Emerson Wilmore was an exemplary Ravenclaw student, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and an unyielding moral compass. However, things took a twisted and deviated turn in her life after her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory, was murdered by L...
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The scrape of quills and the occasional crack of unsuccessful transfigurations filled Professor McGonagall's classroom with an intensity that was entirely different to the oppressive silence the Carrows cultivated. Mistakes were corrected instead of punished. Students frowned in concentration instead of fear. Even after everything Hogwarts had become, McGonagall somehow managed to preserve the feeling that learning itself was an act of resistance.
"Advanced Human-to-Object Transfiguration requires precision," McGonagall explained as she paced slowly between the rows of desks, her tartan robes whispering across the stone floor. "If your concentration wavers for even a moment, your magic will follow. Control your intent before you attempt to control your wand."
Emerson carefully rotated her wand between her fingers before directing it towards the silver goblet sitting before her. "Vertere."
The goblet shimmered, its polished surface twisting until it became an ornate brass telescope, every engraved detail crisp enough to catch the sunlight pouring through the enchanted windows.
"Excellent, Miss Wilmore."
"Thank you, Professor."
She sat beside Enzo in the third row, although most of her attention drifted towards the desk immediately in front of them.
Mattheo was sitting beside Draco with his back to her, his robes falling untidily across the chair and his elbow planted on the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. From behind, Emerson could not see his eyes, but she did not need to. She knew every small betrayal of his exhaustion while she watched the hand he kept dragging over the back of his neck as though discomfort might keep him conscious where determination failed.
Anyone else might have thought he was bored. Emerson knew better. He barely slept again because of his nightmares.
Beside Emerson, Enzo was attempting to balance his quill across his upper lip. She reached over and knocked it away impatiently. He caught it against his chest. "That was nearly impressive."
"It was nearly on the floor," Emerson rolled her eyes impatiently. "Come on, you need to practice. Just picture the separate parts before you cast."
"I am picturing them."
"You look as though you're picturing your own funeral."
"That's because McGonagall will arrange one if I create another sentient object."
"Your intent must remain consistent throughout the spell," McGonagall announced, moving past Susan Bones whose astrolabe appeared to have retained the handle of the goblet. "If you begin thinking of the final result and then allow your concentration to wander, the object will reflect both thoughts. Transfiguration is less forgiving than most branches of magic. It does not care which version you meant."
