"Allen, you were absolutely flying out there! You even managed that Wronski Feint!" Michael Corner, a classmate who had been observing Allen's practice, complained with genuine frustration. "But why wouldn't they make you Seeker? You clearly saw how much faster you were than Cho Chang in chasing the Bludger—is it just because she's, well, pretty?" Michael immediately softened his voice. "Though, admittedly, she is quite beautiful…"
Allen merely shrugged, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Honestly, that technique, the Wronski Feint, is completely overkill in our inter-house competitions. It's an unnecessary risk. The Transylvanian Feint, which anyone can master, is far more practical for misleading a Chaser. I prefer carrying the Quaffle and generating points on the attack anyway, which is why I'm a Chaser now."
He was, of course, referring to the infamous Wronski Defensive Feint, a Quidditch tactic so aggressive that it often resulted in injury at a professional level. The Seeker feigns spotting the Golden Snitch near the ground and dives in a near-vertical descent, hoping to trick the opposing Seeker into following.
The executing player pulls up just before collision, while the less-skilled opponent usually crashes. Allen knew that in an inter-student tournament, ordinary players simply didn't possess the skill or the nerve to maintain that trajectory, making the feint tactically unsound for Hogwarts matches.
"But the prestige of the Seeker position…" Edward, a Muggle-born who was still absorbing the culture, looked concerned. "Allen, are you really going to use that old Seven Star broom in the competition? I heard Harry Potter got a Nimbus 2000." Edward, unlike the half-blood Michael, understood that superior equipment was crucial in competitive sport.
"Of course not. Actually, Professor Flitwick specifically offered me a school-sponsored Nimbus 2000, but I politely refused," Allen revealed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Word travels fast, and if the news broke that the school was handing out top-tier brooms, every other student would immediately demand one. Plus, I already have the Neptune."
"The Neptune?" Michael Corner's jaw dropped in genuine astonishment. "Isn't that still just a prototype broomstick? The one that was featured in Which Broomstick?"
Allen realized he needed to manage the news carefully to avoid sounding boastful. He chuckled and lightly punched Michael on the shoulder. "Michael, come on. You're a Ravenclaw, didn't you read the Daily Prophet before term started? I was even featured." Allen then briefly recounted the widely known, slightly embellished story of how he had acquired the Neptune model—a tale he'd told so often it had become rote.
"Merlin's beard! This significantly increases our chances for the Quidditch Cup. Plus, our House points are already miles ahead. Slytherin's decade-long monopoly on the House Cup might finally be broken by Ravenclaw!" Michael grew increasingly animated at the thought of academic and athletic victory.
Allen's mood sobered slightly as he considered the end-of-year points calculation. He was, indeed, accumulating points rapidly in his classes, but he knew Dumbledore would inevitably award Gryffindor an embarrassingly large sum right at the very end. If Ravenclaw's lead wasn't insurmountable—a level where even Dumbledore would be too ashamed to cheat—their chances of winning the House Cup would be slim. He wondered if his involvement in Quidditch would garner the extra points needed.
Allen, a young wizard with a mild form of academic obsessive-compulsive disorder, had originally planned to aggressively compete for the House Cup. Slytherin had monopolized the trophy for six consecutive years. Failing to break that streak, despite the advantages he possessed over most other young wizards, felt fundamentally unfair to his internal system of meritocracy.
While the real, long-term goal was achieving sufficient 'O' (Outstanding) grades on both his OWLs and NEWTs, the immediate honor of the House Cup was a substantial, tangible accolade—a significant boost to his perceived success after graduation.
The deep irony of the current school year, in Allen's analytical view, was Dumbledore's hypocrisy. The Headmaster had issued a strict decree prohibiting all first-years from approaching the forbidden third-floor corridor, only to reward Harry and his friends handsomely with points for breaking those rules.
The other three Houses, which had diligently obeyed the rules and maintained discipline, lost their chance at the House Cup because of this blatant favoritism. Even Professor Minerva McGonagall, who prided herself on fairness, seemed complicit. This kind of systemic injustice fueled Allen's competitive streak; if the rules were going to be arbitrary, he would simply strive to be so overwhelmingly successful that the rules became irrelevant.
They arrived at the Charms classroom, chatting and laughing.
"I hear from Susanna that the Professor is teaching the Levitation Charm today. His toad died yesterday, and he was quite down," Edward shared, lowering his voice. "Professor Flitwick invited him into his office; rumor has it he used magic to make delicious cupcakes dance on the table. He even gave him a sneak peek of what he's teaching today as consolation." Edward looked utterly envious.
"If you're sad, the Professor comforts you. If you're caught plagiarizing my work and get scolded by Professor McGonagall, the Professor also comforts you," Allen joked, though he was genuinely impressed by Flitwick's pastoral care. "Professor Flitwick treated me the same way. I don't know how old those cupcakes were, but they certainly tasted better than the ones served in the Great Hall."
Professor Filius Flitwick, knowledgeable, kind, fair, and deeply compassionate, was truly beloved by the young Ravenclaws. Whispers persisted that he was a dueling champion in his youth.
A few Slytherins had previously mocked the Ravenclaw Head for his diminutive stature, suggesting he was a difficult target only because he was so short, but they were quickly silenced and taught a sharp lesson by a fiercely loyal group of older Ravenclaws.
As Susanna had predicted, Professor Flitwick announced that he believed the class was ready to make objects fly. After explaining the standard wand movement and the magical theory behind the Levitation Charm, Wingardium Leviosa, Professor Flitwick divided the class into pairs.
After reiterating the safety precautions one last time, Professor Flitwick gave a vigorous flick of his wand, and dozens of snow-white feathers drifted from the ceiling, landing precisely on each pair's desk. The wizarding professor's elegant gesture instantly ignited the students' enthusiasm. However, they quickly learned that fluttering even a single feather was anything but simple.
Allen, having practiced the spell dozens of times already, felt a calm certainty.
He drew his wand, pointed it at the feather, and performed the perfect, practiced "flick and swish" wrist movement.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
As soon as he finished the incantation, the feather zipped off the table, ascending four meters and hovering gently above their heads, spinning slowly in the air.
"Ah, Allen, you have done brilliantly!" Professor Flitwick cried, clapping his hands together with delight. He was perched on a precarious stack of books, which offered him a slightly higher vantage point. "But a feather is merely a trifle for someone who has already successfully Levitated Miss Lisa Dupin!"
A nearby witch murmured something to Lisa Dupin, and the girl instantly turned scarlet, burying her face in her hands.
"Oh, Allen, I still can't quite grasp it. Teach me quickly," Edward pleaded, slightly exasperated. As a good student in the Muggle world, he couldn't understand why his efforts yielded only mediocre results in the magical one.
Allen broke the spell, and the feather drifted back to the desk.
"You must focus on the 'flick and swish' motion and the pronunciation of the spell. Win-GAR-dium Le-vi-O-sa. The 'GAR' and 'O' must be pronounced long and clearly, with the correct emphasis. Take your time, hold your wand firmly, but loosen your wrist slightly—that flexibility affects the correct swishing motion…" Allen explained the technique clearly and precisely. After just a few attempts, Edward followed the instructions exactly. The feather trembled, then gracefully floated a few inches above the table.
"While your clearly organized tutoring won't earn points for the Levitation Charm itself, Ravenclaw will receive five points for your admirable effort in assisting a classmate!" Professor Flitwick praised in his high voice.
"I was the one who successfully cast the spell, yet the Professor praises you?" Edward grumbled, both amused and slightly annoyed at the clear, but beneficial, favoritism shown towards Allen.
"And remember that subtle wrist movement we practiced!" Professor Flitwick, still standing on his precarious stack of books, emphasized once more: "A flick and a swish, remember, a flick and a swish! And proper pronunciation is equally vital; remember the wizard Baruffio, who mispronounced his 'f' as a 't' and found himself lying on the ground with a summoned buffalo on his chest!"
Time passed quickly. The clever Ravenclaws, renowned for their quick grasp of theory, gradually mastered the trick. More feathers floated gently across the classroom, and Professor Flitwick's smile widened.
The Ravenclaw Head of House secretly believed that his students were, without doubt, the most gifted of the four Houses, at least in the precise field of Charms. He knew that in the earlier Gryffindor class, only Hermione Granger, already infamous for her relentless study habits, had managed the spell, and many who failed even to make a sound were considered acceptable.
He shuddered, remembering the tale of a certain first-year Gryffindor who had made his feather explode entirely with the charm—a level of failure unimaginable in the House of Wisdom.
As the lesson concluded, the Ravenclaw students seemed relaxed and content. Since most of the class had successfully cast the charm, Professor Flitwick, in a moment of generosity, dismissed the written homework for the week, simply asking them to practice the spell more. This was a welcome relief, given the increasing workload from other subjects.
The students hurried downstairs toward the Great Hall. Everyone was ravenously hungry after a full afternoon of classes, especially since the rich, sweet scent of pumpkin had already begun wafting through the corridors.
Entering the Great Hall, every student was greeted by the sight of the spectacular Halloween decorations, which transformed the vast space into a dazzling, spooky wonderland. Thousands of live bats fluttered across the high stone walls and the enchanted ceiling, while thousands more danced over the long House tables like low-hanging, fluttering dark clouds, causing the candle flames nestled inside grinning, carved pumpkins to flicker wildly. Just as at the opening ceremony, the moment they sat down, delicious, steaming dishes suddenly appeared on the golden plates.
Allen and Edward, their eyes wide with appreciation for the magical artistry, immediately dug into their hearty beef and kidney pies. The food was magnificent—rich, savory, and incredibly comforting. The air hummed with the joyful chatter of hundreds of students, the clatter of silverware, and the faint, spooky music being played by a ghostly orchestra in the corner.
Allen looked out across the hall, watching the other Houses—the bustling red and gold of Gryffindor, the green and silver of Slytherin looking slightly smug beneath the dancing pumpkin lanterns, and the sunny yellow of Hufflepuff.
He took a large bite of treacle tart, savoring the rich flavor, the warmth of the Great Hall enveloping him in a rare sense of peaceful security. He noted Hermione Granger sitting alone at the end of the Gryffindor table, ignoring her housemates, clearly still smarting from the earlier confrontation. He couldn't help but admire her pride, even if it bordered on stubbornness.