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Chapter Text

Félix Graham de Vanily sat with impeccable posture, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, on the old upholstered seat of the Hogwarts Express, reading a book as the scarlet steam engine chugged along the English countryside on its way to the famous school for young witches and wizards to learn their craft before being unleashed on a blissfully ignorant world full of muggles and the mundane.

The blond boy’s stomach could have been roiling with butterflies due to nerves now that he was finally on his way to Hogwarts as an eleven-year-old first-year student. He wouldn't know. Félix steadfastly ignored any feelings of trepidation, suppressing them as he immersed himself in Goshawk's Guide to Herbology to occupy his mind on the tedious journey.

The train compartment was surprisingly warm for September, and Félix was starting to feel uncomfortable in his school uniform. He pulled his jumper off and folded it smartly, placing it inside his leather attaché on the seat beside him along with his collection of books and the street clothes he had changed out of shortly after boarding the train. Honestly, switching from one outfit to the other had not been that much of a change. He had been wearing a tie and oxfords since he was five. 

Félix readjusted his tie, smoothing down the silk. It wouldn't be long before the material changed from solid black to his house colors during the Sorting Ceremony. He was fairly certain that it would be emerald and silver by the time he tucked into his supper. However, blue and bronze was a possibility. He was quite brilliant, after all. Which would win out—his cleverness or his ambition? It hardly mattered. He was a Graham de Vanily. He would excel regardless of where he was sorted.

With his clothing sorted, Félix resumed his seat and picked up his book, flipping to where he had left off. He had barely found his place on the page when the compartment door slid open.

A girl about his age and a few inches shorter stood in the doorway. She had long, dark hair tied back with pink ribbons in twin ponytails. Fluffy bangs framed large, blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face. That combined with her pale skin and round cheeks made her features doll-like. Félix vaguely wondered what her ancestry was. Given the Asian slant of the corners of her eyes, he was leaning towards Chinese or Korean, not having traveled enough to make the distinction, but did not ask since he thought it would be impolite to do so.

She had also changed into a school-issued uniform, complete with a black tie that looped carelessly around her neck. Her school robe hung from her arm. A canvas messenger-style bag was slung across her torso, adorned with several pins featuring logos and characters Félix didn’t recognize.

“Excuse me,” she said with no trace of a foreign accent. She sounded like a native Londoner to Félix’s ear. “The rest of the train is full. Do you mind if I sit here?” She gestured to the bench opposite Felix in the otherwise empty compartment.

Félix considered her. He preferred to continue reading in solitude and peace, but supposed it would be ungentlemanly of him to turn her away.

He had let the silence stretch too long as he considered. The girl bit her lower lip and cast her eyes down. 

“Or I suppose I could try to find someplace else. Sorry to bother you,” she said as she took a step back and reached for the door.

“No, it’s alright. Please,” Félix gestured to the bench across from him.

Her face lit up, her smile stretching wide to reveal perfectly even, white teeth.

“Really? Thank you!” 

She dropped her robe and bag on the bench before plopping onto it herself, sitting with her black Mary Janes flat on the floor and knees pressed together. She gripped the edge of the seat on either side of her pleated skirt and leaned forward enthusiastically. 

“My name’s Bridgette. What’s yours?”

“Félix Graham de Vanily,” he responded with far less enthusiasm. “What is your family name?”

“Cheng.”

Chinese, then, probably. It wasn’t a surname he recognized. He glanced at the unfamiliar pins on her bag again.

“Muggleborn?” Félix asked.

“No, my mum is a witch.”

“And your father?”

“Oh. He, um… What about your parents?”

Half-blood, Félix amended his earlier assumption.

“Purebloods,” he informed her without inflection. 

Félix was in an odd place with his opinions on blood purity. Though he considered himself an elite in their world, he didn't agree with his blood-prejudiced ancestors. Purebloods were a dying breed. They had been for centuries with families keeping their numbers of offspring small to avoid succession crises. 

“Oh. Any siblings?” Bridgette asked, cocking her head a little to the side in interest.

“No.”

“Me too. I’m an only child. I always wished that I had a few siblings. It got lonely sometimes. I do have a cousin in Paris, but I don’t get to see her often. Mama doesn’t get on with her sister very well. I don’t know why. Aunt Sabine is perfectly lovely. And her husband, Uncle Tom, is the best. He makes these eclairs that—“

Félix leaned forward and snapped his book shut sharply in front of her nose. The moving air made her bangs flutter. Bridgette abruptly stopped talking, her eyes wide as she leaned away quickly.

“Miss Cheng,” Félix said in his most even voice, covering his irritation. “My apologies, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to reading my book now.”

The corners of Bridgette’s lips twitched in what was probably supposed to be an apologetic smile, but it looked like a grimace. She nodded and settled back in her seat.

Félix nodded his thanks and opened his book once more. He could sense his companion fidgeting, though she didn’t make a sound.

After a few minutes of rustling coming from the other bench, Félix looked over the top of his page to see Bridgette holding a knitted rectangle about eight inches wide and twelve inches long. A strand of red yarn trailed from the top of the rectangle to the depths of Bridgette’s bag, presumably to a hidden ball of yarn. Bridgette was forming loops in the yarn using a stick, no longer than his hand and no thicker than the shaft of a quill, with a small hook on the end.

“What are you doing?”

Félix didn’t mean to break his request for silence, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. 

Bridgette glanced at him, meeting his eyes. 

“Crocheting a scarf for my mum as a Christmas present. I don’t know how much free time I’ll have once classes start, so I want to get it done as soon as I can.”

Félix absently rested his book in his lap, staring at the peculiar girl.

“Why not just buy one for her?”

Bridgette lips pinched to the side like she was thinking.

“I suppose I could, but I like to give gifts that are juuust right. If I make it myself, I know that it will be exactly what I want so I don’t have to hunt for one. Besides, I like giving handmade gifts. They feel more personal and meaningful, you know?”

Félix didn’t know. He’d never given nor received a handmade gift. He tried to imagine doing so, but it failed to raise any feelings of happiness like those twinkling in Bridgette’s eyes.

“I suppose,” he said noncommittally and picked up his book again.

Félix had made good progress on his book by the time the lunch trolley rolled around. Bridgette, likewise, had made progress on her scarf. She had probably added two feet to its length by the time she rolled it up for a lunch break.

They each bought sandwiches and a bottle of pumpkin juice. Bridgette also purchased a chocolate frog. She set it aside and unwrapped her turkey and avocado sandwich. 

“No sweets for you?” she queried after Félix had shut the door and the trolley lady had rolled down the corridor to the next compartment.  

Félix sat and unwrapped his Swiss and Black Forest ham on wheat.

“I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth,” he told her.

“Really?” 

Bridgette looked positively gobsmacked as she stared at him with her sandwich suspended in her hands halfway to her gaping mouth.

“What?” Félix asked defensively.

Bridgette came to herself and stopped gaping. 

“Sorry. I’ve just never met anyone our age who doesn’t like sweets.”

“I just don’t care much for them, that’s all,” Félix said, turning his attention to his lunch.

“I’m sorry. It’s okay that you don’t like sweets. I mean, we all have our preferences, right? Some people like steamed dumplings, while others prefer fried ones. There’s no right or wrong to it. Besides, if everyone liked the same things, the world would be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?”

Félix stared at her again. 

“You talk a lot.”

Bridgette’s face flamed scarlet, and she ducked her head, her barely touched sandwich rested on the napkin on her lap. 

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“You apologize a lot too.”

Félix was pricked by guilt as the girl shrank further into herself, her eyes hidden by her bangs, her posture stooped, and her shoulders almost level with her ears.

He set his half-eaten sandwich aside and leaned forward. He lowered his voice to what he imagined was a soothing tone.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. There are those who talk a lot,” he waved his hand in her direction, “and those who do not.” He pointed at himself. “As you said, the world needs all sorts. Right?”

Bridgette tentatively peeked at him through her hair and uncurled her shoulders a little. Her cheeks were still pink, but not nearly so red.

“R-right.”

Satisfied with having done his good deed for the day, Félix sat up straight and twisted the cap off his pumpkin juice.

Bridgette took another bite of her sandwich, chewed carefully, and swallowed before asking a question.

“What are your parents like?”

Félix thought over his words and rinsed down the last of his sandwich with his juice before answering.

“Father manages the estate and the family’s various holdings. Mother is one of those society witches who is always either hosting or attending some function or another.”

Bridgette stared at him with her open, honest face.

“But what are they like? Comforting? Fun? Strict? What do you like to do together? Do you go on picnics or to quidditch games together?”

Félix was taken aback. No one had asked him anything like this before.

“Uh—“

Don’t stutter, you fool. You know better, he berated himself. Graham de Vanilys did not stutter. They were always well-spoken and said precisely what they meant to. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I make appearances at events with my mother when necessary. She does a lot of charity work raising money for St. Mungo’s and the like. We occasionally dine out or attend performances. She’s very beautiful.”

Félix muttered the last bit to the tips of his shoes. He didn’t want Bridgette to think that he was a mother’s boy, but when asked to describe his mother, the first word that came to mind was ‘beautiful.’ He shifted into his regular posture and crossed his legs at the knee, resting his hands one on top of the other lightly on his thigh.

“Father’s work is very important and requires much of his attention.”

Bridgette nodded like she understood, but her gaze was focused on an innocuous spot on the floor, and her brow and lips were slightly pursed as she thought over his words.

After a moment, Bridgette looked up and gave Félix a warm smile. 

“Thank you for telling me.”

Félix braced himself for more probing questions. His left eyebrow rose slightly when she opened her bag and pulled out her knitting project. She looped the yarn around her fingers with practiced ease and took up crocheting once more.

He cautiously opened his book, keeping watch on the girl out of the corner of his eye. He began to read, and she kept quiet, her eyes on her work. Eventually, Félix relaxed into the silence, letting his focus shift entirely to the words on the page.

Evening began to fall by the time Félix finished his book. He closed it and carefully set it on his neatly folded jumper in his attaché. Bridgette had added several feet to her scarf before packing it away and falling asleep on her bench. Having a companion wasn’t so bad as long as they kept quiet and didn’t distract him too much. 

Félix considered selecting a new book from the collection he had packed in his carry-on, but the light was dimming. The lamps in the compartments and corridors were flickering on as the charms placed on them sensed the fading sunlight. Even with the lamps, reading would not be comfortable. 

For the first time since pulling away from platform nine and three-quarters, Félix looked out the window. The grass on the Scottish moors was emerald green and inviting. The sky was dusted with pinks and oranges reflecting off puffy clouds.

Félix propped an elbow on the windowsill and rested his chin on his curled fingers, as he had sometimes seen his father’s portrait do. His wandering gaze locked on a looming structure in the distance.

He couldn’t help himself. Félix stood and moved closer to the window glass.

“Miss Cheng. Wake up. Come look at this,” he said to Bridgette, not taking his eyes off the view.

Bridgette yawned and stumbled to the window, rubbing her bleary eyes.

“What is it?” she mumbled.

“Hogwarts,” Felix said, not taking his eyes off the edifice.

Bridgette pressed herself against the window next to him. Together they watched the silhouette of the castle steadily grow larger on the horizon. It was magnificent with it’s black towers standing starkly against the colorful pallet of the sunset sky.

“I didn’t think it would be so dark,” Bridgette commented from near his shoulder.

“It isn’t,” Félix said. “The castle is made from a light gray granite. It only looks so dark because of the lighting. You’ll see it more clearly in the morning.”

Bridgette tore her eyes away from the castle to look at him. 

“How do you know that?”

“I read about it.”

“Are you one of those know-it-alls who read Hogwarts: A History before the start of classes?”

Félix didn’t respond. He kept staring out the window, praying that the heat he could feel on his cheeks would abate soon.

Bridgette turned to her bag and retrieved a pocket mirror and a comb. She sat on the bench and balanced the mirror on the windowsill to tidy her hair. It had become a little mussed during her nap. She retucked her shirt and brushed out a few wrinkles in her skirt. She was about to pull on her black robe when Félix brought her attention to her tie.

“Miss Cheng. Your tie.”

Bridgette paused with one hand in a sleeve of her robe and looked down at her chest. Her black tie still hung limp and untied around her neck.

“Oh. Thank you. I completely forgot.”

Bridgette turned back to her little mirror and started fiddling with her tie, twisting and knotting it this way and that. Félix watched her fumble for a minute before he spoke up.

“You’ve never tied a tie before, have you?”

“Um, not really. No.”

Félix silently held out his hand. Bridgette stared at his open palm.

“What?” she asked.

“Pass it here.”

Bridgette unknotted the mess she had made of her tie, slid it off from under her collar, and handed it to him. 

Félix looped the black silk around his neck and expertly tied it, keeping their small height difference in mind. He loosened the knot and carefully slipped it over his head.

“Here. Try this,” he said, handing it back to her.

Bridgette took the tie and slipped it over her head. She started struggling to get it under her collar.

“Stand up,” Félix ordered patiently.

Bridgette did so and stood still, facing him. 

Félix popped up the collar on her shirt, made sure the tie was resting smoothly against the neckband, and tightened the knot until it was snug against the top button without being too tight. He folded the collar down, smoothed it out, and stepped back to check the length. The point of her tie almost brushed the top of the waistband on her skirt. He nodded once, satisfied.

“Thank you,” Bridgette said, then turned to pull on her robe. It was still too warm for their jumpers.

Félix, likewise, pulled on his black robe and resumed his seat, staring out the window as they entered Hogsmead station.

“What do you think the sorting will be like?” Bridgette asked.

“The same as all the others, I suppose,” Félix shrugged. 

“I heard there was some kind of test that determines where the new students are sorted.”

“The Sorting Hat assigns the students to their houses. Didn’t anyone tell you that?”

Bridgette’s cheeks pinked. 

“No, no one mentioned it.”

“Not even your mother? You said she is one of our kind, didn’t you?”

Bridgette’s nose wrinkled for a second.

“She attended wizarding school in China.”

“Really?” Félix asked, interested. “I’ve never met anyone who attended one of the other schools.”

“That you know of,” Bridgette pointed out.

“True,” Félix acknowledged.

Their conversation came to an end as the engine clunked to a stop followed by a wheesh of steam.

The pair collected their bags and stood at the door. It was chaos in the corridor. Cats and owls screeched among the bedlam of excited chatter and slamming trunks. Students in the compartment across from theirs were frantically picking up sweets wrappers and exploding snap cards. Félix sniffed at the mess. He and Miss Cheng had been far tidier than that lot.

Bridgette slung her bag across her chest and stood before the door of their compartment, practically bouncing on her toes. She gripped the strap of her messenger bag so tight that her knuckles turned white.

“Ready?” Bridgette asked, grinning at Félix so brightly that it made his cheeks ache to look at her.

“After you,” Félix said, sliding the door of their compartment open and stepping aside.

The pair joined the queue and exited the train in a long line of black robes spilling from the doors like ink.

Most of the students started making their way to a stand of Victorian-style carriages waiting nearby.

“Where are the horses?” Bridgette asked, noting the carriages.

Félix couldn’t see the thestrals either, but he was prevented from explaining by a rough voice carrying over their platform.

“First years. First years o’er ‘ere.”

A large man twice their height with graying, scraggly hair and beard in desperate need of a trim and a comb—and a full bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion—was standing near the steps leading off the platform and holding a lantern over their heads.

“Come on,” Félix said to Bridgette. He shouldered his bag and led the way to the groundskeeper.

The group of their fellow first years followed Hagrid to a small fleet of boats. Each boat could hold no more than four students. Félix, gentleman that he was, set a foot in one of the little watercraft and handed Bridgette in before taking a seat beside her. Two other students he didn’t know joined them on the bench behind theirs. Everyone was chatting in whispers, too nervous or excited to make much noise.

Bridgette looked around their little boat. 

“There are rings for oars, but I don’t see any,” she said.

“Just wait,” Félix whispered back.

“E’ry one settled?” Hagrid asked. “A’right. Off we go.”

The half-giant tapped the side of his boat, of which he was the soul occupant, with a battered, pink umbrella, and the fleet of boats pulled away from the shore and across the waters of the Black Lake.

Every student fell silent as the boats rounded a corner and the castle loomed over them. It was intimidating and awe-inspiring. This castle had nearly been destroyed over a dozen times over the centuries since the school’s founding, and yet it survived, held together by magic and the determination of its caretakers.

The towers literally towered over them, yet Félix felt like the castle was greeting him like a long-lost boy who had finally found his way home. He relaxed. The knot of nerves in his stomach loosened.

Bridgette let out a breath at his side. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the castle’s magic. The building had a life and a soul of its own, in a way.

The boats passed through a curtain of ivy that covered the entrance to a tunnel. At the end of the short tunnel, the boats pulled themselves up to a small dock among large rocks lining the shore. 

All of the students scrambled out of the boats and gathered around Hagrid on the shore. 

“Almost there,” Hagrid said with a smile. The groundskeeper had made this journey who knows how many times, yet he still took obvious delight in introducing new young witches and wizards to their second home for the rest of their adolescence.

After a short hike up stone stairs and through the castle’s lower corridors, the students were gathered outside the massive doors of the main hall. The sounds of their upper-classmen’s chattering were muffled by the thick, oak doors. 

A young man with wavy, dark brown hair and an athletic build approached the group with an easy grin. His burgundy robes fluttered gracefully in his wake.

"Right on time, Hagrid," the cheerful man said.

"I'd hope so. Been doin' this long enough," Hagrid chuckled. "This here is Professor Longbottom. He'll be taking over from here. I best get to the feast." 

The half-giant departed with a wink and wave. Three dozen first-years turned to the professor.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor Longbottom greeted them warmly. After a short speech explaining the sorting ceremony and a brief description of the four houses, the professor waved his hand at the oak doors. They swung open silently on ancient hinges, revealing a massive dining hall packed with students seated at four long tables. Professor Longbottom led the group of students up the center aisle to the front of the room. He had them stop in a group in front of a head table where the rest of the faculty were seated.

A formidable witch in emerald green robes sat in the throne-like chair in the center. That must be Headmistress McGonagall. Félix expected her to say a few words, but he startled when a rip near the brim of the hat opened at the Sorting Hat began to sing. 

It was a nonsense song describing the characteristics of the members of each of the houses and encouraging the new students to not be nervous as it rummaged through their thoughts when it was their turn to don the hat.

After a round of polite applause for the hat's song, Professor Longbottom removed a scroll from his wide sleeve and unrolled it. He read the names one by one. As each new student was called, they left the line and sat on the stool. Professor Longbottom would then set the hat on their head and wait until the Sorting Hat made its pronouncement. 

Bridgette was one of the first to be called up. It took a minute before a rip near the brim opened and the hat announced “Gryffindor!”

Félix almost sighed. The chances of him and Miss Cheng being sorted into the same house were slimmer than him keeping the potential friend he had made on the train. It didn’t matter. He kept his head high and patiently waited for his turn.

“Graham de Vanily, Félix,” Professor Longbottom called, holding the sorting hat at the ready. 

Félix caught his hand moving up to fix his hair in a nervous tick. He let his hands hang casually at his sides as he strolled up to the stool. Félix ignored the other students' stares and whispers as he walked, keeping his eyes focused on the waiting hat. He took a seat on the stool, and the professor lowered the hat onto his head. It was too large and fell over his eyes, cutting off Félix’s view of the room. 

“Hmm…” Félix heard an old, male voice in his mind. “How interesting.”

He held his breath, wondering if he should be concerned that he was hearing a voice that was not his own familiar inner monologue in his head. 

“Don’t worry, lad. You’re no crazier than the rest of us,”  the voice said.

That wasn’t reassuring. 

The voice chuckled. 

“Now where to put you… The seeds of promise are there but haven’t blossomed yet. You can be bold and loyal, and you have a thirst for knowledge.”

“Knowledge is power,” Félix thought back. 

“That it is, lad.” The voice sounded amused. 

“Slytherin!” the hat declared to the hall. The students at the far left table began applauding. 

Longbottom pulled the Sorting Hat from Félix’s head, and Félix strode over to join his new housemates and took a seat on the bench near the head of the table. He exchanged nods with his fellow Slytherins, but no one introduced themselves. He looked across the hall to the Gryffindor table. Bridgette gave him a smile and a subtle thumbs up. Félix half-smiled back, then turned his attention to the sorting. 

“LeMuet, Claude,” Professor Longbottom read from the scroll. 

An over-eager boy with sun-kissed skin and unkempt, brown hair that was starting to curl at the ends rushed up to the stool. He practically pulled the hat out of the professor's hands and jammed it on his head with a goofy grin. 

He was placed in Hufflepuff almost immediately. 

Toward the end of the sorting, a dark-skinned boy with short-cropped hair was also sorted into Slytherin. He opted to sit beside Félix.

“Alan Thénardier,” the youth introduced himself, extending his hand. 

“Félix Graham de Vanily,” Félix returned, shaking the proffered hand. 

“Sounds like we both drew the short straw on easy-to-write family names,” Alan joked. 

Félix smirked. This boy had an easy-going bearing that was very unlike Félix’s stoic nature, but Félix thought he could learn to appreciate their differences. Especially if it won him an ally in Slytherin house. 

The feast commenced, and happy chatter filled the hall. Félix happened to glance at the Gryffindor table mid-meal. Bridgette seemed to be getting on with the tanned girl with long, dark brown hair curling around her head like fairy floss. The two girls were talking with a third girl sitting across from them. Félix couldn’t see much more than platinum hair held back in a long braid trailing down her slim back, but all of the males within two meters of her seemed to be leaning in her direction and stealing glances at her. 

‘She could be dangerous,’ thought Félix of the unknown blonde, but he was pleased to see that Bridgette appeared to be getting along with her new housemates. 

They were the first years. The unprotected new kids. The unknown factors. They had to establish alliances as quickly as possible. 

"Would you like a roll?" Félix asked Thénardier.

Breaking bread was a time-honored tradition between allies.

Chapter Text

September first rolled in with a thick fog.

Félix sat on the same bench on the Hogwarts Express as he had on the first day of term last year. Once again, he had placed himself next to the window with his bag on the seat on his other side to discourage anyone from trying to sit next to him.

He sat straight with his legs crossed at the knee, a book held open in his hand. 

He looked up when the door slid open. Bridgette stood there with a hopeful smile on her face.

“Hi, Félix. Mind if I join you?”

“Miss Cheng,” he said in greeting. His facial expression didn’t change, but he nodded and waved at the bench across from him with his free hand in invitation.

Bridgette smiled wider and bounced into the room, sliding the compartment door shut behind her. Félix went back to reading his book.

She set her bag down on the indicated bench and settled herself in the middle of the seat. 

“How was your summer?” she asked.

Félix glanced at her over the top of his page.

“It was enjoyable. I assume yours was as well. Now, if you don’t mind, do you have any needlework or the like to keep you occupied so that I can get on with reading?”

Bridgette covered her mouth with the back of her hand and giggled. 

“Alright, then. I’m glad you had a good summer,” she said, her eyes twinkling. 

She opened her canvas messenger bag and pulled out what looked like a half-finished scarf, in salmon pink this time.

“Another gift for your mother?” Félix asked, keeping his eyes on his book as he turned the page.

“Oh, so you’re allowed to ask questions, but I’m not? That’s a bit of a double-standard, isn’t it?” Bridgette called him out with an amused lilt to her voice.

Félix’s lips pressed into a thin line. He resigned himself to closing his book and setting it on his leg with his finger tucked between the pages to keep his place.

“You’re quite right. My apologies, Miss Cheng. How was your summer?”

“It was good. I mostly helped Mama with the restaurant. This scarf is a Christmas present for Renée. You remember my dormmates, right? Salmon is her favorite color. I’m going to make another in blue for Victoire. See?”

She opened her bag and pulled out an ice blue skein of yarn to show Félix. 

“I’m sure it will be received well. Is there anything else, Miss Cheng?”

Bridgette’s patient smile didn’t falter as she shook her head.

“Enjoy your book, Félix.”

She stowed the pale blue yarn back in her bag, and picked up her new crochet project, looping the salmon pink yarn around her fingers on her left hand and taking up her hook with her right.

Félix opened his book and found his place on the page.

A noted seer and metamorphmagus, Merlin—

The door of their compartment was thrown open forcefully. Félix started and looked up at the intruder.

“Hey, guys!” Claude LeMuet exclaimed, beaming his obnoxiously enthusiastic smile.

“Claude,” Alan sighed, right behind him, “how many times do I have to tell you? Tone it down about fifteen notches.”

“Oh. Sorry!” Claude stage whispered. “Mind if we join you guys? Everywhere else on the train is full.”

Félix glared at his two friends, annoyed. Alan was alright, but Claude had an unfortunate tendency to run his mouth.

“Sure! Come in,” Bridgette invited.

“Miss Cheng—” Félix started to object.

“Great! Thanks, Bri!”

Claude bounded over to Bridgette’s bench. She slid closer to the door to make room for him.

Alan, much more calmly, took the seat next to Félix and opposite Bridgette.

“Sooo… How was everyone’s holiday?” Claude asked. 

His chipper mood was starting to grate on Félix, who had been looking forward to a few hours of uninterrupted leisure reading before the start of term.

“It was great! Hey, Claude, have you ever tried a sudoku puzzle before?” Bridgette asked.

“No. What’s that?”

“Here, I’ll show you. I have a cousin who introduced me to them this summer. They’re a lot of fun!”

She pulled a thin paperback book from her bag along with a small, purple stick with a white nub at one end. The exposed wood on the other end was sharpened into a point with a dark grey core.

“What is that?” Claude asked, curious.

“It’s called a pencil,” Bridgette explained. “It’s a muggle writing instrument, kind of like a quill, but easier to erase. You have to use a pencil to do the puzzle since the paper they’re printed on is so thin. A quill would bleed right through. Here, hold it like this. Just like a quill.”

She modeled how to do it for Claude, then passed the writing instrument to him. 

“Like this?” he asked.

“Yep, just like that,” Bridgette encouraged, though she adjusted his grip slightly.

She opened the thin book to a page near the beginning.

“This is a sudoku puzzle. It’s laid out in a nine-by-nine grid.”

Bridgette patiently explained the rules, and helped Claude start filling in the little squares with numbers.

“She’s really good with him,” Alan muttered to Félix quietly.

Félix hummed in agreement, daring to return his attention to his book. Alan took his cue, and opened a quidditch magazine he had brought with him.

Aside from a few exclamations from Claude, the noise level in their compartment dropped to a comfortable level for Félix, allowing him to concentrate on his book.

“So how come you’re sitting here with us instead of with your friends? Alan and I saw them sitting together a few compartments over,” Claude said.

“I wanted a chance to work on their Christmas presents without spoiling the surprise. Keeping secrets from those two can be a challenge,” Bridgette said good-naturedly.

“Oh, yeah. They’re your dormmates, right?”

“Uh-huh. I really lucked out. They’re great girls, and we have a lot of fun together.”

“So if I wanted an introduction to Weasley…?”

“Ooh, I’m sorry, Claude. Victoire’s hinted that she’s got her eye on someone, but she hasn’t told us who yet.”

“Hey, maybe it’s me!”

“Yeah, keep dreaming, pal,” Alan said in his steady voice.

Félix had always appreciated Alan’s down to earth nature.

By the time the train arrived in the village of Hogsmeade, Bridgette had finished the salmon pink scarf and started on the ice blue one, and Claude exclaimed that he was starting to get the hang of the muggle puzzle. 

Félix stowed his book in his bag. He had nearly finished it—an impressive feat with all of Claude’s interruptions, but Bridgette had done a good job of keeping him distracted. Alan had remained the calm and soothing presence of their little group.

When the train came to a stop, Alan stood and stretched. 

“Come on, Claude. Let’s go look at the thestrals before it’s time to load up,” he said.

“You can seriously see them? You’re not just messing with me?” Claude asked, gathering up his robes and rucksack.

“Really and truly. I’ll introduce you to them. Did you remember to bring some raw meat with you?”

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alan closed the door behind him after ushering Claude out ahead of him.

Bridgette chuckled behind their backs.

“I’m glad you made some friends, Félix. They seem like really great guys,” Bridgette said.

“They have their moments,” Félix acquiesced, standing and pulling on his school robe.

“Umm, Félix, do you mind?” Bridgette asked uncertainly, biting her lower lip.

Félix glanced at her. She was holding out one end of her Gryffindor tie to him. The tie lay untied around her neck. 

“An entire year at Hogwarts, and you still haven’t managed to learn how to tie it yourself?” Félix asked, but he held out his hand for the tie.

Bridgette lifted the red and gold silk over her head and handed it to him.

“No, I can do it, it’s just that it never turns out as good as the time you tied it for me, and I want to make a good impression at the start of term feast, you know?”

Félix hummed in acknowledgment and turned to his reflection in the window, using it as a mirror as he tied her tie around his own neck. He prayed no one saw him wearing red and gold, even briefly. He would never be able to live down the shame.

“You’re probably tying a half-Windsor or a four-in-hand. I find that a full Windsor produces a better knot,” Félix said as he worked.

“Thank you,” Bridgette said when he handed the perfectly knotted tie back to her. 

She stood her collar up, slipped the tie over her head, and fitted it around her neck. She folded the collar down and turned to Félix for inspection.

“Well? How do I look?”

Félix gave a single nod of approval. 

“Enjoy the feast, Miss Cheng.”

“You as well, Félix,”

He opened the door for her, and followed her down the corridor to the train’s exit. She was soon accosted by her friends, and Félix walked to the line of carriages to find his dormmate and their idiot Hufflepuff who had adopted them for some reason.

Chapter Text

It started on the train. Of course, it started on the train. It always started on the train. 

Félix was sitting in his standard seat by the window, reading a book, when the compartment door slid open. 

“Hi, Félix!”

He didn’t bother to look up from the text. 

“Hello, Miss Cheng.”

He slid his finger down the margin of the paper to the corner and turned the page. Bridgette entered the compartment and shut the door behind her. It was business as usual until the girl yelped and fell in his lap.

Félix dropped his book as he instinctually caught her, his arms wrapped around her torso. Bridgette was nose-to-nose with him, her eyes wide, mouth agape, and cheeks pink.

Félix stared back, waiting for her to get off him.

After a few more agonizing seconds, Bridgette gasped softly and scrambled off him. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I tripped.”

“No harm done,” Félix said flatly. 

He stood and brushed off his shirt and trousers, and bent to pick up his fallen book. He sat again and resumed reading.

Bridgette took her usual spot across from him and began her ritual crochet project. Alan and Claude soon joined them.

“Hey, guys! What’s up!”

“Hello, Claude,” Félix deadpanned, resolutely keeping his attention on his book.

Alan sat on Félix’s bench, while Claude plopped next to Bridgette and gave her his full attention like an over-eager puppy.

“What are you making?” Claude asked Bridgette.

“Oh, I made scarves for my friends for Christmas last year. This year I’m branching out and making matching hats.”

“Sweet. Oh, hey, can you make a scarf for me?” Claude begged with his ever-present grin. 

“Claude, don’t bother Bridgette,” Alan admonished.

“I’m not bothering her,” Claude defended. “Am I, Bridgette?”

“Oh, Claude, of course not,” Bridgette cooed.

Félix glanced at the pair over the top of his book and lifted an eyebrow. They were staring at each other with smiles that one could describe as ‘sweet.’

He became increasingly uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by, Bridgette and Claude staring into each other’s eyes. 

The tension broke when the pair started laughing. Bridgette’s was a joyful giggle, while Claude snickered, threatening to snort. It was very undignified.

Félix rolled his eyes and returned to his reading.

Children.

“What color do you want?” Bridgette asked.

“Yellow! No. Purple. Orange? Nah, purple. Definitely purple. Yeah, let’s stick with purple.”

“Okay, one purple scarf crocheted by yours truly, delivery upon completion,” Bridgette agreed with her sunshine smile.

Alan sighed. 

“That’s nice of you, Bridgette, but you don’t have to. Give it a month, and I bet Claude will forget all about it,” Alan said.

“Mister Thénardier is correct,” Félix spoke up. “You shouldn’t indulge him.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. I’m happy to do it,” Bridgette insisted.

“See? Bri loves me,” Claude baby-talked, wrapping his arms around Bridgette’s neck in an obnoxious hug.

Bridgette merely laughed. She patted Claude’s arms, and he let go amicably.

The castle spires were coming into sight when Félix finished his book of the day. He packed it away, then extended his hand to Bridgette and cleared his throat.

Bridgette looked at the castle, then at Félix, and cocked her head to the side in question.

“Your tie, Miss Cheng,” Félix sighed.

“Oh! Thanks, Félix!” she said as if she had somehow forgotten that she had yet to tie her school tie once again.

She handed it over, and Félix dutifully tied it and passed it back to her. He had recently gone through a growth spurt. He had to tie it much shorter on his person to accommodate her stature than he had the past two years. Finished, Félix handed the perfectly knotted tie back to the Gryffindor.

“Uh, what was that?” Claude asked, one of his eyebrows cocked in question.

“Félix ties my tie for me before the start of term feast. It always turns out better than when I do it. I’ve tried to tie it in a full-Windsor, but it always turns out kind of wonky. I can never get it even, and I want to put my best foot forward at the feast. First impressions and all, you know?”

“Really? That’s nice of you,” Alan said in his low, mellow voice. 

He gave Félix a sideways look, which his dormmate pointedly ignored.

“Yeah, it’s way nice. Hey, Félix, would you—?”

“No,” Félix shut the Hufflepuff down.

“So you’ll tie Bridgette’s tie in the most perfect knot ever, but you won’t do the same for your best friends?” Claude whined, giving him his saddest puppy dog eyes.

Félix remained unmoved.

“Hey, I don’t need Félix to tie my tie for me,” Alan said. 

“Yes,” Félix agreed, “Mister Thénardier’s state of dress is beyond reproach.”

“Thank you,” Alan said, re-centering his perfectly centered tie smugly.

“Bridgette!” Claude cried, dramatically throwing himself on the small girl. “Félix and Alan are picking on me. Why are they being so mean?”

“There, there,” Bridgette reached up awkwardly to pat the boy’s messy brown hair.

They made it to the end of their journey without further incident. As usual, Bridgette joined her Gryffindor friends on the platform, while Félix, Alan, and Claude took a separate thestral-pulled carriage up to the castle. 

The school year proceeded as usual for the first couple of weeks. Félix was earning top marks in charms, transfiguration, potions, defense against the dark arts, history of magic, herbology, arithmancy, and ancient runes. He had tested out of flying in his first year, already being an excellent flier. 

Things started getting odd about two months into the term. It was breakfast on Halloween morning when Bridgette approached Félix at the Slytherin table in the great hall. 

“H-hi, Félix,” she greeted, her cheeks tinted a cherry blossom pink. 

Félix set down his knife and fork, and turned on the bench to face her. 

“Miss Cheng,” he acknowledged. 

She bit her lip and looked down at a box she was holding in her hands. It was about the size of a paperback novel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. She was fidgeting with the parcel. A finger teased the tail of the string, then she squeezed the box gently. 

Félix started counting down from twenty in his head. If he got to zero and she hadn’t said anything, he was going to—politely—prompt her to get a move on with whatever she had to say.

“I hope you have a good Halloween!” Bridgette spat out, thrusting the package in his face.

She spoke far too loudly. Her voice carried across the hall, drawing the attention of many nearby students.

Félix leaned back, startled by her outburst. He gingerly took the package out of politeness. Bridgette practically bowed to him, then scurried back to her pride of Gryffindors.

“What was that about?” Alan murmured to him out of the corner of his mouth.

“I have no idea,” Félix said.

“Well, are you going to open it?” Alan asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Félix considered the package in his hand. It wasn’t heavy or stiff enough to be a book.

“Not at the table.”

He stowed it in his book bag, intending to open it in the privacy of his room, and tucked back into his breakfast.

Félix had a break after charms. He would typically spend this time in the library studying, but he decided to take the opportunity to open the mysterious package from Bridgette instead.

In the security of his dorm room, he removed the parcel from his book bag and sat in the green velvet upholstered chair at his antique desk next to his bed. He cut the string holding the package closed with a silver letter opener and let it fall onto the desk. He peeled back the brown paper to reveal a small, white pastry box. 

He tipped back the lid and was greeted by a pile of small, brown squares with broken edges that smelled like sugar.

Félix pulled out his wand and performed some diagnostic spells. No poisons or potions detected. He picked one up, smelled it, then tentatively nibbled off a corner.

All of his senses agreed. It was peanut brittle. Rather good peanut brittle, at that. How had Bridgette known that it was his favorite?

He finished half a piece and tucked the rest in his warded trunk for later. He wasn’t a glutton who couldn’t control his appetites.

Félix penned a thank you note to Bridgette as etiquette dictated.

Dear Miss Cheng,

Thank you for the sweets. Happy Halloween.

Félix Graham de Vanily

If only his mother hadn’t taught him to be so polite.

Chapter Text

Félix hand-delivered his thank you note to Bridgette in Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day. He didn’t so much deliver it as he left it on her usual desk with her name quilled on the exterior of the folded parchment sealed with the Ghram de Vanily crest in green wax. 

He sat next to Alan and set his books on the desk. He was inspecting the nub of his quill when his fellow Slytherin leaned over and whispered to him.

“So? What’s with the letter.”

“Merely a thank you note for the gift she presented to me this morning.”

Finding his quill in good order, Félix set it on the desk beside his inkwell and flipped open to the appropriate page in his textbook: hinkypunks.

The hinkypunk is a diminutive, one-legged magical beast with the appearance of wispy blue, grey, or white smoke. It has a proclivity for luring travelers off...

“What did she make for you?” Alan asked.

Félix side-eyed his desk-mate.

“Make?” he echoed, inquiring.

“Yeah. At least I assume so. I overheard Goldsberry going on about how Cheng is always making handmade gifts for people. Apparently, she never just purchases something.”

Félix tucked that bit of information away. It certainly was in line with what he knew of the girl.

“Peanut brittle,” Félix revealed.

“Huh. I figured that she would have knitted something. How was it?”

“It was satisfactory,” Félix replied, turning to the front of the class. Professor Merrythought had arrived and was preparing to start the lesson.

Alan whistled low under his breath.

“What?” Félix whispered back.

“‘Satisfactory’ is high praise coming from you. Peanut brittle usually isn’t my thing, but I can’t wait to try some.”

Alan faced forward and readied himself to learn about potentially dangerous magical creatures.

Félix didn’t like the idea of sharing. Perhaps it was because he was an only child, but he tended to hoard things he perceived as being his—even if it was something as meaningless as hand-crafted sweets.

Bridgette snuck into the classroom and hurried down the aisle to the seat her housemate, Renée Goldsberry, had saved for her. Victoire Weasley sat on the African-British girl’s other side.

Miss Cheng stumbled as she passed Félix’s desk. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but looked away once he was assured she was fine. Her cheeks were dusted slightly pink as she crossed the aisle to her seat.

Félix could have sworn that she squeaked like a house elf when she saw the note on her desk.

There was a nudge from Renée, and Bridgette picked up the note. She flipped it over and carefully tore the lip of the wax seal from the parchment, unfolded the note, and read its brief contents. From what Félix could see in his peripheral vision, Bridgette blushed brighter and a broad smile stretched across her features.

That was the beginning of the end of Félix’s peaceful life at Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Félix almost groaned when Bridgette Cheng stumbled into his compartment on the Hogwarts Express at the start of their fourth year at Hogwarts.

The girl had become unbearable after Halloween of third year. She continued to bake him sweets. He had eaten them at first, and they were admittedly all delicious, but he had begun to tire of the high sugar content. Though his mother would be appalled at his lack of etiquette, he stopped writing thank-you notes after the first one.

His fellow Slytherins had started giving him amused looks whenever Bridgette approached him with another package. Claude didn’t help Félix’s embarrassment any by loudly declaring his dissatisfaction during a study hall period one day in front of the rest of the fourth years.

“Aw…” the Hufflepuff whined. “I wish a pretty girl would bake sweets for me.”

That was the last straw. Félix snapped his textbook shut, packed up his study materials, and asked their study hall monitor if he could be excused. Félix’s track record of turning in excellent work and a long line of O’s on his exams tended to give him some leeway with the professors. Add to that Longbottom’s soft heart, and Félix was excused without a fuss.

He stopped accepting her gifts after that.

Bridgette started trying to strike up a conversation with him whenever she could. She would try to partner with him in class, but thankfully Alan was usually there to partner with him instead. 

The girl even went so far as to corner him on his trek back up to the castle from the greenhouses on a cold, wet day in February to ask if he’d like to accompany her on the next Hogsmeade weekend. 

It really was poor timing on her part. Félix was cold, hungry, and dirty after a rather unpleasant herbology lesson. If he had been in a better frame of mind, he would have declined her invitation more cordially, instead of glaring at the unfortunate girl and coldly saying, “No,” before brushing past her, his mind on nothing but a warm shower, dry clothes, and a hot meal.

Somehow, Bridgette was not deterred. Félix started avoiding her whenever he could. When he couldn’t, he was, well, rude. 

After a certain point, Félix believed that it was her social ineptitude and not his that she couldn’t take a hint with every clipped response and failure to look her way.

It hadn’t stopped over the summer. Bridgette faithfully sent him an owl every day of the break. Félix read the first few missives out of curiosity. They were single-page letters detailing her mundane day-to-day life and queries into how his break was proceeding. 

Félix never sent her a return owl. He started ignoring them altogether. After a few days of sitting unopened on his writing desk, the house elves would deal with them. Félix had no idea what they did with them all, and he didn’t care.

But today, on the train, he was cornered. 

“Hi, Félix!” she greeted brightly.

Félix didn’t look up from his book. He sighed and said, “Good day, Miss Cheng,” in the flattest, most disinterested, long-suffering tone he could muster.

Thank Merlin she didn’t pursue any further conversation. Bridgette took out a crochet hook and a skein of purple yarn. She unfolded a paper and set it on her knee, consulting it as she tied a knot in the end of the yarn and began making loops within loops to form some sort of garment. 

Félix relaxed marginally by degrees as the train pulled away from the station and the only sound was the chugging of the steam engine, the pages of Félix’s book turning, and the glide of yarn against Bridgette’s metal hook.

Eventually, Félix looked around the cabin.

Bridgette looked up from her work, her hands pausing.

“What is it?” Bridgette asked.

“Have you seen Misters Thénardier or LeMuet? They typically would have joined us by now.”

“Oh, I saw Alan sitting with Renée and Victoire and some of Victoire’s cousins in another compartment. I didn’t notice Claude on the train. I hope he’s okay.” She bit her lip in concern, looking into the corridor through the windows.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Félix dismissed, settling back into his seat and starting the next chapter of his book.

The rest of their train ride passed uneventfully. Félix was grateful for the peace and quiet. Bridgette was tolerable like this.

She held up a completed scarf for inspection when they had almost made it to Hogsmeade.

“There,” she said, sounding satisfied. 

She started packing away her pattern instructions and tools in her bag.

Félix eyed the purple scarf folded neatly on the bench at her side. 

“Is that the scarf Mister LeMuet had requested?”

“It is. Good memory,” Bridgette complimented him. “I never got around to it last year, so I figured I’d try to get it done on the train ride before term started.”

Félix could think of plenty of opportunities she had to crochet the scarf last year. For instance, all the time she had spent in the Hogwarts kitchens with the house elves making peanut brittle.

He started packing his bag in preparation to disembark the train. He was eager to get to the feast and get his fourth year underway. From what he had overheard from upperclassmen, this would be the year their coursework would start to become interesting. Félix intended to enjoy his studies before the pressure of fifth year O.W.L. exams consumed him next year.

“Umm, Félix?” Bridgette questioned.

She was offering her tie to him. 

Félix stared at the accessory, considering. Should he? Bridgette had shown a marked preference for him this past year, but she had been refreshingly unobtrusive on the train ride today.

He started reaching for the tie, for old time’s sake, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to lead her on by encouraging her to interact with him.

“I think you can handle it yourself. Good evening, Miss Cheng.”

Félix strode out of the compartment and slid the door shut behind him without a backward glance. He didn’t want to arrive at the school in the same thestral-drawn carriage as Bridgette this year. He had started to hear whispers of rumors that Miss Cheng and he were in some sort of romantic relationship the previous year. Riding in the same compartment on a full train was one thing. Arriving at the doors of the school together was quite another.

“Bridgette!” Victoire Weasley gasped from somewhere behind Félix as he entered one of the antique carriages. “What happened to you?”

“Are you okay?” Renée Goldsberry asked.

He couldn’t hear Bridgette’s response, but it was probably some derivative of, “I’m fine.”

“Here. Let me tie your tie for you,” Weasley offered.

This time, Félix did hear Bridgette’s defeated response.

“Just leave it.”

Félix was joined by Alan, Claude, and another Slytherin he couldn’t be bothered to identify. He tuned them out as the carriage jerked forward, pulled by its invisible steed.

He pushed away images of Bridgette’s downturned eyes. He had done the right thing. It would be foolish to encourage her. Any interaction might stoke the false hope she carried.

Chapter Text

Fourth year was becoming a repeat of third year, with the addition of more homework. Félix was stressed beyond belief, and he could not fathom Bridgette’s optimism and tenacity. She was just as attentive and persistent in her efforts to give him gifts and issue invitations as she had been the previous year. It was getting on his last nerve.

He did have some unexpected respite in the form of quidditch. Though he did not follow the sport religiously like most of the student body, he attended the games to maintain alliances within his house. He had functional knowledge of the game’s rules, knew who the players were on each team, and the current points standings.

His relief from Bridgette’s daily attentions occurred when she joined the team as a chaser. Team practices kept her busy enough that he could start studying in the library without being in danger of interruption.

It would have been polite for Félix to congratulate the girl for winning a place on her house team after the rosters were posted on the notice boards. He was sure it would make her happy, but he was trying to avoid such situations. It would only encourage her in her dogged pursuit of him. Instead, he continued to ignore her existence as best he could while sharing classes with her. 

Unfortunately, one of those classes was potions. 

Professor Slughorn had assigned the class a long-term project. They had to brew a potion complicated enough to be worthy of the fourth year curriculum, and it had to take a minimum of two weeks to complete. They had the option to work solo or in two or three-student teams. 

Most of the class had divided into small groups. Félix had opted to complete his project solo.

Perhaps it was hubris on his part, but Félix had elected to attempt to brew Felix Felicis. If successful, Félix would prove that he was the best potioneer in their year. Potentially even the whole school. 

Slughorn had recommended against the attempt, but Félix could be stubborn. And so, the professor had allowed it, but he would be keeping a very close eye on his progress.

It would take approximately seven weeks to brew the famous liquid luck potion. There were many delicate and precise steps involved. 

Victoire Weasley had accused him of being like her Aunt Hermione when she caught him consulting the study plan he had drawn up to ensure that he would have sufficient time to tend to his potion and complete the rest of his work before final exams and the summer holidays.

Félix was not offended by the comparison. The woman was a war heroine and the Minister of Magic. Even his mother had voted for her.

The Slytherins had double potions with the Gryffindors on the fateful day our story begins. You thought it was that first, sunny day in chapter one, didn’t you? That was technically the start of our tale, but no. Today is when things really started for one unfortunate Félix Graham de Vanily.

He was five weeks into his potion brewing final with two to go. 

It was sweltering in the potions lab in the lower levels of Hogwarts. The May weather had turned fine and warm, and the fires keeping the cauldrons stewing were conspiring with the temperatures outside to make the heat in the room unbearable. 

Professor Slughorn had retreated to his office after seeing to it that the class had started the lab period without incident and his fourth year students were busy at work. 

All of the students had foregone their jumpers. Anyone with long hair had put it up to get it off their neck. Even Félix had joined the rest in rolling up his sleeves, loosening his tie, and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. 

He mopped his forehead before giving the contents of his cauldron another one-and-a-quarter clockwise turn. 

The last thing he needed was something accidentally falling into his brew and disrupting the delicate balance of magical ingredients, careful preparation, and precise processes. A single drop of sweat could be fatal for his final grade.

The two hours passed, and Félix’s classmates began to pack up. Notes were folded and stuffed between pages of potions books, tools were packed away, and stray ingredients were returned to the supply cupboard.

The students tidied their uniforms and applied quick charms to release any wrinkles that might have set in the humid atmosphere. The general chatter that swelled with the winding down of the period was eager with lunch anticipation. 

The house elves had recently switched the menu from hot rolls and stews to cold-cut sandwiches and green salads. Everyone was grateful for the change. 

The room was almost empty, but Félix remained at his cauldron. Another nineteen stirs in alternating directions timed for every seventy seconds would complete the set of seventy. Félix would then put the solid gold-lined lid on his cauldron and let it simmer undisturbed for an additional week.

The muscle connecting Félix’s shoulder to his neck stiffened as he stirred, paused for the requisite number of seconds, stirred in the opposite direction, and stayed poised over his cauldron waiting for his chrono spell to reach zero again. All the while keeping careful count in his head.

Seventeen. Stir. Wait. Sixteen. Stir. Wait…

“Félix?” a feminine voice asked from the edge of his workbench.

He ignored her. The golden numbers shimmering in the air reached zero. Félix stirred, and his spell reset and began counting down again.

Fifteen.

“Félix?” the girl asked again, even more hesitantly.

“Not now, Miss Cheng,” Félix muttered, concentrating on the angle of his wrist as he moved his arm in a circular motion.

Fourteen.

“Are you planning on working through lunch? I could wrap up something for you and bring it down, if you like,” Bridgette offered.

“I said, not now,” Félix all but growled at the girl through clenched teeth. 

Couldn’t she see that he was trying to concentrate? Didn’t she realize how delicate this stage of his brew was?

Thirteen.

“Are you sure? It really wouldn’t be any trou—Ahh!”

That’s when it happened.

Bridgette Cheng, the girl who had become unfortunately clumsy the previous year, knocked over a rack of potion ingredients that had been sitting innocently on Félix’s workstation.

Félix breathed a silent sigh of relief when the spilled ingredients didn’t contaminate his potion or upset the cauldron’s flame.

He inspected his perfectly simmering potion. Its pearlescent surface was starting to take on a golden hue, exactly as the instructions described.

Félix counted his lucky stars that disaster had been avoided until a lone, four-leaf clover petal gently floated through the air, and landed on Bridgette’s nose.

Bridgette sneezed.

The sudden gust of air stirred up the spilled ingredients. A cloud of fine, golden-brown powder poofed up from the scarred wooden surface of the workbench and landed in Félix’s cauldron.

Its barely simmering surface began to pop with bubbles. Félix desperately reduced the heat while keeping an eye on the chrono spell. The countdown reached zero. 

He jabbed at the fire with his wand in his left hand and whispered the correct spell to reduce the heat while stirring the contents of the cauldron with his right. Félix fought his rising panic and forced his arm to move in the same steady rhythm as before.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Bridgette blubbered.

She had wisely backed up several paces. Félix ignored her, furiously searching his mind for anything that could be done. 

His brain was an unhelpful fuzz of white noise and static. The only thing he could think to do was finish the stirring process and pray for a miracle.

Nine. Stir. Wait. Eight. Stir. Wait. Seven…

Bridgette whimpered agonized apologies into her hands among her tears. Félix could almost use her endless repetitions of, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” in place of his chrono spell.

Two. Stir. Wait. One.

Félix gave the potion a final counter-clockwise stir. He carefully lifted the ladle out of the cauldron and set it aside. He stared into his potion, silently willing it to turn pale gold and simmer gently, its gentle steam rising from its surface like flakes of diamond caught in a mist of pearl dust.

Pearlescent steam rose from the cauldron, but it didn’t sparkle with any reflective particles. The surface of the potion bubbled merrily, but it had become a dark golden color.

Félix stared at it. He couldn’t process what he was looking at.

Over a month of effort. His perfect final grade. The prestige of being the first fifteen-year-old in nearly two centuries to achieve the near-impossible.

Wasted.

A small hand fell on Félix’s arm, awakening him from his stupor.

“Félix?” Bridgette called softly, her voice still thick with remorse. “I—“

Félix yanked his arm away from her touch, pivoting to glare down at the girl who had caused him nothing but grief for the better part of the last two years.

“Stop,” he commanded, his voice as cold as ice. “Stop apologizing.”

Bridgette retreated two steps, cradling her rejected hand. Her large eyes were wide with fear and rimmed red with tears.

“I—“ she tried.

“Shut up,” Félix snapped. “For the love of Merlin, just shut up. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? There are only two weeks left in the term, Bridgette. Two! My potion is ruined. This project is fifty percent of our grade. And now, somehow, I have to come up with another potion that I can brew in the limited time left that will hopefully scrape together an Acceptable for me. Not to mention all of the lost revision time I needed before exams.

“It may have escaped your notice, but I was trying to achieve perfect marks in all my classes. Do you have any idea what happens to Graham de Vanily scions who fail to live up to centuries of expectations?”

Félix snorted derisively and leaned his hip against his workbench. He folded his arms across his chest and crossed one ankle over the other in a show of casually cool superiority he had seen his father adopt on occasion. It was the height of arrogance.

“No. Of course not. How could you know what it’s like to be the only pureblood heir of a dynasty? You’re only a half-blood.”

Tears traced down Bridgette’s cheeks. Her shoulders hunched defensively to make herself a smaller target for Félix’s verbal lashing.

“And you know something else?” Félix said, pushing off the bench to advance on the cowering Gryffindor. “For the first time in my life, I’ve been grateful for quidditch. Normally, I think it is a ridiculous waste of time, but you made the team, and I could finally breathe during the hours you spent at team practice.

“Granted, I wouldn’t have minded so much if you had listened to my requests to stop. But, no. You insist on pestering me every spare minute of the day with gifts and invitations to any recreational school function that appears on the notice boards. Merlin forbid that Bridgette Cheng think of anyone other than herself. No, you’re so insecure that you feel you have to resort to bribery disguised as handmade goods to get anyone to be your friend.”

Bridgette backed up until she bumped into a workbench across the aisle with a choked squeak. Félix towered over her, trapping her in place without laying a finger on her.

“Let me be perfectly blunt, Miss Cheng. I am not your friend. I sure as hell am not your boyfriend. I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish by using me and my name, but it will never happen. You and I? We will never happen. Let your fantasy of a future with me die, Miss Cheng. You’ve caused enough trouble.”

With a sneer, Félix backed away from Bridgette. She had stopped crying. Her eyes were downcast, shadowed by her bangs. 

Félix unceremoniously dropped the gold-lined lid on his ruined potion, collected his books, slung his bag over his shoulder, and strode out of the room.

Bridgette didn’t move or make a sound. 

‘At least I think I finally got through to her,’ Félix thought, slamming the potion lab doors behind him.

Chapter Text

Félix’s temper cooled after lunch. He decided to brew one of the potions he had considered but disregarded during the planning stage of his potions final. It would be tight, but he could probably manage to brew a decent Draught of Living Death before the deadline.

He would have to write one hell of an essay describing how far he had gotten on his ill-fated Felix Felicis and how he had scrapped that project and changed course to make the tricky, though not nearly as time-consuming, alternative potion. Fortunately, Slughorn liked him, and the old man had seen how diligently he had worked on his luck potion. 

Félix was sure he could wring an Exceeds Expectations out of his corpulent hands. Perhaps even an Outstanding if Félix plied him with some crystallized pineapple. It couldn’t hurt to drop some off at his office the day their potions and reports were due.

Félix had a free period next, so he headed back to the dungeons to clean up his mess of a potion and begin gathering ingredients for his fresh attempt.

He expected the potions lab to be empty save for bubbling cauldrons, not to find the school’s potion master leaning over his cauldron.

“Professor Slughorn,” Félix greeted, surprised.

Slughorn looked over his hunched shoulder at the young man and smiled. 

“Ah, Mr. Graham de Vanily. Come in, come in,” the old man said before turning back to the potion and sprinkling in a pinch of white powder that glittered like freshly fallen snow as it shimmered through the air on its short drop into the cauldron. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Slughorn continued, “but I took the liberty of adjusting your potion. Just to get it back on track.” The professor winked at him.

Félix was gobsmacked.

“Forgive me, Sir, but do you mean to say that my potion is salvageable?”

“Yes, indeed, lad. It was quite fortunate that you completed the stirring process and placed the gold-lined lid on it, even after it was contaminated with excess common rue. 

“Even more lucky for you, Miss Cheng informed me of her little mishap and begged me to come see if there was anything I could do. I happened to have a free period myself, so I acquiesced and came down just in time. If your good fortune holds, I’d say you’re just as lucky as this potion, eh?” Slughorn chuckled.

Lucky? Him? Despite his name, no one had ever called Félix lucky in his entire life. In fact, he frequently felt like he was cursed with eternal bad luck. 

However, as Félix cautiously drew closer and peered into his cauldron from the other side of the workbench from his professor, he couldn’t help but feel that perhaps his often ridiculous professor may be right.

His potion was back to bubbling merrily and was the perfect light gold hue. Félix was gobsmacked.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how did you manage it? I thought for sure that the potion was ruined. It is a devilishly tricky little concoction, after all.”

Slughorn straightened from his crouch and plopped the gold-lined lid back onto the cauldron.

“Oh, that? It was nothing. All it needed was a pinch of moonstone to negate the excess common rue and another couple of turns of the ladle to get it back on course. If I’m not off my mark, I’d say you might have an outstanding potion on your hands. Well done, lad.”

Professor Slughorn sat back and removed a small tin of crystallized pineapple from his pocket. He stuck a square of the sweets in his mouth and began to chew while Félix tidied up the lab bench.

“I hope you thank Miss Cheng properly for coming to me when she did. Another few minutes and your batch of Felix Felicis would have been unrecoverable. I think it would also go a long way to cheering her up. I’ve never seen Miss Cheng look so upset as she did when she came to my office. She rather looked like she had just had a good cry, poor thing. In fact, if you don’t mind taking an old man’s advice, I’d do my best to make an ally of that girl. She’s going to go far in life, mark my words. I have a sense for these things,” Professor Slughorn said conspiratorially with a twinkle in his eye.

“Right, Professor. Thank you, Sir.”

He wasn’t sure that he sounded all that convinced.

“Not at all, lad. Not at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have papers to grade before my next class begins. One must keep on top of these things, you know.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Félix managed to keep the incredulity out of his voice. He wasn’t sure that Slughorn ever graded papers. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if the rumors were true that he had his N.E.W.T. students do his grading for him. 

Not that Félix blamed him, of course. The very idea of marking one of Claude’s essays gave him the shivers. The thought of marking with all that red ink gave his hand a phantom cramp. If Félix were in Slughorn’s shoes, he would do exactly the same thing.

As for thanking Miss Cheng… That would require more thought before deciding whether or not to take his professor’s advice.

Chapter Text

The end of Félix’s fourth year passed without incident. Thanks to Bridgette and Professor Slughorn, his liquid luck potion had received an Outstanding final grade. He had likewise received top marks in the rest of his classes. 

On September first, the Hogwarts Express trundled merrily down the tracks towards the famed school of witchcraft and wizardry tucked safe in the Scottish highlands. 

Félix was sitting in his usual spot on the train. The weather had turned cold and rainy the night before and hadn’t let up all day. A green and silver prefect badge gleamed on Félix’s grey jumper over his left breast.

It was near silent as he turned the page in his book discussing the socio-economic history of wizarding Europe dating back to the eleventh century. The only sounds came from the gentle rocking of the train cars and the general ruckus outside the closed door of his compartment. 

Alan sat beside Félix with their carry-on bags between them. Claude was reclined on his back on the bench he had all to himself across from the other boys, throwing a white ball with red stitching into the air and catching it again one-handed. 

Félix didn’t recognize the ball. It didn’t try to fly away or attack anyone. What an odd contraption. It didn’t seem to do… anything. It simply let gravity take hold and fall until Claude caught it and tossed it again.

For the first time, Bridgette was not crocheting in her seat opposite Félix. 

Félix cringed at the thought of spending all day in a small space with Mister LeMuet without Bridgette to distract him. If it came down to it, he supposed he could cast a full-body bind and a silencio on the Hufflepuff for good measure. But he would keep that option in reserve until it became necessary. Félix gave it five minutes at most.

To his surprise, their cabin was quiet and had remained so for the past half hour. 

Eventually, Claude caught his ball and sat up stretching. 

“As fun as this is, I’m going to go find the girls. You coming?” he asked Alan.

Alan rolled his shoulders and closed the magazine he had been reading. “Sure.”

Félix didn’t acknowledge the boys as they exited the compartment. He ignored their absence as he continued reading, hour after hour in the solitary compartment. 

He looked up when the door slid open, thinking his friends had returned.

“Anything off the trolley, dear?” the old witch asked.

Félix silently purchased his lunch and ate mechanically.

Another hour passed before Félix realized that he had been staring at his open book without taking in any of the words. He snapped it shut and got to his feet. He was feeling restless and needed to move around a bit.

Deciding to stretch his legs, Félix slipped into the corridor and shut the door behind him, reasoning that, as a prefect, he was obligated to periodically patrol the train.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and walked the length of the narrow, carpeted space. In the next train car, giggling snagged his attention to a compartment on his left. Félix peered through the window and was arrested by the sight of Miss Cheng and her dormmates along with Alan and Claude. 

Mister Thénardier was trouncing Mister LeMuet at wizard chess. Miss Weasley and Miss Goldsberry were giggling over something or other published in the latest issue of Witch Weekly.

Bridgette wasn’t laughing or giggling along with them as she normally did. She was sitting primly beside the girls with her knees together and legs crossed at the ankles. She was smiling politely, her eyes cast down demurely as she concentrated on the crochet project in her lap. It appeared to be a new scarf done up in navy blue yarn.

A shiny, new, red and gold prefect badge shone on her jumper. Why hadn’t Félix seen her at the prefects' meeting when they boarded the train? He couldn’t have missed her, could he? She wasn’t a shrinking violet. 

Then again, she had been acting more reserved since the potions incident at the end of last term. Félix hadn’t received any gifts or invitations in the weeks before exams. He hadn’t felt her eyes on him in class or from across the great hall. He hadn’t received a single owl from her over the summer holidays. 

Félix hadn’t thought much of it. It was a relief to finally be free of her unwanted attentions after enduring them for two years.

Her tie was already knotted in a perfect full Windsor. She wouldn’t be bothering him later to tie it for her.

Félix didn’t understand the sinking feeling in his stomach or why he had to swallow against a dry feeling in his throat as he looked away. His feet rapidly carried him back to his compartment. He closed the door behind him with more force than he intended and stood in the empty space.

He took a deep, controlled breath and let it out slowly. It didn’t matter. He preferred solitude. He resumed his seat and opened his book moodily, forcing his brain to take in the words on the page.

Chapter Text

Félix’s fifth year at Hogwarts was proving to be unsettling. 

He was enjoying his studies and was on track to earn multiple Outstandings on his Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Prefect duties added to his workload, but it wasn’t anything Félix couldn’t handle. 

Still, he felt… ungrounded, like a ship adrift at sea without an anchor.

Félix ignored the feeling as best he could. He studied diligently and took meticulous notes in class. He had never spent much time with his classmates outside of what he considered necessary social engagements. But two weeks had gone by, and he hadn’t received a single invitation from Miss Cheng. No gifts. No cards. No one-sided attempts at conversation. And either Bridgette had gotten much better at hiding it, or she wasn’t stealing glances at him from across the room anymore.

The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was posted on the notice boards three weeks into the new term. Félix tensed when someone tapped him on the shoulder as he was leaving transfiguration. He turned around to see Bridgette and braced himself. 

“You dropped this,” she simply stated, handing him one of his fine, eagle feather quills. She wasn’t smiling her big, cheerful smile that made her eyes crinkle.

“Oh. Thank you,” Félix said. Their fingers didn’t brush as he took the quill.

Félix waited for the inevitable invitation to Hogsmeade, his standard refusal poised on the tip of his tongue.

To his surprise, she didn’t say anything. She nodded with a small dip of her chin and gave him a small smile. It wasn’t a sweet or shy smile. It was a polite smile, like the one his mother wore at public functions. 

Bridgette turned on her heel and walked away, head held high, to her next class.

‘What’s gotten into her?’ Félix caught himself thinking and summarily brushed the thought aside. He was sure everything was fine.

Another two months passed before Félix realized that he was keeping tabs on his former shadow.

Bridgette was keeping busy. She attended every prefect meeting, standing somewhere near the back of the room and not speaking up unless necessary. Félix was on a different patrol route from her, but he saw her signed reports sitting on the pile on the head students’ desk when he turned in his reports. She was fulfilling her duties admirably.

The girl had been moved from chaser to seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team, their previous seeker having graduated at the end of last year. Renée Goldsberry had joined the team and taken her vacant place as one of the Chasers. That must have made Bridgette happy to have one of her close friends on the team. 

Félix kept a loose eye on Bridgette during the first match of the year—Gryffindor versus Slytherin, like always. 

Bridgette was intensely focused on searching for the snitch. She suddenly fell into a perfect dive forty minutes into the game. Slytherin’s seeker hadn’t had a prayer of catching up to her. 

Félix flinched when Toby Hoffsten lobbed a bludger at her. Bridgette must have sensed the black ball coming because she didn’t take her eyes off the snitch even as she twisted her broom into an inverted dive. Félix had no idea how she kept her seat while upside down like that. 

Bridgette’s hand closed around the golden ball, and she corkscrewed straight up into the air, avoiding the rapidly approaching ground, the bludger, and the other players as she held the snitch aloft in triumph. 

The stands erupted with shouts and cheers. Even the Slytherins grudgingly admitted that it was an incredible catch and gave her some half-hearted applause. It might have been the first time the house had cheered for the lions in living memory.

The blond expected Bridgette to be beaming for the next week after her team’s victory. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made another appearance the following Monday when he spied her in the back of defense against the dark arts, looking as reserved and demure as she had since the first day of term. 

Professor Gabriella Merrythought announced they were going to do something a little different in class today. She had the students pack their things away and stand, then she stacked their desks against one wall to clear the floor, summoned a thick rug, and cast a cushioning charm on it.

“You all have been working hard preparing for your O.W.L. exams. We’re going to do a bit of dueling today to give you some practical experience. Would anyone like to go first?” Professor Merrythought asked.

Victoire Weasley volunteered. Anthony Goldstein Junior volunteered to face off against her. Félix rolled his eyes. Goldstein was about to get his pompous attitude handed to him on a silver platter.

Weasley and Goldstein took their positions and bowed. Fifteen seconds later, the blonde girl brushed her long braid over her shoulder and rejoined her fellow Gryffindors along the wall. Goldstein moved a bit slower as he picked himself off the carpet and sulked back to his friends, rubbing the forming bruise on his rump.

After a few more rounds, Merrythought got to his name. 

“Any takers for Mister Graham de Vanily?”

Félix cringed inwardly. Did the witch have to phrase it like that?

He expected Bridgette to shout, “Me!” bouncing on her toes with her hand in the air.

What followed was silence.

“No? How about you, Miss Cheng?”

Félix turned to where Bridgette was standing with her friends. The girl stepped forward, her face a blank mask. Her lack of expression unnerved Félix. It was usually so easy to read her emotions on her face. She was an open book. Not today, though.

Félix heard a few boys around him start to murmur in hushed whispers to their friends.

“Dang. When did Cheng start looking like that? ”

“Those legs…” was followed by a low whistle.

Félix ignored his hormonal classmates. Bridgette looked no different than she did in first year with her raven black hair and big, ocean-blue eyes. She had grown a little taller, and her form was starting to become more womanly, he supposed, but those were not considerations he was making.

He decided to begin with a leg-locker jinx as he took his position in the middle of the room. Bridgette stood across from him and raised her wand in salute. Félix mirrored her, and they bowed. 

Félix hadn’t gotten the words of his jinx out when Bridgette cast a stinging hex that hit him squarely on the back of his wand hand. He hissed and nearly dropped his wand. 

Forget this. He was going to disarm her and get this over with.

Bridgette’s expelliarmous was faster. Félix almost lost hold of his wand. He quickly caught it with his off-hand and turned the movement into a tickling charm, which he cast at her before raising a protego to shield him from her return volley.

Their match wore on, far longer than any of the other pairs. Their wands flashed, attacking and defending in succession. Félix was accumulating an array of welts and bruises, and even a few minor cuts in his clothing and on his skin. Fortunately, nothing hit his face. Bridgette seemed to be concentrating her attacks on his hands, trying to disarm him.

An idea came to Félix as he cast another shield charm and dodged to his right. 

He cast a disarming charm, then, while Bridgette was distracted, he dropped to the floor and cast a disorientation hex. Bridgette didn’t react fast enough. The spell hit her in the stomach. She wrapped one arm around her middle and pressed the heel of her wand hand against her head like she had a bad headache. She pinched her eyes shut and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

Félix didn’t waste any time. He had only a second or two before the hex wore off.

He rolled to his feet and dashed to his opponent. Coming up behind her, he pinned her in place with an arm wrapped around her waist over her own, pulling her back against his chest. She was breathing just as hard as he was. Her hair was starting to stick to the back of her neck, dampened by a light sheen of sweat. 

He reached up and plucked her wand from her hand.

“I win,” he said so quietly that the rest of their class missed what he said. 

Félix had completely forgotten their audience in the tunnel vision that had ensued during their battle. 

Bridgette stiffened and retaliated by drawing back her right arm and jabbing Félix in the solar plexus with her elbow. 

Félix grunted and let her go. He doubled over to catch his breath.

His offender spun around to face him. The girl didn’t smile or speak, but she did blush as she held out her hand in silent request for her wand. Félix handed it over promptly. No witch or wizard ever felt comfortable with another holding their wand.

Merrythought applauded as her two students perfunctorily bowed to each other before retreating to their respective parties of friends.

“Very well done. Excellent, both of you. Weren’t they outstanding?” their professor asked the class, prompting a smattering of applause from the assembled teens. “And don’t forget the lesson Miss Cheng just taught us. Magic is a powerful tool, but sometimes the simplest solutions—like a sharp elbow—are best.”

Félix stood next to Alan, gently rubbing his chest. He may have a bruise later. 

“What was that?” Alan muttered to Félix.

“What was what?” Félix whispered back. 

“You were looking awfully cozy there at the end with your arms around her,” Alan explained. “You know. Before she beat you without her wand.”      

“I was merely restraining her in the event that she tried to get away before I could get her wand and end the match.”

“Sure,” Alan said. 

Félix cast his friend a side-eye at his unconvinced tone, then glanced at Bridgette. 

Her dorm mates were bombarding her with their own whispered conversation. She may have caught his eye but looked away so quickly that Félix would have missed the flutter of eye contact if he hadn’t been looking at her.

Alan smirked and nudged him with his elbow. Félix scowled and turned his attention to the center of the room where another pair was poised to begin.

Chapter Text

Félix received his Ordinary Wizarding Levels exam results a month into the summer holidays. He had achieved Outstandings in every subject.

Dressed in his favorite, black, three-piece suit and gray shirt ensemble, Félix sat in the breakfast parlor with his mother on September first. His trunk was packed, and Mitzy was seeing to it that it would be delivered at Kings Cross Station in good time to be loaded onto the Hogwarts Express.

Lady Amélie Graham de Vanily sipped her tea as she read a letter from one of her many correspondents. Félix wasn’t sure what a society wife did all day, but he knew that it was important and that his mother was always busy.

Félix was finishing his breakfast when his mother looked up at him.

“Are you ready for the new school year, darling?” she inquired.

“Yes, Mother. I’m especially looking forward to seeing what Professor Vector has in store for us in arithmancy. Though I still favor potions, I find the mental work of arithmancy fascinating.”

His mother smiled and nodded.

“And what of friends?”

“I’m maintaining relations with my fellow Slytherins and a few students in the other houses.”

“Has anyone caught your eye? You are sixteen now, and rather handsome. Though, I admit I’m a bit biased,” she teased.

Félix hesitated, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. He hated being teased.

“No one of special interest,” he said to his plate.

“While I want you to continue to excel in your studies, of course, don’t be afraid to have a little fun. You only have a couple of years left at Hogwarts, dear. Don’t squander them.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Félix flitted through a mental catalog of the girls of his acquaintance. 

Allegra Baudelaire was in his year in Slytherin, but dating her would be like dating his sister. Not to mention the tanned blonde was prickly and difficult to approach. Though, for some reason, she tolerated Claude remarkably well. Félix would even venture to say that the two were almost friendly.

Victoire Weasley was well-connected and very attractive, but she was heavily involved with Edward Lupin. Félix had the misfortune of catching the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff in the corridors after curfew more than once while on prefect patrol duty. Thank goodness Lupin had graduated last year so there wouldn’t be any repeat incidents.

His mind skipped over a few other names until it snagged on Bridgette Cheng. Beyond polite interactions when required, the raven-haired girl had remained aloof. She sat as far away from him in class as possible and never spoke to him unless necessary for the whole of fifth year.  

Félix would never admit it, but he had looked on with something akin to envy when Alan received a box of homemade chocolate fudge with hazelnuts from Miss Cheng on Christmas. It smelled divine, and Alan had obviously relished the sweets. The easygoing boy had even refused to share when Claude tried to take a piece. Alan always shared, but he had hoarded the fudge, only having one square a day, savoring it until it was gone.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. 

At the appropriate hour, Félix exchanged farewells with his mother on platform nine and three-quarters. Even in her heels, Amélie was shorter than her son now. For the first time, Félix was the one who had to lean down when he kissed her cheek in parting.

He attended the annual start of term prefects meeting, his green and silver badge pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. Bridgette was also in attendance, standing quietly in a corner. 

Félix didn’t see her until Anthony Goldstein Jr. moved aside. She didn’t look at him, but resolutely faced the head boy and girl who were calling the brief, introductory meeting to order. 

After the meeting, Félix was about to leave for his usual carriage when Goldstein approached Miss Cheng. Félix stepped aside to stand clear of the door and inspected a crack in the wall. 

“Hey, Bridgette,” Goldstein greeted.

“Hi, Anthony,” Bridgette returned. 

Her tone was perfectly polite. Gracious, but without any of her usual, bubbly enthusiasm. 

“Would you like to sit together?” Goldstein asked. 

The muscles in Félix’s shoulders tightened. What was this Ravenclaw playing at? Bridgette always sat with Félix and his friends—except for last year, but that had been an anomaly. 

“Oh. Sure,” Bridgette said.

A splinter from a chess piece had gotten lodged in the crack in the wood paneling. It must have been a violent match. Félix resolutely stared at it as the pair filed behind him out of the compartment. 

When Félix reached his usual carriage and slid the door open, it slammed into its casing. The doors on the train must have been oiled recently. He should have checked himself when he closed it behind him with just as much force, causing the window glass in the door to rattle.

“Whoa. You doing alright there, buddy?” Claude asked.

Félix scowled at the Hufflepuff, then froze when he saw who else was sitting in the compartment. Unlike previous years, it was full.

Allegra Baudelaire was sitting beside Claude, looking as stiff and unapproachable as ever in her expensive robes. On the other side of the compartment, Alan was sitting in Félix’s usual spot next to the window with Renée Goldsberry seated next to him and Victoire Weasley on her other side.

“What’s all this?” Félix asked, glancing at the company.

“We decided to switch things up,” Goldsberry said.

“My cousins were being annoying,” Weasley sniffed, “so we decided to find someplace else to sit.”

“Alan was kind enough to invite us to join you guys,” Goldsberry finished.

“And I have no idea what I’m doing here, so don’t ask,” Baudelaire said frostily.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Claude piped up in his usual, eager, puppy dog fashion. “I saw you standing around in the corridor, so I invited you to join us.”

“More like ambushed me and dragged me in here,” Allegra grumbled.

“You like us. Admit it,” Claude prodded with a smile.

“I will do no such thing.”

It was amazing how biting Allegra could be without raising her voice.

“I see. Scoot over, Miss Baudelaire. I want the window seat,” Félix said. 

“Why? It’s not like you're going to take in the scenery,” Allegra retorted, but she slid closer to Claude to make room for him.

“The natural light is better for reading,” Félix replied.

He removed his copy of Potent Potions of the Twentieth Century from his valise before reaching up to place the bag in the overhead bin. He’d never needed to use the overhead space for his belongings before.

Félix unbuttoned his jacket as he took his seat. He crossed his legs, and opened his book, beginning with chapter one.

It was a good thing that his book was so engaging. Alan, Claude, Renée, and Victoire talked the whole trip to Hogsmeade Station, with occasional quips from Allegra who spent most of her time thumbing through Renée’s old issues of Witch Weekly.

Félix suffered through it without complaint. His companions were not being that bothersome, really.

He froze in his reading mid-sentence when Allegra asked Goldsberry and Weasley, “So what’s up with Cheng? She was acting so strange last year, like someone replaced her with one of those old-school, pureblood, debutant witches or something.”

“Aren’t you one of those pureblood debutants?” Goldsberry asked.

“Please,” Allegra sniffed. “I have a mind and voice of my own and am not about to let my family force me into an arranged marriage. It’s so antiquated, and most pureblood families have given up on the old ways after the war, anyway.”

That was certainly true. Félix’s mother never said anything about blood purity or arranging a match for him, though traditionally his family would be in negotiations for a match for him by now, or at the very least be making suggestions for who to pursue a courtship with.

“Honestly, we don’t know either,” Weasley answered Allegra’s question.

“Yeah. It was weird,” Goldsberry added. “Bridgette was normal, then all of a sudden, she changed. She got quiet. Stopped baking biscuits on the weekends. Even one of the house elves visited to ask if she was feeling well since they hadn’t seen her in the kitchens in so long.”

Félix looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow. House elves never broke protocol. They must have been especially concerned. 

“She won’t tell us what happened,” Weasley said. “I hope no one hurt her. That would be awful.”

Félix’s hand on his open book tightened at the idea, subtly crinkling the edges of the pages.

“All we know is that she was fine until right before the end of fourth year. That’s when whatever it was happened,” Goldsberry finished.

Félix’s stomach sank so low that he felt hollow inside.

Right before the summer holidays in fourth year. 

That was about the time of the potions incident. It had been an honest mistake, and Bridgette had made it right by enlisting their potions master to save his Felix Felicis.  

He had never thanked her for that. Nor apologized for his verbal lashing. He didn’t remember what he had said, but he knew that his words had been cruel, born of stress and frustration. 

Félix snapped his book shut and stood abruptly, leaving the textbook on the bench.

“Where are you going?” Claude asked as the agitated blond slid open the compartment door.

“Prefect patrol,” Félix said as he left.

“Think he would buy some sweets while he’s at it if I asked?”

“Not likely, Claude,” Alan said. 

Félix walked up the corridors of the train, peering in the windows of the compartments, searching for Miss Cheng. 

He should have apologized for his rude behavior much earlier. Merlin, he never should have snapped at her in the first place.

At last, he found her in a compartment with Anthony Goldstein and a pack of Ravenclaws. They were all laughing. Goldstein nudged Bridgette with his knee. She smiled politely and nodded in response to whatever Goldstein had said.

Félix knocked and slid open the compartment door. 

“Excuse me. Miss Cheng, might I have a word?” Félix asked, ignoring the eyes on him, except for the ocean blue ones looking at him in surprise.

“Oh, um, sure, Félix.”

Brigette stood and picked her way over legs and fallen Exploding Snap cards littering the floor.

She slid the door shut behind her to give them some privacy and looked up into Félix’s eyes.

“What is it?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“I need to apologize to you for the way I behaved that day in the potions lab in fourth year. The things I said… I never should have said them. I didn’t even mean them. I’m sorry.”

Bridgette bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor. Félix couldn’t see her eyes, hidden behind her bangs. Her hair had gotten longer. Instead of tying it back in twin ponytails with red ribbons, it fell down her back in a long curtain almost to her elbows. A red ribbon tied in a bow over her right ear kept it out of her face.

Félix waited. Eventually, Bridgette looked up. Her face was set in a neutral expression he couldn’t read. 

“I apologize as well. I should have respected your boundaries and not let my silly crush get so out of hand. You were right. I was being pretty annoying, wasn’t I?” She laughed self-deprecatingly, but there was no joy in it. 

“Is that what I said? You could be a little… enthusiastic at times.”

“You mean obnoxious?” Bridgette quipped. Some of the old light glinted in her eyes and a smile tucked in the corner of her mouth.

Félix’s face softened as the sinking feeling in his stomach eased. He might have almost smiled a little.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Miss Cheng. Regardless, I hope that we can put the past behind us. Friends?”

He offered his hand. Bridgette considered him, then took his hand and shook it.

“Friends,” she agreed. “I’m going to go back now,” she said, dropping his hand and tilting her head toward the compartment full of Ravenclaws.

“Of course.” His eyes flitted to her collar. “Though, before I go, may I assist you with your tie?”

Bridgette looked startled and picked up the wide end of the untied, striped silk slung under her collar, examining it. She pulled, sliding it off.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, offering it to him. 

Félix took it and looped it around his neck, executing a perfect Windsor knot with practiced hands. 

Bridgette popped her collar and held out her hand as Félix slipped off her loose tie and handed it to her. She put it on and pulled her long hair free of the loop. 

Félix raised his hands to help with her collar, but she beat him to it. He clasped his hands behind his back, watching as she pulled it snug and centered the knot at her top button. 

“Perfect as always,” Bridgette complimented, smoothing her tie against her chest. “Thanks, Félix.” 

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled. 

“Enjoy the rest of your journey, Miss Cheng.”

Bridgette turned to the door and reentered the compartment.

Félix watched through the window as she resumed her seat next to Goldstein. One of the other girls in the compartment said something to her, and Bridgette nodded enthusiastically and said something back. She was still smiling her real smile. 

Satisfied, Félix turned back the way he’d come, feeling much lighter than he had before.

He returned to his friends soon after and dropped an armful of sweets into Claude’s lap without ceremony.

“Here,” he said as the chocolate frogs, licorice wands, cauldron cakes, and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans rained down. 

“Whoa!” Claude yelped.

He cradled the sweets in his arms, trying to keep any more from tumbling on the floor. Alan helped him pick up the ones that had fallen onto the carpet. 

“What happened?” the dark-skinned boy asked with concern. “You said you were going out for a patrol and came back with half the sweets trolley.”

“Nothing. I ran into the trolley lady on my way back, and she had plenty of merchandise left, so I bought a few things per Mister LeMuet’s request.”

“Wait. Wait. You did something nice for me,” Claude said, gobsmacked.

Félix took his seat beside Allegra and looked into the shocked faces of his companions.

“What? I can do things that are nice.”

“Félix,” Alan said. His voice had deepened over the summer, lending his tone a rich solemnity. “We’ve been your best mates for the better part of the last four years. We know you better than most. And we’ve never seen you do anything for someone without quid pro quo.”

“That’s not true,” Félix scoffed.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” Allegra sniffed.

Félix snorted. 

“If you’d rather not have the sweets then toss them in the bin. I don’t care.”

He opened his book and resolutely stared at the black print, not taking in a word of it.

“Do you think he…?” Renée whispered to Victoire.

“No,” Weasley whispered back. “I think—“ She nodded her head in the direction of the corridor. She unwrapped a cauldron cake and picked up a magazine.

“I think you’re right,” Alan whispered.

Claude ignored their cryptic conversation and dug into the sweets. He unwrapped a licorice wand and stuffed it into his mouth to chew on while poking through the rest of the haul.

Thénardier and Goldsberry collected the chocolate frogs, stunning the sweets and chewing absently while comparing the cards.

Allegra was giving Félix one of her appraising looks. He turned away from her to rest his elbow on the window frame while he read. She kicked him in the shin. Félix glared at her.

“What was that for?” he hissed.

Allegra scoffed and folded her arms. “You’re impossible.”

”Allegra! Try some!” Claude said, offering the blonde a box of Bertie Bott’s.

To Félix’s astonishment, she picked a pink bean out of the box and popped it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully. 

“Strawberry daiquiri,” Allegra decided.

“Cool. Let me try.” Claude chose a white bean and started chewing on it. His mouth puckered and he spat it into Allegra’s offered handkerchief. “Salt. Like, just salt.”

“See if you can find a caramel one,” Allegra suggested.

Félix didn’t know what was happening. Everyone was being so… friendly. It felt, well, it felt nice. 

He picked up a licorice wand that had fallen near his shoe, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. Perhaps he should be nice more often.

Chapter Text

Sixth year was going swimmingly for Félix. His classes were challenging, and he happily threw himself into the work. He had taken his mother’s advice and started accepting invitations to do things with his friends. Not all of them, but significantly more than in previous years. 

Though, no matter how many times Claude suggested it, he was not going to try pulling a prank on the students, staff, or ghosts of Hogwarts—especially not on the poltergeist.

His circle of friends had expanded beyond Mister Thénardier and Mister LuMuet. Félix somehow found himself in the regular company of Miss Goldsberry and Miss Weasley as well. Even Allegra joined their study sessions and started attending quidditch matches with them.

The only one who was absent was Miss Cheng. Félix would see her in passing at meals or in class. She would wave and smile kindly, and he would return the gesture. Sometimes he would even be the one to say ‘hello’ first. But they never had a proper conversation, and she wouldn’t join their group activities.

At first, Félix chalked it up to her being busy with studies, prefect duties, and her additional post as the Gryffindor quidditch team’s new captain (which he properly congratulated her for once he heard the news).

Weasley set him straight one Saturday after breakfast when their group had gathered at a pair of tables pushed together in the library for a charms study session.

“I wish Bridgette were here,” Renée moaned, slumping over the table and resting her head on the aged wood. “She’s a right dab hand at charms.”

“Stop your whining. You’re going to get ink on your nose,” Allegra scolded, not looking up from the notes she was scratching out on her own parchment.

“Where is Bridgette?” Alan asked, looking up the wand movement for a nonverbal banishing charm in the textbook.

“Probably with her boyfriend,” Weasley sulked. “I wish Teddy were still here.”

“Oh, quit complaining. At least you have a boyfriend,” Renée grumbled.

Alan paused his scanning of the page to look at the mass of black, curly hair beside him. He looked away after a moment and began jotting something in the margins of his book without comment.

Félix stared at the two girls sitting across from him.

“Miss Cheng has a boyfriend?” he asked before he could think better of it.

“They’re not official,” Renée said. She sat up and pushed back her mass of curls. “But Goldstein Junior has been staying on our bestie like a permanent sticking charm. He’s been inviting her to study with the Ravenclaws, and he invited her to go to Hogsmeade with him next Saturday.”

“Sounds serious,” Allegra snipped, still not looking up from her work.

“We’ll see. She has been a lot happier lately. If that’s because of Ravenclaw’s golden boy, I’m not going to complain,” Victoire said. 

“Cheers,” Renée agreed, returning to her work. “Now where did I put that book…” she trailed off, sifting through the texts piled on the table.

“Looking for this one?” Alan asked, holding up a blue tome.

Goldsberry brightened.

“That’s the one. Thanks, Alan.”

“Anytime, Renée.”

Félix flicked his gaze to Alan briefly. The boy was leaning in Goldsberry’s direction, reading over her shoulder. Their arms brushed when he reached over to point something out in the text. Goldsberry didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her arm was still touching his.

Allegra silently kicked Félix under the table. Félix glared at her.

‘What?’ he silently asked her.

Allegra rolled her eyes and scribbled on a corner of her essay in violet ink. 

Don’t stare.

She vanished the ink a second later and resumed writing her essay.

Stare at what? 

Félix glanced at Alan and Renée again. They did look rather happy together… and cozy with how close they were sitting.

He returned his attention to his books and began to write an essay on a comparison of verbal and nonverbal spells. 

Allegra reached over and scribbled a note in the corner of his parchment.

Jealous?

Whatever for? Félix wrote in black below her scribble. 

Alan is going to go out with the girl he likes and you’re not. She wrote on her own paper. 

I have no interest in Goldsberry. 

Allegra kicked him in the shin again—harder this time. 

“You alright, mate?” Alan asked when Félix jerked away from the pain. 

“Fine,” Félix growled between clenched teeth. 

What was that for?!

Allegra rolled her eyes. 

You’re impossible. 

Félix glared at Baudelaire out of the corner of his eye and vanished their inked conversation. He subtly shifted away from the offensive girl and returned to writing his essay.

Chapter Text

Alan returned to the dorms late Tuesday night with a new spring in his step. He had asked Goldsberry to go to Hogsmeade with him that weekend, and she had said yes.

This left Félix trailing along after Victoire Weasley, Claude LeMuet, and Allegra Baudelaire through the village on Saturday.

How had his life come to this?

The odd group visited Honeydukes and the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

At the joke shop, Victoire sweet-talked her uncle into giving her and Allegra free samples. The boys only got a ten percent discount—and that was after the red-head offered a five percent discount, and Victoire had pouted about being nice to her friends.

They were discussing where to head next when they were ambushed by a sandy haired young man. He stepped from under the shadowed awning of a shop and picked up Weasley from behind with his arms wrapped around her middle.

Félix had his wand out and was about to cast a full body bind on the lout who looked barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts, but Allegra grabbed his wrist and forced his wand down.

“Don’t,” Allegra ordered. “It’s alright.”

The stranger was grinning and spinning with Weasley. She gasped and laughed. The young man’s hair turned turquoise blue as he set the Gryffindor girl back on her feet, and she turned around in his arms and hugged him fiercely.

Félix relaxed and stowed his wand in its pocket.

“Lupin! Long time no see!” Claude cried, his arms raised as if for a hug as he walked towards the snuggly couple. 

Edward Lupin cocooned Victoire in his black cloak with him. The witch nestled against his chest like a pigmy puff. Both were grinning madly and looked extremely content.

“I didn’t know you were going to be in the village,” Weasley said.

“Surprise, Love,” Lupin said. He kissed the crown of his girlfriend’s hair before turning to her friends.

“Hey, LeMuet. Still keeping out of trouble?”

“Of course! You know me! Mister Responsible,” Claude said, beaming with house pride.

Félix raised a questioning eyebrow at the younger Hufflepuff, but kept his peace.

Claude invited Lupin join their group, but it was obvious that the established couple wanted to go to Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop for a snog, so Allegra steered Félix and Claude into The Three Broomsticks for lunch. She even treated the boys to stew and butter beers.

After lunch, Allegra wanted to pop into Gladrags Wizardwear, but Félix was extremely opposed to attending to a spoiled, Slytherin princess in a clothing shop. Claude had no such qualms and volunteered to accompany Félix’s housemate. 

Félix found himself perusing the stacks of Tomes and Scrolls by himself.

He was poking around the potions section when a giggle caught his attention. He looked up and spied Bridgette through the gap between the top of a row of books and the shelf above it.

She was trailing her fingertips along the spines of a collection of new release fiction novels, reading their titles aloud to Goldstein. Félix relaxed and started to smile lopsidedly at seeing her happy, but froze when he saw her face.

She was smiling that damned polite smile—again. 

She was on a date with someone who had been showering her with attention for months. As far as Félix could tell, the boy was kind and respectful. Students praised the Ravenclaw as charming and good looking with his height, athletic build, dark brown hair, and dark blue eyes. 

He should make an ideal romantic partner, but Bridgette’s smile wasn’t reaching her eyes. 

Goldstein had an arm slung around her shoulders, and the sides of their bodies were pressed together. 

Bridgette didn’t seem bothered by the contact, but her body language was not reciprocating either. She was neither leaning into the boy nor leaning away. She was just standing there. 

It didn’t sit right with Felix. Bridgette radiated light when she was happy. She wasn’t doing so now. 

It occurred to Félix that he shouldn’t be skulking around behind bookcases, spying on his friend.

He hastily put the book he had been considering back and started sneaking out the door so that he didn’t interrupt the date in progress.

That was his intention, at least. 

At sixteen, Félix’s body was changing rapidly, and he wasn’t always sure where his hands and feet were in relation to the rest of his body. It had resulted in a few embarrassing incidents that Félix would sooner forget.

Like this one. 

The toe of his loafer caught on a pile of books stacked against the end of a bookcase. The stack tipped over before he could catch it. Books thumped and crashed into the aisle.

Félix’s face heated with embarrassment at his blunder. He prayed that he wasn’t blushing. That would upgrade the situation from embarrassing to mortifying. As it was, he had drawn Bridgette and Goldstein’s attention. 

“Félix?” Bridgette asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you for your concern, Miss Cheng.”

Avoiding her worried gaze, Félix drew his wand and quickly set the books to rights, stacking them more neatly than they had been before.

“Hi, Vanily. Nice bit of spell work. I see you’ve been practicing your nonverbal charms,” Goldstein complimented him.

“Graham de Vanily,” Bridgette corrected, talking over Félix’s “Thank you.”

Bridgette caught Félix’s eye and smiled. It was one of Miss Cheng’s true smiles, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Félix caught himself smiling back.

“Is everything alright here?” the shop attendant asked, coming upon the scene.

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Félix said. He turned back to the couple. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.” 

He nodded in farewell and exited the shop with much more grace than he had achieved a few moments before. (Curse his ever-changing limbs.)

Finding himself alone in the street, Félix decided that he had had enough socialization for one day. 

It would be terribly convenient if he could summon a patronus in moments like these. He sighed, resigned, and walked up the street to the clothing shop and told LeMuet that he was heading back. 

Claude bid him adieu in his regular fashion—unnecessarily energetic—and resumed contentedly reading an issue of The Quibbler next to a pile of discarded witch’s robes while Allegra was in the changing rooms trying on more outfits. 

Félix silently wished the Hufflepuff good luck and trudged through the sunshine and snow back to the school. 

He settled into a rather comfortable wingback armchair near the fire in the Slytherin common room, summoned a house elf, and asked her to bring him a cup of tea. 

This particular Hogwarts elf had taken a liking to Félix. She always turned up whenever he called.

With a pop, she appeared at his elbow and set a tray with a tea service and a few biscuits on the end table next to Félix’s chair.

“Thank you, Whimsy,” Félix said.

The house elf smiled and bowed low. 

“‘Tis always a pleasure to serve the young master.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” Félix reminded her, pouring himself a cup.

The house elf straightened up and grinned at him.

“Whimsy knows, sir. But she likes to tease the young master.”

She gave him a saucy wink and was gone with a pop.

Félix snorted in good humor and shook his head. Cheeky little elf.

The rest of his afternoon passed pleasantly with the crackling of the fire in the hearth, good tea, and a good book for company.

Chapter Text

It was the twenty-seventh of November. Félix’s seventeenth birthday. In the eyes of the Ministry of Magic and wizarding society as a whole, he was now considered an adult.

Claude was nearly insufferable. He had even managed to smuggle in a noisemaker from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, which everyone knew was on the list of banned items nailed to the caretaker’s office door with copies pinned to every notice board in the castle. Naturally, the students bought WWW products in droves.

The Hufflepuff set off the noisemaker at breakfast in the great hall. It exploded with a blast and plumed a cloud of rainbow colored smoke that transformed into brightly colored confetti that rained down on the Slytherin table. 

Félix spat confetti out of his mouth and drew his wand to vanish it from his breakfast.

“Stop!” Victoire warned. “If you try to vanish it, the confetti will multiply.”

“How do I get rid of this stuff, then?” Félix asked, annoyed.

He tried to brush the confetti away, but the tiny pieces of paper seemed to stick to everything. Everything.

“It depends on the noisemaker. Claude, which one did you buy?” Victoire asked.

“The Happy Birthday one!” Claude declared like he had single-handedly won the House Cup.

Victoire groaned. 

“Are you going to do the honors, or should I?” she asked.

“I’ll do it!” Claude yelled excitedly. He started climbing on the Slytherin table.

“Sit down before you hurt yourself,” Renée ordered. “I’ll do it.”

Without hesitation, Goldsberry stepped onto the bench, and then climbed onto the table, careful not to step in the oatmeal or mash.

“Everyone!” she called. “It’s Graham de Vanily’s birthday today! All please join us in wishing him many happy returns of the day!”

She led everyone in the great hall in a rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.”

It was one of the most embarrassing moments of Félix’s life.

He kept his head held high and graciously thanked everyone with a bow of his head at the conclusion of the song. 

It worked. With the last, drawn out “youuuuuu…” the confetti vanished with the sound of a thousand tiny noisemaker toots.

“No offense, Weasley, but I’m not a huge fan of your uncle sometimes,” Félix muttered as Goldsberry climbed down and resumed her seat. He inspected his sausages for any lingering, colorful bits of paper. Thankfully, his plate was confetti free. 

“None taken. George means well. Same as him,” Victoire jerked a thumb at Claude.

The Hufflepuff was grinning, wearing a paper crown Félix had refused when Claude offered it to him.

Two, large barn owls flew through the high windows, carrying a large package between them. Félix stood and caught the box before it flattened the pastries.

It was a parcel from his mother. The card contained well wishes and a promise to throw him a proper coming-of-age party at the manor in a few weeks when he would be home for the Christmas holidays.

The rest of the box was packed with sweets and baked goods from the house elves. Félix recognized Mitzy’s chocolate éclairs and her sister Zellie’s pistachio macrons. 

There was also a fresh set of dress robes—not that he would have an occasion to wear them—and some new school shoes. Félix was grateful for the shoes. His old pair were starting to pinch the sides of his feet and his toes. He was over six feet tall and would probably finish growing soon. Not that Félix would mind gaining another inch or two in height.

A proud eagle owl with severe, tangerine eyes landed on the edge of the table and dropped a small box on Félix’s lap.

Félix paled and fumbled to catch the box before it fell on the floor.

The owl stared at him imperiously. 

Félix quickly found a piece of sausage and offered it to the owl, careful to keep his fingers away from its sharp beak. 

It hooted once in thanks, took the offered meat, and flew out the window.

“Who’s that from?” asked Allegra. “I didn’t recognize the owl.”

“That’s Plutemia. She belongs to my father,” Félix said, staring at the box in his hand. It was small, covered in black leather, about two inches cube, and tied with a silver ribbon.

Allegra stiffened in her seat next to him.

“Well? What’s in there? Let’s see. Open it up!” Goldsberry encouraged brightly.

“I already know what it is,” Félix said. 

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Certainly not the anticipation of this moment from his youth. A little nauseated, perhaps.

Allegra gripped his wrist. 

“Breathe,” she prompted. “You’re turning white.”

He took a silent breath, held it, and pulled on the tail of the ribbon, untying the bow. Félix was sure Castor, his father’s house elf, was responsible for the wrapping.

The Graham de Vanily heir pried open the lid. Inside was a silver signet ring. He stared at the unassuming piece of  jewelry emblazoned with his family crest. 

Stealing himself, Félix reached for the ring.

“You don’t have to put it on now.” Allegra said quietly. 

“It will make little difference,” Félix said. 

He spared his oldest friend a sad smile. She gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, silently lending her support, and returned her hand to her lap.

Holding his breath, Félix pinched the ring between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled it from the box’s velvet lining and inspected it. 

The workmanship was exquisite. Flowers wreathed a shield emblazoned with a ‘G’ and a ‘V.’ A large cat poised above the shield, its eyes set with tiny chips of emerald. Its shoulders were hunched and head low as if stalking prey. The banner along the bottom read ‘Paradisum vel Interitus.’

Félix stared into the cat’s eyes as it glared back—daring him to put on the ring. 

An ‘ahem’ as someone cleared their throat tore Felix’s attention away from the ring. 

“Happy birthday, Félix,” Bridgette said, her voice barely audible over the chatter in the Great Hall. She held a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a green bow. It smelled suspiciously like sugar, peanuts, and caramelized butter. 

Félix caught her eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted in an involuntary smile at the scent of her peanut brittle. 

“Thank you, Miss Cheng.”

Bridgette tentatively smiled back and handed him the box. The side of her bottom lip caught between her teeth as Félix quickly pocketed the ring and accepted her present. 

The moment stretched as he waited for the Gryffindor to say something more. Her cheeks started tinting pink as he held her gaze. 

“Bridgette,” Goldsberry said more loudly than necessary, causing the girl in question to startle and turn her attention to her friend. “Sit with us,” she invited. 

Miss Cheng certainly looked like she wanted to join their group at the Slytherin table. 

“I can’t. Anthony’s expecting me. I’ll see you in class. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, Félix.”

She waved and headed over to the Ravenclaw table. 

Félix caught the matching frowns on her dorm mates’ faces as they watched their friend retreat. 

“What’s up?” Alan asked.

“It's nothing,” Reneé said. 

“Just wish she wasn’t acting like such a Pureblood,” Victoire grumbled at her porridge. She glanced up at Allegra. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“To what are you referring?” Félix asked, quite confused. 

Allegra rolled her eyes. 

“Please, darling. Even you can’t be this dense. She hasn’t been herself for ages. And she’s still dating that prat even though she lost interest weeks ago.”

Félix stared at his childhood friend, trying to catch up with the conversation. 

“I’m not convinced she liked him to begin with,” Victoire snipped. 

“You really think so?” Claude asked through a mouth full of food. 

Allegra sneered and shoved a napkin over his mouth.

“When was the last time you saw her smile?” Weasley shot back. 

‘Last Hogsmead weekend in Tomes and Scrolls when she smiled at me,’ Félix thought reflexively.

He frowned. That couldn’t be right. He glanced at Bridgette sitting next to her boyfriend. She was sitting properly, eating delicately… and smiling politely as Goldstein regaled the table with some nonsense or other. She looked like an accessory. 

Felix’s fingers curled into a fist. 

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” he bit out. 

He ignored the glances his friends cast each other as he tucked into his breakfast, sweets and signet rings forgotten.

Chapter Text

Christmas at the manor was quite the affair that year. Lady Graham de Vanily was combining their annual holiday ball with her son’s coming-of-age celebration.

All of the attention made Félix uncomfortable, but he knew there was no diverting his mother. He was her only child, and she would not be denied her opportunity to host this event for him. And so, like a good son, Félix resolved to grin and bear it.

The event was white tie. Félix stood in the entrance hall in black dress robes. His mother had said that he looked very handsome and mature. 

While Félix agreed that the robes were comfortable and flattering, he secretly wished that he could have worn one of his muggle-inspired tailored suits. Formal wizarding attire really should take a page out of muggle menswear’s book and modernize.

The young master Graham de Vanily shook hands with and nodded to arriving guests. He recognized about half of the faces and most of the names. They were the influential and wealthy members of their society. Though, his mother had sneaked a few of Félix’s school friends onto the guest list. 

Alan and Allegra were in attendance by rights of their family status. Claude was there because he was a friend. Even Victorie Weasley was present with her parents. Goldsberry declined because her family was vacationing in Spain for the holidays. And Miss Cheng… Félix had no idea if she and her family had even been invited.

A feeling so cold it made Félix want to shiver passed down his spine when a large hand clapped on his shoulder. He looked to his side, and froze. Lord Fathom Graham de Vanily had appeared out of nowhere. 

He was approaching middle-age, tall and lean and deceptively strong. He was dressed all in black, similar to Félix. His long, blond hair was braided neatly, keeping it out of his pale gray eyes. He wore a gold wedding band on his left hand, and a gold signet ring gleamed on his right index finger.

The man stared at the next guest in line imperiously, sizing them up. He then broke into a charming smile and begged their indulgence as he pulled his son aside for a moment.

Félix cautiously followed his father to a small parlor off the main entrance where they could speak privately. 

After warding the room against eavesdroppers, Lord Graham de Vanily turned to Félix, raking his gaze up and down the young man’s form.

Félix held unnaturally still, chest out and chin up as he waited to see if he passed inspection.

Fathom nodded once in satisfaction, the candlelight from the sconces along the wall catching on his blond hair, a few shades lighter than Félix’s.

“You are looking well,” he said in his smooth, rich voice.

“Thank you, Father,” Félix said. 

He relaxed his posture slightly and clasped his hands behind his back, careful not to wrinkle his dress robes. 

The younger Graham de Vanily had worn his silver signet ring this evening, also on his right index finger. It was a twin of his father’s gold ring, signifying that he was to be the next head of the family. 

Felix surreptitiously nudged the ring on his finger with his thumb, straightening it.

“Your mother has been keeping me apprised of your performance at Hogwarts. You are doing well. I am pleased.”

“Thank you, Father.”

‘I’m glad that twelve Outstandings on my OWLs met with your approval. You could have owled me yourself and asked for a progress report,’ Félix thought. 

The feelings of hurt Félix normally associated with interacting with his father didn’t surface. He had spent far too many years of his life trying to please this man. Those days were over. 

Lord Graham de Vanily nodded once more.

“Keep up the good work. Merry Christmas, Son.”

“Merry Christmas, Father.”

With that, the head of the Graham de Vanily household exited the parlor to mingle with the assembled guests. 

Félix took a minute to collect himself. He hadn’t seen his father in person in three years. He should have asked how long he would be staying before flooing off to his London penthouse or taking an international portkey to the family villa in Paris or Singapore.

Félix wasn’t sure what it was exactly that his father did for his profession, but he was sure that it was not the way he would handle the family business when he took over and inherited that gold signet ring. 

It had never been confirmed, but Félix was pretty sure that his parents’ marriage and his birth were business arrangements. He hoped for better relationships with his wife and heir. At the very least he wanted to live together with them under the same roof. 

At best… dare he hope for the kind of love and affection he saw in other couples? William and Fleur Weasley certainly seemed devoted to one another, even after over a decade of marriage. If memory served, Victoire had two little siblings at Hogwarts as well. It made Félix wonder, on those dark nights, staring at his bed hangings when he couldn’t fall asleep, what a family life such as that would be like.

The next morning, Felix breakfasted with his parents. He said very little, watching as Lord and Lady Graham de Vanily went through the motions of a polite meal. They smiled and gossiped about the witches and wizards in their social circle, but there were no loving looks or lingering touches. Félix tried not to wonder when the last time was that his parents had shared a bedroom.

After breakfast, his father made his adieus and was gone in a whoosh of green flames. His mother barely acknowledged his exit, sipping her tea and reading her owl post.

Félix and Amelie adjourned to the living room for presents. 

The massive tree was immaculate as always, hung with silver and white ornaments that sparkled with fairy lights like sunlight on a snowy landscape.

They unwrapped the usual assortment of gifts—quills, trinkets, books, etc. Then Félix came upon a box done up in green paper with a silver ribbon. The name on the tag identified it as his. 

A small smile crept onto Félix’s lips. Suspecting what was inside and who had sent it, he set the box aside without unwrapping it.

After presents and tea, his mother retired to her suite of rooms. Mitzy assisted Félix with transporting his gifts to his sitting room. 

The young man found the green gift with the silver bow and sat in his favorite upholstered armchair by the fire. He carefully pulled on the tails of the ribbon, untying the bow. The green wrapping paper fell away to reveal a white bakery box.

Grinning, Félix flipped back the hinged lid to reveal the contents. A note sat atop a small packet of peanut brittle tucked next to a black scarf. Félix stroked the crocheted wool gently. The yarn was incredibly soft. 

Dear Félix,

Happy Christmas. 

Yours,

Bridgette

Félix unwrapped the peanut brittle, picked out one of the larger pieces of sweets, and popped it in his mouth. It was delicious as always.

Feeling suddenly festive, Félix crossed to his writing desk and got out a sheet of parchment and a quill.

Dear Miss Cheng,

Thank you for the peanut brittle. It has always been my favorite. And thank you for the scarf. I am honored to be counted among the recipients of one of your acclaimed yarnworks. 

I hope the holidays find you well. Also, I must beg your forgiveness for the inferior quality of my gift to you, but I trust you will not hold the fact that I purchased it against me.

Félix sat back in his antique, mahogany chair staring at the note. Nothing further came to mind. It would do. He set quill to parchment once more.

Sincerely,

Félix Graham de Vanily

Félix heated a bit of green wax and poured it over the seam of the parchment. Drawing his wand, he tapped the wax, and it became imprinted with F GdV wreathed in a pair of peacock feathers.

“Mitzy,” he said to the air.

With a pop, the house elf was at his side.

“Yes, Young Master?”

Félix handed her the note and a small, wrapped gift to the elf.

“Please have this sent to Miss Bridgette Cheng in London.”

Mitzy took the letter and bowed.

“At once, Master Félix.”

With another pop, she was gone.

A few hours later, Félix was settled in his leather armchair reading when there was a tapping at the window.

Félix opened his window to let a beautiful barn owl with white and gold feathers into the room. It was one of the family’s owls.

“Thank you, Hippolyta,” he said, taking the note she carried and giving her an owl treat from the small box he kept on a bookshelf near the window.

The owl hooted her thanks and swooped back out the window. Félix closed it against the cold and turned to the note. It was written on standard parchment and didn’t bear a seal.

Félix sat in his armchair and tapped the letter with his wand, undoing the weak sticking charm that held it closed.

Dear Félix,

Thank you for the chocolates. I especially liked the hazelnut ones. I wish I could say that I am going to savor them, but I’m afraid that they won’t make it to the end of the day. Haha.

I’m glad you like the peanut brittle and the scarf. I hope you are enjoying the holidays.

Sincerely,

Bridgette

Feeling lighter and more content than he had since before the ball yesterday, Félix tucked the note between the pages of his book and picked up reading where he had left off. He had needed a bookmark anyway.

Chapter Text

“On to our next item of business,” the Head Girl announced one morning in early January.

Félix was in his usual chair among the prefects seated around the rectangular table in the student government office at Hogwarts, the Head Boy and Girl sitting at the head of the table. He stared at his fingers, willing them to remain still on his knees. The urge to fidget was growing as the meeting dragged on. His time would be much better spent writing his essay for Defense: an analysis of cursed objects across cultures and their regional legal ramifications.

“Travis has unfortunately come down with a nasty case of spattergroit,” the Head Girl continued. 

Incidentally, Bridgette was sitting across the table from Félix. He looked up from his twitching fingers to Bridgette’s face. She looked a little downcast. 

Was this her natural sympathies for a fellow student and her patrol partner, or was there more going on between Bridgette and the Hufflepuff prefect than he had been led to understand? What about Goldstein? Bridgette wasn’t the type to emotionally cheat on her boyfriend, right? No, it must be her natural sympathies for Travis Smith. 

“Is anyone available to patrol with Bridgette on Tuesday nights?” the Head Girl asked.

Félix raised his hand without thinking.

“Graham de Vanliy,” the Head Girl said, trying and failing to cover her surprise. She turned to Bridgette. “Are you okay with patrolling with him?”

Bridgette nodded. Félix couldn’t get a read on her. Did she welcome the prospect of spending a couple of hours in the evening once a week with him or not? They were friends. This should be fine.

“Very well,” the Head Boy said while the Head Girl made a note on her parchment with her quill. “Next item of business…”

Félix turned up outside the portrait of the Fat Lady precisely five minutes to eight o’clock on Tuesday evening. The portrait swung open a minute later, and Miss Cheng climbed through the archway leading into the Gryffindor common room.

Bridgette dusted herself off and looked up. Her eyes went wide as she spotted Félix standing with his hands clasped calmly behind his back.

“Oh,” she exclaimed softly. “Félix. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Félix raised an eyebrow. Really? They were scheduled to patrol together that evening. 

“I mean,” she continued, “I wasn’t expecting you to be waiting for me here. I thought we would meet outside the Great Hall.”

“Is that where you usually meet Smith?” Félix inquired.

“Yes,” Bridgette said.

The thought of asking a lady to meet him somewhere, when escorting her from her dormitory was perfectly reasonable, rankled Félix’s sensibilities.

“Is that what you would prefer?” he asked, masking his disgust at the notion.

“Oh, um, I don’t mind. You picking me up, I mean,” Bridgette said. Her cheeks pinked in a faint blush.

Félix swept one hand in the general direction of the rest of the castle.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Bridgette led the way as they descended the stairs to start their patrol.

They walked in silence through the corridors, shooing students into bed who were cutting curfew a bit close, and checking the classrooms to ensure that they were empty.

“How are your classes going?” Bridgette eventually asked on the third floor.

“Very well. And yours?” Félix asked politely.

“I can’t complain,” Bridgette said, poking her head into another classroom before shutting the door behind her securely.

Their small talk continued until the question that had been burning in Félix’s mind finally broke the surface and spilled out of his mouth.

“Forgive me, Miss Cheng, but have you been quite well? You’ve appeared a bit reticent for a few weeks now.”

Bridgette’s lips twitched into a small smile. 

“You know, talking with you is always a workout for my vocabulary,” she said.

Heat prickled up Félix’s neck. He prayed his ears hadn’t turned pink.

“My apologies.”

Bridgette chuckled, but Félix didn’t feel like she was laughing at him. He relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“No need to apologize. It’s part of what makes you you. Honestly, it would be weird if you didn’t talk like a Victorian nobleman.”

“I’m not sure that is a compliment.”

Bridgette smiled and shrugged.

They turned down the next flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

“But really, how are you?” Félix asked sincerely when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

Bridgette stopped and looked at him. She studied his face for a moment as if she was taking his weights and measures and deeming his worthiness. 

Félix stood still and patiently awaited judgment under her gaze.

She sighed and turned to walk down the corridor on their left toward the classrooms. 

“Well?” Félix prompted. 

“I suppose that I have been feeling a little down lately,” Bridgette admitted.

They came to the first door, and Félix opened it, checking that the room beyond was empty. He shut it and proceeded to the next, giving his companion time to organize her thoughts.

“My mother wasn’t the easiest person to be around over the holidays. She was… less than thrilled that Anthony and I broke up.”

Félix yanked the next heavy, wooden door open more forcefully than he intended. It almost smacked him in the face, breaking his nose. He turned to Bridgette, forgetting to check the classroom entirely.

“You and Goldstein broke up?”

Bridgette ducked under his arm to peek inside the room.

“Yep,” she said, withdrawing and moving down the corridor to the next room. “We had a talk right before Christmas. Decided that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Félix couldn’t feel his feet. He shut the door and followed after the witch in a daze. It was a wonder he could still walk without stumbling.

‘Who in their right mind would break up with you?’

Bridgette’s lips turned up in a smile and the corners of her eyes crinkled.

“Thanks. You’re sweet.”

Félix blanched. Had he said that aloud? Fortunately, Bridgette was walking ahead of him and didn’t see his reaction.

“But Anthony didn’t break up with me,” she said. “It was mutual; though, I suppose that I was the one who told him that we needed to talk.”

“May I ask what happened? Please feel free to tell me that it’s none of my business,” Félix rushed to tack on the end of his question.

“I don’t mind, but please keep it to yourself. I don’t want the castle rumor mill buzzing about my personal life.”

“Of course. I shall take your words to my grave.”

Bridgette giggled.

“I told Antony that I didn’t think that it was going to work out long-term. I care about him, of course, but I don’t want to lead him on or keep him from finding someone else who would be a better fit for him and love him like he deserves. He admitted that he had seen the writing on the wall for a while, but had hoped that we could work it out. We parted amicably and agreed that we are better off as friends. I hear that he’s been seen quite a lot with Mary Johnston. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks her to go with him on the next Hogsmeade weekend for Valentine's Day.”

“I see.” Félix walked in silence for a few minutes, deep in contemplation. “If it was mutual, and you and Goldstein parted on good terms, why have you been appearing grave?”

Bridgette lowered her voice to half volume, despite them being in a deserted corridor.

“It’s not because of Anthony. It’s my mother. She… well, she’s encouraging me to get married right out of Hogwarts.”

Félix stopped dead in his tracks.

“What?”

Bridgette’s shoulders hunched as she turned and started up the other side of the corridor of classrooms. Félix found his feet again and hurried to catch up to the raven-haired girl.

“Not even my parents are encouraging me to marry right away, and we’re one of those old, traditional pureblood families. I suppose a few members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were still taking part in arranged marriages up to a couple of decades ago, but that way of thinking pretty much died after the Second Wizarding War,” Félix rambled. And Félix Graham de Vanily did not ramble.

“I don’t understand it either,” Bridgette said, pausing to peek inside a classroom. “As far as I know, my mother never married. She’s been on her own my whole life—raising me, running her restaurant. She’s never dated or had a gentleman friend.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t think that I can take care of myself after I graduate or something like that. She’s always been a bit overprotective, to be honest.”

Félix’s view of the girl he had known since the first day on the train in their first year was spinning a quarter turn on its axis, resettling into a new perspective with the information she just dropped on him. There was so much to unpack. He was processing as fast as he could.

They had made it to the first floor now. Félix swallowed, moistening his dry throat.

“May I ask another personal question?” he asked.

Bridgette smirked, though it was edged with sadness.

“Why not?”

“Your father… Is he…?” Félix honestly didn’t know how to ask the question on his mind. A wizard? Alive?

“I’ve never known him,” Bridgette said like it was an inconsequential fact. “My mother won’t tell me anything about him. I don’t know his name, or what he looks like, or where they met, or if he knows that I exist. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

Félix thought he had the short end of the stick with his practically non-existent relationship with his father. At least he knew who the man was.

“I’m sorry,” Félix said, and he meant it.

“Thank you, but it’s okay. You can’t miss what you’ve never had, right?” Bridgette said like it honestly didn’t bother her.

Félix didn’t respond. Not knowing who her sire was couldn’t not trouble Bridgette as much as she was letting on. Whoever the man was, he was half of her lineage. Half of who she was. But he didn’t want to press the issue.  It was her personal life, after all.

Still, he was overcome by the sudden urge to hug Miss Cheng. That shocked Félix almost as much as her revelation about her mystery sire. He wasn’t one to be given over to open displays of affection.

“What restaurant?” he asked instead, tamping down the impulse to hold the witch. 

“Hm?”

“You said that your mother operates a restaurant,” he reminded her.

“Oh. She owns The Plum Blossom in Diagon Alley.”

“What? Really?”

“You’re surprised?” Bridgette asked, sounding hurt.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend. I was taken off guard because my mother is a frequent customer at The Plum Blossom. She likes to take tea there with her friends. She only ever has good things to say about it. I’ve heard her praise it many times.”

“Does she rent one of the private rooms?” Bridgette asked.

“I don’t know. She’s never taken me there, but I imagine so.”

“That would explain why I’ve never met her. My mother always sees to the guests in the private rooms personally. I’m only ever assigned to washing dishes in the kitchen or clearing tables in the main dining room.”

“You work?”

Félix really needed to stop sounding so surprised at each revelation. He was embarrassing himself. 

This must be his punishment for preferring to spend the time they had spent together on the train in silence while he read instead of in conversation where he could have learned all of this about his friend years ago.

“Ever since I was old enough to carry a mop,” Bridgette said. “Now that I’m at school, I only work during the summers and on holidays.”

Félix cast about his mind to come up with something to say that wouldn’t come off as offensive or arrogant in any way.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I don’t mind it, but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

“What do you want?”

Bridgette bit her lip in thought.

“I don’t know. I think I might enjoy traveling. Hogwarts is the farthest I’ve ever been from London.”

“And after that?”

Bridgette shrugged.

“Probably settle down and raise a family. Maybe find some office work somewhere.”

“Office work? With your exam scores, you could be an auror if you wished.”

“That’s kind of you to say. Merrythought suggested it too, but I don’t want to be an auror. The hours are too long, and frankly, it’s dangerous. I wouldn’t want to put my family in a position where they would wonder if I’m ever going to come home again.”

Félix hummed in agreement. He understood her reasoning. He couldn’t imagine his mother working in a physically dangerous environment like fieldwork for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

Socially dangerous battlefields, on the other hand, were Lady Graham de Vanily’s specialty. Félix would never dare to stand against his mother in that arena. It would be social and political suicide.

Perhaps, after graduation, he could ask his mother if she requires a personal assistant. It wouldn’t hurt to at least ask, right?

“And you?” Bridgette interrupted his musings. “What do you want to do after we leave Hogwarts?”

“My future has never been in question. I’m going to help my father manage the Graham de Vanily family estate and its assets until he retires. At which point, I will be named head of the family and bear the full responsibility of management myself,” Félix stated as if it was engraved in stone on the ancient family grounds. 

“But is that what you want to do?” Bridgette persisted.

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine that a fairy godmother—“

“Fairy godmother?” Felix’s eyebrow quirked incredulously.

“Don’t interrupt. Just go with it. So imagine that your fairy godmother appeared before you and asked what you wanted to do with your life. It could be anything at all. What would you wish to be?”

Félix thought about her proposed scenario for a long moment. They were headed down to the dungeons at the end of their patrol route by the time he finally spoke.

“I don’t think I would choose anything else,” he said slowly.

“You don’t sound sure,” Bridgette pointed out.

“I think my ideal life would be one in the country with an extensive library where I could read to my heart’s content.”

“Of course. Why did I even ask?” Bridgette chuckled at his description.

“And it goes without saying that I would have a wife and a child,” he added.

“Why would you assume that?”

“I’m the last of my line. I can’t let the Graham de Vanily family become extinct.”

“That’s the only reason?”

Félix thought for a moment while Bridgette checked the last of the potions labs. He watched her—her slim hands, her graceful figure, the way the torchlight reflected off her shiny hair.

“I suppose not,” he admitted. “I’m sure I’d get bored on occasion, and a family could keep things lively. I might even enjoy teaching a son the family history and traditions.”

“Why not a daughter?” 

“I would need a son to preserve the family name.”

“A daughter could choose to keep her maiden name.

“I suppose she could,” Félix acceded.

“Or you could compromise and have one of each,” she suggested.

Félix half smirked at her.

“Very well. A son and a daughter, then,” Félix agreed.

“Oh, my. A traditional pureblood with more than one heir? What will the neighbor’s say?” Bridgette asked in mock horror.

”They’ll get over it,” Félix smirked, and she laughed.

Merlin, he loved her laugh.

Félix surprised Bridgette at the end of their patrol route when he started following her back upstairs. 

“Félix, what are you doing?” Bridgette asked, pausing on the stairs to stare at him.

The blond’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Why are you coming back up the stairs? It’s past curfew. You need to get down to your dorms,”

“I’m escorting you back to Gryffindor Tower,” he said like it was obvious.

“What? You are?”

“Of course. It’s what any gentleman would do. Wouldn’t Smith walk you back?”

“No. I would leave him near the kitchens and make my way back to my dorm myself,” Bridgette explained.

Félix’s expression darkened.

“If that is how he treated a lady, then I feel less sorry that he came down with spattergroit. I’d almost go so far as to say that it served him right.”

“Félix,” Bridgette laughed his words off and nudged his arm with her fingers as she resumed up the stairs, like he had made a joke.

“I’m serious,” Félix insisted, keeping pace at her side. “Haven’t the young men at this school been taught any manners?”

“Now that you mention it, not really. The only notable exceptions are some of the Slytherins like you and Alan. Perhaps a few in the other houses.”

They stopped as the staircase began to move. Félix groaned and placed his face in his hand dramatically.

“What is the country coming to?” he moaned.

Bridgette laughed.

“It’s not funny,” Félix said into his hand. He was fighting a smile at her outburst of amusement.

The stairs settled into their new position, and the pair soon arrived at the portrait guarding the Gryffindor dorms.

Bridgette pinched her skirt delicately with her fingertips and dipped into a passable curtsey.

“Thank you for escorting this fair maiden back to her tower, sir knight,” she said in an airy voice, her eyes glinting with playfulness.

Félix swept into a practiced bow, his spine straight with one arm held behind his back and the other across his front as he bent elegantly at his hips.

“It is my pleasure, my lady,” he said with a straight face.

Bridgette burst into giggles. She tried to muffle it with her hands, but she was starting to cry from laughing.

Félix couldn’t help himself. The laugh that had been trying to escape since the end of patrol broke free. It almost startled him. He never laughed aloud.

Bridgette wiped her eyes dry and smiled at him. It warmed Félix down to his toes.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh,” she said.

Félix smiled back at her.

“I’m not easily amused.”

“So I’ve noticed. It’s a shame. You have a nice laugh.” 

‘She likes my laugh,’ was all Félix could think as Bridgette gave the portrait of the Fat Lady the password, and the portrait swung open.

“Good night, Félix.”

“Good night, Miss Cheng.”

She climbed through the hole, and the portrait swung back into place.

“I’m pleased to see that you have some manners, young man. I hate to say it, but you could teach the boys in my dorm a thing or two,” the Fat Lady told him.

“I wholeheartedly agree with you, ma’am.”

Chapter Text

Sixth year continued peacefully for Félix for the next month. He enjoyed his time as Miss Cheng’s prefect patrol partner, though his urge to hug her that one time apparently had a persistent cousin that fixated on the notion of holding the Gryffindor’s hand. Félix kept a tight rein on that one by frequently walking with his hands clasped behind his back.

His peace was shattered on February fourteenth.

Félix was sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall with Alan and Claude when a small, gray owl dropped a pink envelope scented with roses next to his plate. The bird stole a piece of bacon and flew off. 

Félix brushed the feathers away and handed the note to Alan as he plucked another piece of bacon from the serving tray to replace his purloined one.

“Not Renée’s usual style,” Alan commented on his girlfriend and turned the note over. “Ah. That explains it.” Alan turned to Félix and held out the envelope. “It’s for you.”

Félix’s brow scrunched in confusion as he set his knife and fork down on his plate and took the note back. He hadn’t received anything this flowery and ridiculous since before The Incident^TM in fourth year. And even then, Miss Cheng had displayed more class than this.

Félix opened the envelope and immediately lost his appetite. The students around him groaned and scrunched their noses. The smell of roses coming off the pink parchment inside was overwhelming.

“Ah, man. Get that out of here,” Alan said, equally disgusted.

Félix didn’t argue. He stuffed the note back in its envelope and exited the Great Hall. The scent was so potent that he decided to take the note outdoors before attempting to open it again. 

It was cold, and Félix didn’t have more than his jumper, wool trousers, and leather loafers to keep him warm, but this shouldn’t take long.

He held his breath and pulled out the letter once more. It was indeed a love note.

Dear Felix,

(They didn’t even include the accent over the ‘e’ in his name.)

The moment I first saw you, I knew I was in love. My every waking thought is of your… blah, blah, blah. 

The letter continued on in that fashion. Félix felt more disgusted the further he read. This person didn’t know him. 

He didn’t recognize the signature. He couldn’t tell in what house or year they were. How could this person claim to love him when they had never talked to him? 

Ridiculous. 

Félix did the kindest thing he could think of for the environment and burned the letter before it could pollute the atmosphere any further. As was, his clothes were probably going to stink of roses until they were laundered next.

“Well?” Alan asked later in potions. “Who was it from?”

“I don’t know. Someone named Michelle F-something, I think? Their penmanship is deplorable.”

“That’s harsh, man.”

“What would you have me say? They attempted a flowery signature, but it was executed so poorly that I couldn’t decipher it.”

“I suppose that’s fair. I don’t think anyone can write that fancy and have it be legible.”

Félix immediately signed his name in exquisite calligraphy on his parchment and showed it to his friend, just to prove a point.

“I stand corrected.”

Félix vanished the ink and faced forward for the start of Professor Slughorn’s lecture on the dangers of love potions including—but not limited to—Amortentia.

Félix had never seen the professor be so cautious with a potion sample. Typically, Slughorn would have a full cauldron bubbling away in the front of the classroom for the students to study. 

But with the Amortentia, Slughorn didn’t let the small vial out of his hands. He had the students form a queue and smell the potion one at a time without touching it.

Félix was afraid that all he could smell would be cloying roses. 

To his surprise, he smelled the comfort of old books and leather like the library at home. Next was the smell of peanut brittle.

A certain witch’s homemade peanut brittle. 

Why would he be smelling that?

He was about to step away when a third scent made its appearance. Félix scrunched his brow in confusion and leaned forward to take another whiff. 

“Problem, lad?” Slughorn asked.

“One of the scents. I don’t recognize it,” Félix said, sniffing again cautiously. The professor had warned them not ten minutes ago that inhaling too much of the potion could leave a person feeling floaty and more susceptible to flirtation.

It was subtle. Félix wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t noticed it at first. It was light and delicate, but not particularly sweet, fruity, or floral. The scent had light notes akin to lilac and magnolia with undercurrents of vanilla or perhaps almonds.

Félix couldn’t put his finger on it, and the puzzle was starting to eat at him.

“Don’t worry too much about it, my boy. It will probably come to you later,” Slughorn said, urging him back to his seat so that the next person in line could have a turn.

Félix returned to his desk, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember where he had run across the mystery scent. He must have smelled it somewhere prior to this. The potion smelled like whatever he found attractive. How could he find a scent attractive if he had never smelled it before?

He tried to hold onto the memory of the scent, but it was being overpowered by roses now that he was no longer directly inhaling the potion.

After lunch was Herbology with the Gryffindors. Felix trudged through the mud left behind by the melting snowfall to the greenhouses with his fellow sixth year students.

Professor Longbottom opened the door to Greenhouse Three when they arrived.

“Good afternoon, students,” he greeted cheerfully.

The class responded with a chorus of various greetings.

“Today we will be studying fluxweed,” Longbottom said. 

He directed their attention to a collection of terracotta pots on a table in the middle of the greenhouse. Each was planted with a spindly shoot about twenty inches tall with narrow, green leaves sprouting from a green stem.

“Part of the mustard family, it has purple flowers when it blooms. Can anyone tell me some of the characteristics of the plant and its possible uses?”

Félix was one of a few students who raised their hand.

“Mister Graham de Vanily,” the young professor called on him.

“Fluxweed is a common potion ingredient. However, it has an unusual characteristic of taking on different properties depending on when it is picked. For instance, when making polyjuice potion, the fluxweed must be picked at the full moon.”

“Quite right. Twenty points to Slytherin. Anyone else?”

After the discussion of the plant ended, Professor Longbottom instructed the class to divide into pairs to fertilize, water, and prune the plants. The pots were labeled as to the intended use of each fluxweed plant. Each had a slightly different care regimen dependent on when the plant was being harvested. 

Félix typically worked with Alan during class assignments like this, but his friend was claimed when Goldsberry glomped onto his arm.

“Sorry, Félix. I want to work with my boyfriend today,” Renée said. “You can have Bridgette.”

“Hey! Don’t treat me like leftovers,” the other Gryffindor protested.

“Sorry, bestie, but everyone else already has a partner,” Renée pointed out.

She was right. Félix and Bridgette were the only ones left without a partner.

Félix slung his bag off his shoulder and set it on the bench he was standing at.

“I’ll get the fluxweed,” he volunteered, rolling up his sleeves as he made his way to the bench where only two potted plants remained. It was always warm in the greenhouses, and he didn’t want to get his shirt sleeves dirty.

Bridgette and Renée were having a furious, whispered conversation at Goldsberry and Alan’s bench when Félix returned with the plant. At least, it was furious on Bridgette’s side. Goldsberry was smiling and shooing her friend away.

“Is everything alright?” Félix asked cautiously.

“All good here. Right, Bridgette?” Renée said all too innocently, giving her best friend a smug look.

Bridgette whimpered. Then she sighed, resigned, and slowly trudged to stand next to Félix at their shared workspace. Her cheeks were flushed with anger.

Félix tried to think of a way to ask if everything was alright. He had already tried the direct approach, and nothing else was coming to mind. He fell back on his favorite method of dealing with social situations he didn’t understand—silence and observation.

Bridgette dropped her bag unceremoniously on their bench and rummaged through it until she found a black hair tie. She held the black elastic band in her teeth as she pulled back her long hair and finger-combed it into a high ponytail.

She silently took note of the potion label on the pot and went to the shelf of old, copper watering cans, chose one that was less dented than the others, and filled it with water. 

Félix mentally shook himself when he realized he was standing around watching her like an idiot. He turned to the moldering bags of fertilizer in the far corner and took on the unenviable task of retrieving an appropriate amount.

They spoke only when necessary, which was shockingly little. Simple observation was sufficient to anticipate the other’s needs to complete their task.

Félix couldn’t fathom the reason for the awkward silence. They conversed easily while on patrol.

At the end of the hour, he was putting the pruning snips away, and Bridgette was wiping their bench clean of spilled debris when he decided to attempt conversation.

“Well done today,” he complimented her. “You were very efficient.”

“Thanks. You too,” she said politely, keeping her eyes on the wooden surface of the workbench. Her face started burning a dull scarlet.

Félix was packing his notes in his bag when he caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. Strands of Bridgette’s black hair had fallen out of her ponytail and hung loose around her face. One of the locks was being brushed by a venomous tentacula vine. 

Félix snatched the vine before it could sting her face. Bridgette looked up at him, startled.

“Hold still,” he said calmly, not taking his eyes off the vine.

He carefully separated the dark green vine from her hair and held it down on the workbench. He picked up a trowel and slapped the glossy leaves. The vine shivered as it retreated to its mother plant in the corner. 

“Th-thanks,” Bridgette stuttered.

“Here, let me see. Did it sting you?” Félix asked.

He placed a finger under her chin and guided her to tilt her head to the side. He brushed her hair away from her temple gently with his other hand, looking for red welts. There was nothing but smooth, fair skin.

“I al’m right.”

Félix released her face and stared at her blankly.

Huh?

She blushed. “I mean… Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The moment stretched until it became awkward. Bridgette finally looked away, blushing brighter. Félix turned away as well and cleared his throat. 

“See you tomorrow in Defense,” he said, staring out the window at nothing.

“Yes. Then. Bye, Félix.”

She bolted for the door before Félix could say farewell in return.

That night, Félix lay in bed with the hangings around his four-poster drawn, ignoring his dormmates’ snoring. 

He rubbed his thumb along the pads of his first two fingers. Bridgette’s hair had been very soft, and it had smelled like… something. 

The knut dropped. 

Felix slapped his hands over his face. 

Oh, Merlin.

Her hair. The mystery scent in his Amortentia had smelled like Miss Cheng’s hair.

Félix swore under his breath.

Chapter Text

Bridgette awoke on February fourteenth and stared at the scarlet canopy above her bed. 

‘Happy Single Awareness Day to me,’ she thought bitterly.

Most years she enjoyed eating chocolates and celebrating the idea of romantic love. This year, romantic love was all around her. Victoire was meeting up with Teddy tonight. Renée and Alan were on again in their on-again-off-again relationship. And her weekly scathing letter from her mother was expected today.

Steeling herself against the cold, Bridgette peeled herself from under the covers and threw open the hangings surrounding her bed. Thankfully, an elf had lit the fire in her dorm room, fighting the winter chill in the air. The hangings around her friends’ four-posters were still drawn. They must still be asleep.

Bridgette stood and stretched, trying to ease the tension in her back muscles. She reached for her wand on her bedside table and was surprised to find a small, China plate sitting beside her wand. 

A small rectangle of pasteboard was perched on the plate with four chocolate truffles.

For the Young Miss

Bridgette smiled. The house elves were so sweet. It had taken some time, but she was glad they had let her befriend them in first year when she convinced them to let her pursue her baking hobby in the castle’s kitchens.

Bridgette couldn’t resist popping one of the treats in her mouth even though it might ruin her breakfast. Chocolate was her Achilles heel.

Dark chocolate and mint flavors melted effortlessly on her tongue. It was divine. Exactly the pick-me-up she needed this morning.

Unable to resist, Bridgette ate the second one (white chocolate and cherry), and the third (milk chocolate and salted caramel). She should save the last for later, but Bridgette was weak, and it was a holiday.

She cheerfully picked up the last and popped it in her mouth. Her smile dropped and she sank onto the edge of her mattress. 

Dark chocolate and hazelnut. Her favorite. 

The last time she had dark chocolate and hazelnut was when Félix had sent her chocolates for Christmas. It was the first time he had ever given her a present.

A tear slipped down Bridgette’s cheek. She brushed it away. She had class today. She couldn’t go to pieces like this. 

She hastily grabbed her clothes and shower things and retreated to the bathroom to pull herself together.

Amortentia. It just had to be Amortentia. 

Bridgette silently screamed as Professor Slughorn lectured on the dangers of various love potions. And they would have the privilege of exposing themselves to the most dangerous one in a minute.

Bridgette got to her feet carefully and joined the queue with the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Victoire and Renée were ahead of her in the queue. Victoire looked smitten when she had her turn to inhale the potion’s vapors. Renée looked intrigued.

Bridgette forced herself forward when it was her turn. Cautiously she sniffed the vial held in her professor’s fist.

Broom handle polish. 

That was alright. She loved flying and relished the quiet moments when she could polish her broom after a long flight.

Hazelnut and dark chocolate.

Bridgette’s stomach sank. Her experience with that flavor combination from this morning was still too fresh.

The last scent had her retreating to her seat as quickly as she could without looking suspicious. She couldn’t get the scent out of her head.

Félix had started using the cologne or aftershave or whatever it was in fifth year. It smelled yummy and drew her in like a siren’s call.

Renée nudged her.

”Hey. You okay?” she asked, her brows furrowed and lips turned down. 

Past her, Victoire looked equally concerned.

Bridgette loved her best friends to pieces, but really couldn’t deal with them right now.

”Fine,” Bridgette said. 

Her tone said, ‘Please drop it.’

She looked back to the line of students. After two more had taken a turn sniffing the potion, Bridgette excused herself to the bathroom. 

Hidden in a cubicle, she sat on a closed toilet lid and placed her face in her hands, focusing on her breath.

’I am not in love with Félix Graham de Vanily. Félix is a friend. I am happy being his friend.’

She repeated the mantra a few times. 

’I am not in love with Félix Graham de Vanily. Félix is a friend. I am happy being his friend. Because we will never be anything more.’

Bridgette lost the battle with herself. 

She cried.

She hated it when she cried. She had shed more tears for Félix than he would ever deserve.

Curse her stupid heart.

Bridgette felt better after her meltdown in the girl’s bathroom. Sometimes tears were the best medicine for a weary soul.

She was her normal, plucky self until after lunch. The Gryffindors had Herbology with the Slytherins on Tuesdays.

It would be fine. She would partner with Renée, and Félix would partner with Alan as always. She wouldn’t have to interact with Félix at all.

”Alright, everyone. We’ll be working in pairs today,” Professor Longbottom announced. He gave instructions for the fluxweed lab and ordered them all to get started.

Bridgette turned to Renée only to find that her best friend had left her and was hanging on Alan’s arm. 

“Sorry, Félix. I want to work with my boyfriend today. You can have Bridgette.”

Bridgette stared at the traitor in horror.

”Hey! Don’t treat me like leftovers.”

“Sorry, bestie, but everyone else already has a partner,” Renée said with a wicked smirk.

It was true. Allegra had dragged Victoire off to be her lab partner, and everyone else in the class was already paired up.

‘No. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Not today. Not after the disaster in Potions.’

Félix looked around the room to confirm Renée’s claim that he was stuck with Bridgette. He glanced at her briefly, then dropped his bag on the closest workbench. 

“I’ll get the fluxweed,” the blond said without further comment. 

He then did the unthinkable. Félix rolled up his sleeves as he made his way over to the bench to pick one of the remaining plants.

Bridgette went weak in the knees. It was silly, but she went to pieces for strong forearms. They evoked daydreams of being held and carried and cuddled.

She grabbed Renée by her elbow and pulled her back from joining Alan at his workbench.

”What are you doing?” Bridgette whisper-demanded.

“I’m doing you a favor,” Renée winked.

”I can’t work with him! You know I can’t.”

”I thought you were friends now. What’s the big deal?”

Bridgette took a fortifying breath.

”We are friends. But…”

She bit her lip. How could she explain?

”But you still love him,” Renée whispered knowingly.

”That isn’t fair.”

”Look, nothing is ever going to change if you don’t take a chance. Time to bite the bullet, bestie.”

Renée gave her a shove in Félix’s direction. He was at his workbench and looking up their fluxweed’s care regimen in his herbology text.

Bridgette glared at her. Renée grinned back and made shooing motions with her hands.

Félix looked at them, a small frown on his stupid, handsome face.

”Is everything alright?” he asked.

”All good here. Right, Bridgette?” Renée asked, clearly pleased with herself.

Bridgette whimpered.

There was no getting out of this.

Resigned, she slumped over to the workbench where Félix was waiting. 

A hot blush burned her cheeks as she dropped her bag and cloak beside his. She fingered combed her hair off her neck to hopefully get some relief from the heat, and felt around in her bag for a hair elastic. Holding the elastic in her teeth, she wrangled her long hair into a high ponytail that hopefully didn’t look like too much of a disaster. Maybe she should cut it to shoulder length again. It would be a lot easier to manage.

With her hair sufficiently wrangled, Bridgette inspected the pot. The label read Felix Felicious. Of course it did.

Cheeks on fire, Bridgette opened her textbook to the appropriate page and went to the shelf of watering cans to select the least dinged-up one.

Water, fertilize, prune, observe, and make notes for a report. She could do this. She had done dozens of Herbology labs just like this one. No big deal. All she had to do was focus on the task at hand and not on her partner.

Bridgette spent the next hour silently working with Félix. She relaxed a little as the class period progressed. He was an excellent partner—diligent and attentive.

When he needed a trowel for the fertilizer, she picked up the tool on her side of the bench and handed it to him, studiously avoiding looking at him. She nodded in response to his quiet, “Thank you.”

She noted the color and texture of the leaves and purple buds and looked around for where she had set her quill. It was hiding behind her bag where she couldn’t see it. Félix noticed and handed it to her without a word. Bridgette’s heart stuttered when their fingers brushed as she took the feather shaft.

”Thanks,” she breathed.

He nodded and wrote some observations of his own in his notebook.

The hour was almost up. Bridgette had survived. They only had to finish cleaning up their station, and she would be free to hide in Charms away from any polite, funny, thoughtful, charming, unfairly attractive Slytherins.

”Well done today. You were very efficient,” Félix said as he packed his books.

Bridgette smiled to herself. It was so like him to use ‘efficient’ as a compliment.

”Thanks. You too.”

She had barely finished wiping down their workbench when Félix was suddenly standing much too close. For the first time all day, she let herself look at him.

”Hold still,” he said. 

He was holding something next to her face, staring intently and scowling at whatever it was. 

Bridgette didn’t move a muscle. She tried not to breathe as he fiddled with whatever it was. Had she ever been this close to him before? She didn’t know what was making her head spin more—the lack of oxygen or the smell that filled her with every shallow breath she took.

It was woodsy and fresh, like sandalwood and citrus and musk. She could get drunk off his scent and body heat. 

Bridgette was startled back to her senses when Félix slapped the workbench with a trowel. A venomous tentacula vine shook and slithered back to its mother plant.

The vine must have wound itself in a stray lock of her hair while she was busy not thinking about her lab partner.

“Th-thanks.”

“Here, let me see.”

Félix placed his index finger under her chin and drew her head to the side. With his other hand, he gently brushed stray strands of hair out of the way with his fingertips. 

Circe help her, Félix Graham de Vanily was touching her face. His gentle fingers sent tingles dancing across her skin.

Bridgette held in a sigh. She wanted to close her eyes and melt in his hands. He could stroke her hair some more, and she would start purring like a kitten.

”Did it sting you?” Félix asked.

”I al’m right.”

Félix dropped his hands and stared at her, confused.

Bridgette stared back. What had he said? What had she said?

Her slurred words came back to her and she mentally facepalmed.

Godric, could she be any more embarrassing?

”I mean… Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said.

Time stopped as they stared at each other, the moment stretched into eternity as everything but her and Félix fell away.

Not again. 

Bridgette internally groaned and forced herself to look away. She focused on closing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, pointedly not looking at the Slytherin.

Félix cleared his throat.

”See you in Defense.”

”Yes. Then. Bye, Félix.” 

Bridgette choked out the words before bolting for the door. She walked quickly, just short of a run, back to the castle and upstairs to the Charms corridor.

She fell into her seat in class and sighed in relief. Renée and Victoire turned up shortly afterwards, taking seats on either side of Bridgette and smirking at her with matching Cheshire grins.

”Soooo…. How’d it go?” Renée teased.

Bridgette turned her nose up at her supposed best friend.

”I hate you.”

”Awww. We love you too.” Renée cooed.

She and Victoire hugged her from either side.

Bridgette blushed in the middle of their bestie sandwich but refused to hug them back in protest of their betrayal. The three girls had spent many late nights talking through Bridgette’s efforts to get over her crush. They should know better than to pair her with Félix. 

Still, she couldn’t stay mad at them. 

”It’ll be okay. Promise,” Victoire assured.

”Yeah, you’re too good for him anyway.” Renée declared.

Bridgette caved.

“Thanks, girls,” she sighed and hugged their arms. 

She didn’t know if she believed them, but she was grateful to have these two in her life.

Chapter Text

The weather had turned pleasant for the Easter holidays. At the Graham de Vanily manor, spring warmed the sprawling lawns and glinted off the gilt frame of the conservatory. The glass walls and ceiling were supported by gold frames, rising in columns and arched windows into a peaked roof. It resembled a golden birdcage enclosing a forest of exotic plants, Victorian furniture arranged in conversation areas, and one pensive young man.

Félix was planted on a chaise lounge near an orange tree, staring out the windows at the sweeping grounds. Patches of snow hid from the sun’s rays in the shadows of hedges and the dormant fountain that would be the main feature of the garden in a month or two once it had warmed up a bit. 

The young heir saw none of it. A book lay open on his lap, forgotten. Félix absently tapped the open page from time to time.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Amelie asked from the door that connected the conservatory to the main house.

Félix startled and looked at his mother, bringing his focus back to his surroundings. He made to stand, but Amelie stilled him with a raised hand and took a seat on the chesterfield set perpendicular to Félix’s chaise.

“Shall I call for some tea?” Félix offered.

“Thank you, but I am well. What has you so occupied? Or have you simply been conducting a comprehensive study on the art of contemplation while gazing wistfully out the window?”

The tips of Félix’s ears went pink. 

“It’s nothing.”

Amelie looked rather unimpressed with his answer.

He looked down at the book in his lap and found that the text was upside down. He snapped the book shut and set it on the cushion beside him, hoping that his mother hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to open it right side up. Félix wasn’t sure what book it was. He had selected one at random from his private library before wandering out here.

“Very well.” Amelie dipped her chin elegantly. “Shall I invite Miss Baudelaire to dinner this evening? I’m sure she has some opinions on why you’ve been sulking.”

Félix attempted to summon an air of indifference to wrap around himself like an invisibility cloak. He failed spectacularly as his blush spread up his neck. He couldn’t meet his mother’s knowing green eyes.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mother. I’m sure she’s preoccupied at some boutique in Paris or Milan or the like,” he scoffed valiantly with his nose in the air.

Amelie raised one eyebrow slightly.

"I'm not sulking," Félix protested weakly. 

“Very well. Brooding, then.”

Félix couldn’t maintain eye contact with his mother. His gaze fell to the floor. The precise angles at which the marble floor tiles were cut to create intricate patterns with repeating sunburst motifs was truly impressive.

Amelie’s hand entered his field of vision as she placed it on his own resting on his knee. Her gentle touch was the tipping point. 

In his head, Félix had been reliving every interaction he’d had with the raven haired Gryffindor who consumed his thoughts for the past two months. Every unkind feeling and word. Every gesture of kindness and soft expression. Every missed opportunity. 

“I messed up. Said some things I should not have. I was… harsh,” Félix found himself confessing.

“Did you apologize?” Amelie asked gently.

“Yes. It was long overdue, but yes. We’re friends now.”

“But…?” his mother prompted.

Félix sighed. 

“She liked me. She really liked me, and I did everything in my power to dissuade her. And now— I—“ Félix struggled to find the right words.

“You find yourself the victim of truly unfortunate timing,” Amelie guessed.

Félix dared to meet her knowing eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. He searched her compassionate face for the answers.

Amelie moved from the chesterfield to sit beside Félix on the chaise lounge. She inspected his hair, a shade lighter than her own, and finger combed his bangs out of his face. 

Félix didn’t often tolerate physical touch, but his mother’s gentle hands had always been the exception. He closed his eyes, finding comfort in his turmoil, if only for a moment.

“You are a mess,” she clucked.

“My apologies,” Félix muttered reflexively.

“I wasn’t referring to your appearance, darling.” They sat in silence for a beat. “Have you tried asking her out?”

“No.”

“It might be a good place to start.”

“What if she says no?”

Amelie stopped trying to wrangle that one lock that never behaved unless treated with a generous drop of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. She placed her delicate hands in his. Félix’s palms were larger and his fingers longer compared to his mother’s. When had that happened?

“‘Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable,’” she quoted.

“But he ‘who seeks, and will not take, when once ‘tis offered, shall never find it more,’” he rebutted.

Amelie squeezed his hands. 

“Try. She might surprise you.”

She stood and kissed the top of his head before returning to the main house. 

Félix resumed staring out the windows. What if he took his mother’s advice and tried?

‘She could break your heart,’ his inner critic replied.

Yes, she could. But after what he had done to her, wouldn’t he deserve it?