Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(🥀)═══ CHAPTER NINE ❝ i'm just a girl ❞
ㅤ
Night turned into day, and Mazikeen found herself in Transfiguration class taught by Professor Dumbledore the following morning. The classroom was filled with an air of anticipation, the walls lined with brimming magical artifacts and books. Tall windows allowed the morning light to flood in, casting a warm glow on the ancient stone walls.
Professor Dumbledore stood at the front, his presence commanding and enigmatic. His silver hair and twinkling eyes added a touch of warmth to his otherwise imposing figure. He wore deep blue robes adorned with silver stars that shimmered subtly as he moved.
"Good morning, students," Dumbledore greeted, his voice both kind and authoritative. "Today, we delve into the fascinating world of Transfiguration, the art of changing the form or appearance of an object."
Mazikeen listened intently, her quill ready to take notes.
Tom Riddle sat a few rows ahead, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore with a look of intense focus, though he seemed to be in a world of his own.
"Transfiguration is a complex and precise branch of magic," Dumbledore continued. "It requires concentration, intention, and a deep understanding of the properties of both the original and the intended forms."
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore transformed a wooden matchstick into a silver needle. The students watched in awe as the transformation took place before their eyes.
"Now, I would like each of you to attempt this transformation," Dumbledore instructed. "Remember, focus and intent are key."
As the students began their attempts, Mazikeen noticed Tom Riddle at the corner of her eye. His brow furrowed in intense concentration, he whispered the incantation, and his stick transformed flawlessly into a needle. Yet, Dumbledore’s expression remained neutral, offering no praise or acknowledgment.
Mazikeen, feeling a mixture of determination and nerves, focused on her own stick. She carefully traced the movements Dumbledore had demonstrated, her mind clear and intent on the transformation. A soft glow enveloped her wand, and with a quiet whoosh, the stick gleamed, turning into a perfectly formed needle.
“Excellent work, Miss Shafiq,” Dumbledore’s voice broke through the classroom noise, a proud smile on his face. “Your precision and control are commendable.”
