One would expect Harmony Gambol to be accustomed to eyes upon her, after the disaster that was her family's fall from grace. This, however, was different, and the redhead had to keep reminding herself about the five galleons she could win each time someone gave her a look that clearly questioned her presence, her participation, her existence. Being seventeen did allow her to participate legally, but as a student not at all out in society, Fran knew she was not welcome in this space, suspected everyone would see her as desperate at best, desperate and reaching and pathetic at worst.

That was fine. They could think as they liked, and she would not allow it to bother her much. What the Ravenclaw would do is show that she was every bit as capable as the rest of them, if not moreso. After all, there was at least one lady here who had, knowingly or otherwise, availed of her services in the past.

With all the confidence that Franny could muster, and not as much as she might have hoped, the seventeen-year-old stepped forward. Charms had always come more easily to her than anything else. She held out her right hand, palm up, and then, with the wand in her left, cast bluebell flames into her open palm.