Dragonology 101

Chapter 10

Summary: There's no fanfare or applause, no sudden beam of light that shines down onto Felix as he makes his decision; the way such a life-changing decision really deserves, he thinks. There's just the instant when he knows what he's going to do, as surely and with as little wonder as if he had made the choice long ago and only just now remembered to inform himself.

"Last minute cramming, Rosier? Most unlike you!"

Felix looks up from the letter he's engrossed in, startled by the voice of the girl perched on the very edge of the bench beside him. Her hands wring together in her lap nervously, and her lips twitch in the rough facsimile of a smile. But, like all the other seventh years waiting to take their Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam, it's an expression she's almost forgotten how to make. The faces in the small room run the spectrum from anxious to down right terrified, and the girl next to him isn't the only one whose hands are shaking.

Tilting the parchment away from the girl's prying eyes, Felix makes a vague sort of grunting noise hoping to dissuade any further questions when he hears his name called from the doorway. He re-folds the letter carefully along its well worn creases, and slips it into the pocket of his trousers where he imagines he can feel its slight weight against his leg. Standing briskly, he and four of his classmates follow the wizened NEWT official into the Great Hall.

It's lucky he's excellent at practical examinations, Felix reflects, as he's never revised so little for a test in his life. In spite of the fact that he has not practiced or even opened a book in the last two days, the counterjinx he casts is flawless and receives an enthusiastic nod from his suitably impressed examiner.

Kettleburn assures me you excel under pressure...are uniquely qualified...asserts that you subdued the Common Welsh Green practically single handed... One of his favorite phrases from the letter drifts through Felix's mind, and he swells with pride, deflecting the examiner's hex with such force the man stumbles.

"Well done, Mr. Rosier!" the NEWT official gushes after the exam has concluded. Felix thanks him with as much modesty as he can muster. "I must say, I've rarely seen anyone so composed during a NEWT. May I ask what career path you are planning to pursue?"

Felix's self-satisfied smile withers as nerves attack his confidence for the first time that morning. He mumbles something noncommittal and scurries away from the hall as quickly as dignity allows.

Students are milling about just outside the entrance, rehashing their performance and comparing comments from their examiners. Felix skirts the edges of the crowd to avoid being hailed by anyone he knows and makes a beeline for the open castle doors. The grounds are full of laughing underclassman, unburdened by exams, basking in the warmth that has finally arrived after the unreasonably long, cold winter. Students lay sprawled out on the grass, propped under trees, or splashing each other merrily at the edges of the Black Lake, but Felix passes them all without seeing, focused entirely on the letter he's retrieved from his pocket and unfolds carefully as he walks.

The letter arrived two days before, and since then Felix has carried it with him everywhere. He's afraid to leave it in his room, cannot bear to keep it even as far away as his school bag, for fear it might vanish. No matter how real the now well-worn parchment feels in his hands, part of him is still convinced it's a figment of his imagination.

Felix's legs move without guidance from his brain, which is just as well since his brain is too preoccupied at the moment to be bothered with anything quite so trivial as where he's going. He's peripherally aware of sloping, uneven ground under his feet, and the sounds of merry laughter behind him growing fainter. He scans the cramped, uneven handwriting, searching feverishly for that line he has memorized and yet is compelled to see in print every few minutes.