Flitwick stood on a stack of books behind his desk, and even with the elevation, the top of his head barely cleared the lectern. He had a shock of white hair, bright eyes that darted between students with the alertness of a bird watching a garden, and the kind of enthusiasm that made you suspect he hadn't slept the night before because he was too excited about teaching.
"Welcome, welcome!" His voice was high-pitched but precise, each word carrying the weight of someone who chose them carefully. "Charms! The most versatile, the most practical, and — I may be biased — the most beautiful branch of magic. By year's end, you will levitate objects, unlock doors, and produce light from the tip of your wand. By seventh year? Well." He smiled. "That depends entirely on you."
The Charms classroom was bright and airy, arched windows letting in Scottish morning light that made the dust motes sparkle. Gryffindors occupied the left bank of desks, Ravenclaws the right. Matt had positioned himself at the front — not by choice, but because Terry Boot had claimed the seat and Matt had followed, and now he was three feet from a professor who taught duelling champions and had once been a competitive duellist himself.
Across the aisle, Hermione Granger sat with her textbook open, quill ready, posture communicating that she'd read the first six chapt ers and was prepared to correct any deviations from the published material.
"Today," Flitwick continued, "we begin with theory. The Levitation Charm — Wingardium Leviosa — relies on two components: precise wand movement and correct incantation. Can anyone tell me why the swish-and-flick is necessary? Why not simply point and levitate?"
Hermione's hand was in the air before the question mark landed.
"Because the wand movement channels the magic through the correct pathways," she said, not waiting to be called on. "The swish generates the lifting force while the flick provides directional control. Without both, the magic disperses or, in extreme cases, causes the object to launch uncontrollably."
"Excellent! Five points to Gryffindor." Flitwick beamed. "Now — a follow-up. The Levitation Charm was standardised in 1544 by Warlock Balfour. But does anyone know what it was originally developed for? Before standardisation?"
Hermione's hand went up. Matt's went up half a second later.
Flitwick's eyes flicked between them. Something passed across his face — a flicker of recognition, a connection being made.
"Mr. Summon?"
"Creature handling," Matt said. "The original charm was developed by the Welsh Dragon Conservation Alliance to move injured dragons without physical contact. The swish-and-flick was adapted from a broader lifting motion designed for objects weighing several tonnes. Balfour standardised it for classroom use, but the original form could levitate a full-grown Hebridean Black."
Silence.
Hermione's quill had stopped moving. She stared at Matt with an expression he'd seen once before — on the train, when he'd found Trevor in under two minutes. The expression that said how do you know things I don't know.
Flitwick clapped his small hands together. "Wonderful! Five points to Ravenclaw. That is precisely correct — and not, I should note, in your textbook. The original application has been largely forgotten outside of specialist circles." His bright eyes lingered on Matt. "Where did you learn that, Mr. Summon?"
"Family records, sir. The Summon family worked with the Conservation Alliance for two centuries."
"Indeed they did." Flitwick's voice softened. "Your grandmother mentioned that history to me once, many years ago. She was one of the finest Charms practitioners I've ever had the pleasure of teaching."
The warmth was unexpected. Matt had spent five years reading about Cordelia Summon in journals and creature guides, had lived in her house and walked her grounds, but this was different. A living person who remembered her. Who could say she was brilliant and mean it from experience, not record.
"Thank you, sir."
Flitwick nodded — a private moment, quickly folded — and resumed the lesson.
The class continued with wand movement practice. Matt's feather lifted on the second attempt — the first had produced a shudder and a faint sulphuric smell that made Terry lean away. Hermione's feather rose on the first try, smooth and controlled, and she shot Matt a look that was fifty percent satisfaction and fifty percent challenge.
Ron's feather did nothing. Harry's caught fire briefly. Neville's launched sideways into Seamus Finnigan's hair.
By the end of the hour, Matt and Hermione had both achieved stable levitation, which put them ahead of every other first-year by a significant margin. Flitwick dismissed the class with reading assignments, and Matt was packing his bag when Hermione materialised at his desk.
She moved fast. He'd give her that.
"The Hippogriff incident of 1743," she said without preamble. "You referenced it during the dragon conservation answer — the levitation charm being used to evacuate Hippogriffs from a flooding reserve. I've checked three textbooks. It's not in any of them."
"It wouldn't be. It's in the Summon family archive."
"I want access."
Matt looked up. Hermione stood with her arms crossed, chin raised, the textbook clutched against her chest like a shield. She was eleven years old and demanding access to a private wizarding family's historical records with the negotiating posture of a barrister.
"It's at my family manor," Matt said. "In Scotland. Not exactly available for checkout."
"Then bring the relevant volumes to school. Or copy the passages. Or —"
"Hermione." He stood, shouldered his bag. Kept his voice warm. This was important — not the records, but the connection. "I will share them. But not for free."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"A study partner. Someone who pushes me on theory while I push them on practical applications. You're the best student in our year on pure academics. I want to learn from that."
The calculation played out on her face in real time — pride warring with suspicion warring with the hunger to know. Matt had seen that hunger before. He'd worn it himself, in a different body, in a different life, staying up past midnight reading veterinary journals because the world was full of things worth understanding and time was never enough.
"You're bribing me," Hermione said.
"I'm proposing a trade. Knowledge for knowledge. Fair terms."
A beat. Two.
"Fine." She stuck out her hand. "But I want the dragon conservation records first. Full text, not summaries."
Matt shook. Her grip was firm, business-like, the handshake of someone who'd just closed a deal and intended to hold the other party to every clause.
She turned and walked down the corridor, footsteps sharp on stone, and Matt watched her go with the particular satisfaction of someone who'd just played one of the most important social moves of first year.
Harry appeared at his shoulder. "What did you do?"
"Made a friend." Matt grinned. "She just doesn't know it yet."
---
The library at four o'clock was everything Matt had planned it to be.
He'd claimed the far table by the Restricted Section — visible from the entrance, shielded by shelving on three sides, large enough for six. By four-fifteen, they were all there: Harry with his Transfiguration essay, Ron with a chocolate frog he was eating instead of writing, Hermione with three books and colour-coded notes, Neville with Trevor in his pocket and an anxious expression that relaxed by degrees as the group filled.
Terry had followed Matt, uninvited but welcome, and sat at the table's edge with his Herbology textbook. Nobody objected.
"Right," Matt said. "This is how it works. Same time, every day. Anyone can bring homework, questions, or just sit. No house barriers. No permission needed."
"You can't just declare that," Hermione said. "There are scheduling —"
"Watch me."
She pressed her lips together. Didn't argue further. Matt suspected this was because she wanted the arrangement to work even more than he did, and fighting it would mean admitting that.
They worked for two hours. Hermione helped Ron with his Transfiguration essay, which involved a degree of patience Matt found genuinely impressive. Harry quizzed Neville on potion ingredients, gently, the way someone who understood fear treated someone else's anxiety. Terry and Matt debated the properties of Kneazle whiskers in Charms theory until Madam Pince shushed them.
Whisper appeared halfway through — she'd navigated four floors of moving staircases to find him — and settled on Neville's lap with the proprietary air of a creature who'd identified her favourite human and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
Neville looked down at her. "She keeps doing this."
"She keeps choosing you," Matt said. "That means something."
The flush on Neville's face was worth every hour of planning.
At six, they packed up. The library emptied around them. Madam Pince watched their departure with the expression of someone who approved of students but preferred them in smaller, quieter quantities.
In the corridor, the group split — Gryffindors toward one staircase, Ravenclaws toward another. Harry waved. Hermione was already listing tomorrow's study topics. Ron was finishing his chocolate frog.
Matt walked toward Ravenclaw Tower with Terry and the particular warmth of a plan unfolding exactly as designed.
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