Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
' the fear of death follows from the fear of life. a man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.' — mark twain
Hogwarts — Sep1943
The Ravenclaw's hand shot straight up once she realised no others knew the answer.
"Yes, Tom?" came Dumbledore's reply as the girl's head spun to the side in irritation.
"Conjuring is the ability to transfigure the desired object from thin air. Typically conjuring is taught at NEWT-level, Professor, may I ask why we're on this topic?" Tom Riddle sounded from the front row of the Transfiguration Classroom.
Dumbledore hummed as Lestari snickered at her friend's lost chance. Twyla Otieno grumbled in resentment at the Know-It-All boy, as many Ravenclaws did — contrasting to the three houses that seemed to worship him, for taking away the opportunity to answer the one question she actually knew the answer to — that is after Lestari had whispered it into her ear.
Twyla Otieno was a muggleborn witch, and quite an accomplished one also. Though, the spells she remembered were usually the ones she either practiced to no end or sent her little brother when he pissed her off. Lestari and Twyla were both in the 4th year of Hogwarts when they became close, despite the two witches being of the same house.
"Ah, yes, Mr Riddle. Your OWL Exams, however, do require knowledge of the different methods of Transfiguration, even if you aren't required to practise them. Now—,"
Lestari stopped listening as she watched the Slytherin boy with curiosity. She'd copy Twyla's frantic notes later. It seemed more pronounced than before, which was probably why she could recognise it, he'd sneered at the Professor.
It was a foreign look on the charming boy's features. It was known by the whole school that Riddle was of a reserved and intelligent nature, and if he was liked — which he was by every teacher on the school grounds, he must be a delightful individual, even being in Slytherin.
He'd let slip the clear display of pique when the man's back was turned. And now, from behind her friend, Lestari peeked in curiosity, furrowing her brows.
What a character.
———
Casimir Clemens spun across the Common Room, with Thierry Goldstein on his tail. There was a quiet and thin tune playing from a Muggle radio against the wall.
