Lumos

The morning of the first Quidditch match of the season was sunny, but cold. Felicity waiting around for Ulric to show up in the common room but, when it was nearly ten o’clock, Felicity decided he must have already gone downstairs and left to find him.

The Great Hall was loud and crowded, everyone chattering excitedly about the game. Felicity spotted the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table and went to sit next to Fred...no, George.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously as she saw Fred shake hands with a burly Ravenclaw boy.

“Nothing,” they both said at once, their innocent voices ruined by identical smirks.

“You’re going to be in trouble,” she said simply before reaching for some toast.

“Speaking of trouble, George,” said the twin she’d just mistaken as George, “I heard a little first-year got in trouble last night.”

“Loads of trouble, I heard, Fred.”

“Who could get into such trouble?”

“I dunno, Fred. Maybe our dear friend Felicity knows?”

“Shove off,” Felicity muttered, her face growing hot as she avoided their knowing gazes.

“I’d take that as a yes, wouldn’t you, George?”

“Absolutely, Fred.”

“I said shove off!”

Fred put a hand Felicity’s shoulder and said slowly, as if talking to a small child, “Yes, and we ignored you. See how that works?”

Throwing down her uneaten toast, Felicity shot Fred a dark look and said, “One of these days, Fred Weasley. One of these days.”

“Looking forward to it, James.” He grinned cheekily, then got up and headed toward the exit, George on his heels. They had just vanished beyond the doors when a loud screech from above announced the arrival of the morning post.

Felicity wasn’t expecting much, so she was quite surprised when two owls found their way onto the table in front of her, squabbling to be the first to deliver their messages.

She took the note off the owl she recognized, one of the school owls she’d sent to her mother. The bird snatched up Felicity’s abandoned toast and took off before she could even scold it. The second owl was quick to take its place, its dirty feet on Felicity’s plate. She relieved it of its letter and watched as it soared away.

Felicity opened her mother’s letter first.



I’m sorry for the delay in my answer, but your brother is causing a lot of trouble without you around to keep him busy. He misses you and wishes he could be at school with you. Hopefully he’ll get his turn.

As to your first point, you’ll find several teachers with personal vendettas (bias or unfair opinions) against certain students, Snape in particular. He happens to have several reasons which you’re too young to understand, so don’t go asking questions about it.

And as to your magic: it’s not weak, it’s just new. All students have struggles, and you’ve found yours. Just keep studying and don’t worry –– help often shows itself in unexpected places.

My brother always hated History as well. Said it was a load of rubbish that had nothing to do with learning how to use magic. On a related note, it’s not surprising Sebastian has turned out like him –– manipulative and selfish. You become like the people you associate with, always remember that.

Felix and I can’t wait to see you a month from now. You better have some good gifts for us!



Discouraged - Felicity had been hoping for some advice that was actually helpful - she put this letter aside and unrolled the next one. This, instead of containing a messy scrawl like most letters, was printed in neat, symmetrical hand that almost looked printed out instead of written. It read:

Still struggling to turn a match into a needle? Suffer no more, because the following is a guide to proper, easy transfiguration.

Transfiguration is all in your head.

First, touch the match. Feel the texture of the wood, the flint at the end, and just focus on that. Then lift your fingers from the match and imagine it turning to silver. Feel the prick of the tip against your finger, the cool metal and smooth surface. Imagine the smell of metal, the way it smells like the city. Then tap it with your wand and say the incantation.

I can almost guarantee it will work properly if you let yourself FEEL the spell. Give it a go, and you’ll see.

Felicity paused, and read the letter again. Then again. She flipped it over, but there was nothing on the back. Was this a joke? Hesitantly, Felicity withdrew from her pocket the handful of matches she’d become accustomed to carrying around, placed them on the table, and drew her wand.

She looked around quickly, but no one was paying attention to her. Then, taking a deep breath, Felicity cleared her mind and placed a finger on one of the matches; feeling the grain of the wood against her finger, imagining it going smooth and pointy at the end.

Then, with her eyes still closed, she prodded the match with the tip of her wand and muttered the incantation.

When she opened her eyes, the match was gone and, in its place, lay a perfect silver sewing needle.

Felicity stared at the needle for a long minute, then turned her eyes upon the parchment that had made it possible. “Bloody hell.”


“And you have no idea who sent it?”

Ulric read the note for a sixth time, his large eyes scanning each word carefully. Felicity leaned against the side of the stands, glancing at the very long drop to the ground far below. “Not a clue.”

“Could it have been one of the teachers?”

“No, this has to be someone I know. Maybe one of the twins?”

“Not likely. They’d just tell you in person, wouldn’t they?” he pointed out.

Felicity frowned, trying to think of anyone else who would want to help her with her Transfiguration. Her first thought was of Sebastian, but he seemed to have given up on trying to communicate with her since she’d dungbombed his girlfriend. But who else would want to help her out? And who else was clever enough?

“Maybe it was Hermione,” Felicity suggested.

“That doesn’t seem likely. The point of class is to figure it out yourself. If she just told you how––”

“It would explain why the didn’t sign her name,” she pointed out.

“I seriously doubt Hermione wrote this.”

“Then we’re right where we started off,” Felicity sighed, tucking her hands under her arms and crossing her ankles.

Ulric was quiet for a long moment, then said, “Does it really matter? If it helps you pass Transfiguration, it doesn’t really matter who sent it.”

Her eyes traveled to the Quidditch pitch below as Felicity considered this. She knew, of course, that he was right, but not knowing where the letter had come from was driving her mad. Could she really just accept it without trying to figure out who sent it?

Finally, she begrudgingly admitted, “You’re right, I suppose. At least I finally turned my match into a needle.”

“And it only took you two months,” Ulric joked.

Felicity was spared the effort of coming up with a witty retort as, at that very moment, the two teams marched out onto the field. Felicity, along with her fellow Gryffindors, screamed their support to the team they knew would win.

And, in all the excitement of the game, Felicity managed to forget about the letter from nowhere.