Stay With Me || Garreth Weasley

A Strange Hypothesis

"Avis!"

Feathers choke from the tip of his wand and float to the desk.

The Transfiguration classroom is abandoned an hour before dinner, though the clock on his aunt's desk still ticks, and occasionally Garreth can hear the flutter of butterfly wings, trapped in a jar by the door.

You sit on the other side, your face stoically unmoving as you sweep the feathers away.

"Are you picturing the birds clearly?"

"Yes, Prim."

"Exactly as you want them to appear?"

"Yes, Prim."

"... Are you just agreeing with everything I say?"

"Yes, Pri— er, no, of course not."

"Garreth."

"I don't see why you have to make me learn this spell before we do it in class," he says sourly, lowering his wand. The last two sessions you've made him do this, each unsuccessful. "My auntie told me we're not doing Conjuration until after Christmas."

"Because it's the first Conjuration spell in the curriculum," you say. "If you can master this before everyone else, you'll be able to put your focus on the more difficult ones."

"More difficult?" He groans. "How can it get more difficult? My wand's practically laughing every time I try!"

"You've already improved," you insist. "On your first attempt, you didn't conjure anything."

"Sorry, didn't realise this was a Feather-Conjuring charm."

You frown. "It's progress."

It doesn't feel like progress. It feels like he's already wasted three hours of his life doing a transfiguration that's too difficult for his pea brain. If it's the first Conjuration on the curriculum, too, then it's the easiest – and he can't even get that down. His bottom lip juts, and you sigh.

"The more you practice, the better you'll get," you say, with the typical air of a Ravenclaw. "And you can do that outside of our tutoring sessions, you know..."

"No can do. I'm allergic to homework."

"That's patently untrue."

"I'm getting a rash just thinking about it."

"Please, do show me where."

He winks. "I can, but it's in a place where the sun doesn't shine."

"Ugh." You glance at your watch, and your eyes flash. "Oh, we've run over."

Quickly you gather your things, stuffing them into your bag.

"Somewhere to be?"

"I'm expecting a Floo message from my parents."

"Anything interesting?"

"No."

"That's patently untrue."

You scowl. "Just... work on the spell, all right? Remember, picture the—"

"— birds exactly the way I want them to appear, I know."

He gives a half-hearted wave as you hurry off, and eventually he slumps towards dinner. It's November now, and the Great Hall's ceiling has shifted from the auburn canopy to a roiling mass of metallic clouds, bringing an unwelcome chill to the place. He plonks down next to Leander, who's wearing crimson Quidditch gear and shovelling lasagne down his throat like it's his last meal.