After our little adventure to Hogsmeade, the remainder of the weekend passed in a warm, pleasant haze. But Monday morning came swiftly, dragging us back into the structured tedium of Hogwarts academics. By mid morning, I found myself seated in our Transfiguration class, sunlight streaming through the tall arched windows of the tower room.
Professor Dumbledore stood at the front of the room, his robes a deep, opalescent blue today, trimmed in silver that shimmered faintly whenever he moved. A chalkboard stood behind him, its surface already marked with neat, looping script that detailed the day's topic Inanimate to Animate Transfiguration Class IV Restrictions.
Despite the intricate nature of the lesson and Dumbledore's undeniably captivating style equal parts whimsical and profound I found myself slowly tuning out. My chin rested in my palm as I gazed out the window, watching the Black Lake shimmer with reflected sunlight. The giant squid broke the surface for a moment, one lazy tentacle curling through the air, before vanishing again.
A cool breeze trickled through the open window, and I let my eyes close halfway, lost in thought. The trees on the distant shore swayed gently, and I wondered what it might feel like to just walk into the forest and disappear. Not forever, of course. Just long enough to escape this moment, this building, these expectations.
A sharp nudge in my ribs brought me back to reality. I blinked, turning toward Alexie, who arched a brow and subtly jerked her head toward the front of the classroom.
Dumbledore was looking directly at me. So was the rest of the class.
"Miss Malfoy," he said, with that maddeningly serene smile of his, "since you seem so... attuned to the natural world outside, perhaps you can bring that attentiveness back in here. Could you explain the primary magical limitation when transfiguring inanimate objects into animate beings, specifically concerning ethical constructs and magical sustainability?"
The room was silent. Half the students were expecting me to fumble. A few were smirking. But Dumbledore's expression was unreadable gently curious, as always.
I straightened, smoothing my robes. "Of course," I said, voice calm and clear. "The primary limitation lies in the inability to create true consciousness or souls through transfiguration. While we can imbue objects with pseudo-life or mimic behavior patterns, there is no known spellwork that generates a self-aware entity. Additionally, transformation drains energy over time unless sustained by a magical source. Without it, the transfigured object reverts to its original form, often unpredictably. This is particularly dangerous with objects that mimic sentient behavior, as the reversal can be violent."
The silence stretched for a moment longer, and then Dumbledore gave me a nod that almost looked impressed.
"Very well explained, Miss Malfoy," he said. "Perhaps, then, you'd be willing to demonstrate?"
A flick of his wand, and a battered goblet floated from his desk to mine.
"Transform this," he instructed, "into a functioning living creature capable of independent movement and behavior, and explain your process as you go."
I stood, drawing my wand slowly as I assessed the object. "Very well."
"First," I said, holding the goblet aloft with a soft Leviosa charm, "we must establish the desired form. I'll aim for something simple, a lizard, as it's easier to simulate neurological responses without complex instinctual behavior."
I circled my wand counterclockwise and murmured, "Vitae Instaurare."
The goblet shimmered, its metal rippling like liquid mercury. Legs began to protrude from the base, and the cup's rim compressed into a pointed snout. Scales formed, iridescent and green, as the handle twisted into a curled tail. The lizard blinked twice, then scurried across the desk, its claws clicking faintly on the wood.
The class erupted in murmurs of admiration. Even Alexie clapped lightly beside me.
Dumbledore stepped forward, watching the creature closely. "A precise execution. Most impressive, Miss Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin."
I inclined my head and returned to my seat.
Alexie leaned in, whispering, " How do you do that?" I ooked at her " do what?"
Alexie said " earn point from Dumbledore"
I shrugged. "I answered his question."
"No," she said, eyes wide, "you earned points. From Dumbledore. For Slytherin."
"Did I?" I replied airily. "I didn't even notice. I just want to get out of here."
As class dismissed, I didn't linger. The second we were released, I was already gathering my things. As I reached the hallway, I caught sight of Tom and his little group Abraxas, Thomas, Reinhardt and Elliot slinking off in a tight cluster, voices low and intense. Probably plotting world domination again.
How utterly exhausting.
I nudged Alexie and gestured with my head. "Let's go to the Black Lake. The weather's too perfect to waste."
She smiled. "Absolutely."
We strolled out of the castle, enjoying the warm breeze. Boys glanced in our direction as we passed some subtle, some not. I flashed a sweet smile at one blushing Hufflepuff and watched as he stumbled over his own feet.
Beauxbatons boys were charming in a polished sort of way, but Hogwarts boys? Pathetically easy.
Just as we neared the lake, a tall Ravenclaw with tousled brown hair stepped into our path. He looked barely older than me, maybe sixth year, with shy eyes behind round glasses.
"H-hi," he said, nervously. "Carina, right? I'm Lysander Vale. We're in Charms together. I was wondering... if you'd like my notes? Since you're new here."
I smiled warmly. "That's very thoughtful of you, Lysander-"
I was interrupted by a familiar, clipped voice.
"There's no need for that."
Tom.
He appeared beside me as if summoned, his presence a cold shadow between Lysander and me. The Ravenclaw boy paled, stammered something unintelligible, and all but ran in the opposite direction.
Alexie blinked, then suddenly "remembered" she had somewhere to be and disappeared.
I turned to Tom with a mock frown. "You ruined my fun."
He gave me a look. "You were entertaining him."
"Obviously," I said, looping my arm through his. "Now you owe me. Let's go to the lake. I want to enjoy the sunshine."
He didn't reply, but he let me drag him along the shoreline until we reached a secluded spot shaded by a sweeping willow. I flopped onto the grass, the cool earth soft beneath me, and looked up at him expectantly.
"Aren't you going to sit?"
Tom sighed and lowered himself beside m posture still as regal as ever.
"So," I asked, looking at him sideways, "are you and your little cabal done planning your uprising?"
He gave a faint chuckle. "We were discussing strategy, yes."
"Let me guess," I said, smiling lazily, "more pureblood superiority rhetoric?"
He didn't deny it.
"You use that ideology to control them," I mused aloud, "but you don't believe in it. Not really."
He glanced at me, brow raised. "What makes you say that?"
"You're not a pureblood, Tom. You don't mention it, but I know. You don't believe in the ideology you weaponize it. And those boys? They're too hungry for legacy to notice."
He didn't look offended. If anything, he looked... intrigued.
"My brother is one of them," I continued. "And we're twins. I know his weaknesses better than anyone. He wants power. You offer it. Easy."
Tom smirked. "And what do you want?"
I looked out at the lake, letting the silence hang for a moment before answering.
"I want to win. Doesn't matter what the game is. As long as I win."
He considered that "The purebloods want dominance. The half-bloods and Muggleborns want equality. Two sides, same desperation. One for control. The other for survival."
I turned to him. "Then offer both. Promise supremacy to the purebloods. Promise fairness to the rest. Give each group a dream, even if they're different dreams."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're terrifying."
I leaned closer. "No. I'm efficient."
He looked at me, truly looked at me, as though seeing something new. "You could help me build it."
"The future?" I asked, voice silky. "I'll do better. I'll help you shape it."
A breeze rippled across the water. The lake glittered under the sun. For once, he didn't speak. He simply reached over, taking my hand, not gently, but firmly.
"I think," he said quietly, "I was meant to meet you."
I smiled, squeezing his fingers. "Oh, sweetheart. That was inevitable"
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