After breakfast, Eira returned briefly to the Slytherin dormitory, collected her books, quills, and parchnt, then made her way up through the castle’s winding staircases. The Charms Corridor, nestled on the third floor, was already alive with the buzz of students. Ravenclaws in neat robes clustered in groups, their books clutched against their chests, while Slytherins lingered at the edges, casting sharp-eyed looks across the hall.
Eira stepped into the classroom. Rows of desks fanned out in a semicircle, all angled toward the large podium at the front. Professor Flitwick—small, cheerful, and perched atop a tall stack of books so he could see his students—was already bustling about. His wand twitched in his hand, and a neat line of quills hopped into an inkwell like a flock of birds dipping for water.
The Ravenclaws slipped to the front, quills ready. The Slytherins, more reserved, took the seats further back. Eira slid gracefully into the middle row, placing her book neatly on the desk.
The chatter settled as Flitwick cleared his throat. His high, reedy voice carried surprisingly well.
"Good morning, class! A fine, fine day for Charms," he began, his voice bubbling with cheer. "I see many familiar faces this year—sa students, sa energy... though I must admit, I’m delighted that no one has decided to repeat another year. I was afraid I’d have to start issuing detention to my own shadow!"
A ripple of laughter ran through the classroom at his tiny, whimsical joke. Flitwick smiled, clearly pleased with the effect. Then, his gaze swept across the room, shining with curiosity.
"And we also have a new face among our fourth-years!" he continued, his tone lively. "She has joined us from Beauxbâtons—Miss White, is that correct?"
Eira looked up as the classroom fell montarily silent, all eyes on her. She inclined her head politely.
"Yes, Professor," she said clearly, her voice steady despite the attention.
Flitwick’s eyes twinkled even more. "Tell , my dear—do you happen to know if Professor Eric Chamberlain is still teaching there?"
The question caught Eira slightly by surprise, but she answered calmly. "Yes, Professor. He is still teaching Charms."
Flitwick clasped his hands together, beaming. "Oh, Professor Chamberlain is quite the talented wizard. We once t, you know, at an international dueling competition. What a match that was! He had a most formidable style—so precise, so elegant. It was one of the closest duels of my career."
The Ravenclaws leaned forward eagerly, quills scratching as if this were already part of the lesson.
Flitwick chuckled fondly. "He was fast, very fast. His disarming charm was one of the sharpest I’d ever faced. In fact, I daresay his movents are unlike any duelist I’ve t. A sha, of course, that in the end I managed to best him—but he remains a remarkable opponent, and truly one of the finest in our field."
Polite applause rippled among the Ravenclaws. Even so of the Slytherins looked impressed, though a few smirked as if it proved Hogwarts superior.
Flitwick nodded, his tiny hands steepled with delight. "Ah, splendid! But let us not dwell too much on the past—let us look forward instead. Welco to Hogwarts, Miss White. I hope you learn as much from here as you have from Professor Chamberlain, and I sincerely hope I et your expectations."
Eira lowered her eyes, thoughtful. She rembered Professor Chamberlain clearly in her first year at Beauxbatons, the one who had spoken so scathingly about "a half-blood goblin." At the ti, she hadn’t known who he ant. Now, listening to Professor Flitwick’s lighthearted pride and generous praise, she understood. Professor Chamberlain had been speaking of him.
The difference was striking. Professor Chamberlain had spoken with bitterness, mocking, belittling. Flitwick, on the other hand, spoke of his rival with warmth, even admiration. Two opponents—yet one tore down, and the other built up. Eira thought quietly to herself: So this is the difference between true greatness and smallness of character.
Flitwick shook himself from his reminiscence and straightened. "Now, class! Today we begin our first lessons for the term. We will be working with two charms—Summoning and Banishing. The Accio Charm and its counterpart, the Banishing Charm. Essential spells, most practical, and most enjoyable to practice!"
At the flick of his wand, a stack of books shot into the air, hovered, then zood neatly back to their place.
"These," Flitwick went on, "will occupy us this term. In the next, we’ll move on to the Restoring Charm, Reparo, and the Happy Charm—yes, a bit of emotional magic, very useful in its own way." His eyes shone again. "Now, wands out, everyone!"
Chairs scraped. The Ravenclaws were quick to line up their parchnt, already scribbling notes before attempting the spells. The Slytherins moved more leisurely, so with a bored air, but their eyes stayed sharp.
Eira drew her wand slowly, her expression serene. She had mastered both Accio and Banishing long ago—still, she lifted her wand with the others, blending in.
Flitwick demonstrated with enthusiasm, breaking the movents into precise swishes and flicks. "Rember, concentration is key! Imagine the object rushing to you—summoned by your will. And for banishing—imagine it thrusting away, pushed by the force of your intent!"
Students began to practice, calling out, "Accio quill!" or "Accio book!" A few managed to drag their belongings across the desk; others barely stirred the air. Laughter erupted when Crabbe’s quill smacked him in the forehead from across the room, earning a scolding from Draco for poor wrist technique.
Eira tried the motions with grace, her quill flying into her hand instantly. She caught it without even glancing at it.
"Excellent, Miss White! Excellent!" Flitwick clapped, delighted. "A natural, I see. Beauxbatons trains their students well."
Eira simply smiled at Professor Flitwick’s praise, her expression calm and serene, as if it were nothing extraordinary. To her, it was just another lesson, but around her, the classroom had transford. The Ravenclaws, seeing her effortless control and precision, were imdiately stirred into action. They whispered excitedly to one another, nudging their wands, adjusting stances, trying to emulate her technique. A few even glanced toward Professor Flitwick, hoping for a flicker of approval, their eagerness almost palpable. The air around them buzzed with competitiveness, each student silently vowing to outshine their peers and win the Professor’s notice.
anwhile, the Slytherins presented a different spectacle entirely. Many lounged in their seats with the arrogance of those who believed innate talent alone would suffice. So, like Goyle and Crabbe, waved their wands carelessly, muttering incantations as if testing each other in jest rather than genuine effort, smirking whenever one misfired. Yet amidst the frivolity, others—Daphne and Pansy included—kept their focus razor-sharp, their wands slicing through the air with practiced determination, intent on casting their spells correctly and with power.
The contrasting energies filled the room: Ravenclaws buzzing with determined enthusiasm, Slytherins oscillating between mockery and quiet precision, and in the midst of it all, Eira blended in effortlessly, appearing rely as a competent student rather than the remarkable talent she truly was.
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