Metanoia • Harry Potter • Book I

Chapter 11

Word Count: 4325

"Lignis foramen," Keziah commanded, flicking her wand in a very precise movement. Ever since her first transfiguration lesson nearly a week ago, where she'd turned the matchstick silver, Keziah had been determined to complete the spell. Currently, the object in front of her was certainly metal but stubbornly matchstick-shaped. She groaned, letting her head drop onto the desk.

"I don't see why you're so worried about this. You should be more worried about Quirrel's essay on imps," Daphne said pleasantly, sitting on a pouffe and leafing through an edition of Teen Witch.

"Quirrel can go suck Merlin's balls. I don't see why he's even teaching us, seeing as he's too scared to properly learn about his own stupid subject," Keziah snapped, repeating the spell. The matchstick rolled over slightly, its rounded edge sharpening slightly.

"You probably shouldn't talk about teachers that way," Daphne said, her cheeks pinkening at Keziah's language.

Keziah rolled her eyes, leaning dramatically against her friend's chair. She hated Quirrel's class, not only because he was technically hosting Voldemort like some human parasite. He didn't even know how to teach and his lessons were more pathetic than him. On top of that, she still didn't know how to out him as a pseudo-Horcrux in a way that wasn't suspicious.

"I'll respect him if he does his job," Keziah muttered, looking down at her metal stick-thingy and repeating the spell for the last time, flicking her wand with a bit more strength. She watched in excitement as it immediately sharpened down into a proper needle. She leapt up, gripping the tiny thing and squealed.

"I DID IT!" she shrieked, jumping up and down. The other students in the common room edged away from her, rubbing their ears.

"You don't need to get your knickers all in a twist," Blaise snickered as he joined her, followed quickly by Theodore. "What exactly did you do? Cure dragonpox?"

"I finally transfigured this bloody matchstick!" Keziah beamed, holding up her fine creation. Theodore gazed at it in awe for a few seconds.

"Wow! You completed a spell! So you aren't a squib, after all, Potter," he laughed, his expression dropping back to an apathetic smirk.

"Bugger off, you bastard," Keziah said, shoving him gently. "I'll poke you with my wand and show you just how magic I am."

"Kinky," Blaise snorted, only to get hit on the head by Daphne.

"Watch your language, Blaise! And get your head OUT of the gutter," she hissed, burying her face in her palms. The other three laughed at her embarrassment but quieted down. They sat like that for a small while, with Keziah leaning against the pouffe where Daphne rested, while Theodore and Blaise sat against the ornamental table.

Until Draco came sprinting up to them, holding a piece of parchment, grinning broadly. Crabbe and Goyle came lumbering through the door a few seconds after, panting hard and doubling over.

"Guess what, you guys?"

"I'm guessing you're going to tell us anyways?" Keziah asked, looking up. Draco rolled his eyes and pointed to the parchment.

"Flying lessons!" he burst out. "Oh, I can't wait to see Potter make a fool of himself. Let's see if he's as pathetic on the Quidditch Pitch as he is in Potions. He thinks he's so great with his stupid scar and glasses–"

They all glanced at each other as Draco steamrolled on with his daily rant about Harry. It had become as commonplace as the mermaids whacking the windows with their tails. And just like that, the students learned to tune it out.