The next morning dawned crisp and bright, sunlight spilling across the Great Hall windows as students hurried through breakfast. By the time the plates were clearing themselves away, Eira had already packed her books and was waiting at the Slytherin table for Tracey.
"Come on, Transfiguration next," Tracey said, swinging her satchel over her shoulder. She grinned as she fell into step beside Eira. "I'll sit with you. You're good at that subject, right? Better than me, anyway. Since you did very good at Charms class, I'm sure you'll be just as good in this one."
Eira gave her a sidelong smile. "If sitting with me actually makes you better at Transfiguration, I'll start charging for seats."
Tracey laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly against Eira's. "Then I'll go broke before Christmas."
The corridors buzzed with chatter as the two girls joined the crowd heading for Professor McGonagall's classroom. Students jostled, laughing and groaning about homework. By the time they arrived, Gryffindors were already filing in, Hermione clutching a neat roll of parchment while Ron looked decidedly less confident.
Eira and Tracey slipped into a desk near the middle. Before Tracey could even unpack her things, Draco appeared, hair perfectly slicked, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Tracey," he drawled, "why don't you shift over? I'd like to sit with Eira."
Tracey raised her brows and opened her mouth, but before Eira could respond, Pansy Parkinson swooped in, looping her arm around Draco's.
"Oh, Draco," she cooed, tugging insistently, "come sit with me at the front."
"I—" Draco began, his eyes still fixed on Eira.
"No arguments," Pansy said sweetly, steering him firmly toward a pair of desks. He shot Eira a frustrated look as he was dragged away, while Tracey smirked.
"Well, that saves us the trouble," she whispered, flipping open her notebook.
Tracey leaned closer, smirking as she kept her voice down. "So, what's this Draco's obsession with you, Eira? He's been circling you like a hawk since term started."
Eira gave a quiet sigh. "When I was ten, there was a Ministry ball. We met there—briefly. And again at the Quidditch World Cup. That's it. I've only seen him twice in my life before Hogwarts."
Tracey arched a brow. "Oh, so what is it then? Childhood friends? Young-age love?"
Eira shook her head, lips curving in a small smile. "No. Nothing like that. He just seems to think there's more than there is."
Tracey smirked knowingly. "Well, whatever it is, he definitely has a crush on you. And wants to get close to you. That much is obvious."
Eira shrugged, brushing the thought aside as if it were nothing. "It's just a boy's crush. I don't care." Her voice softened, but there was no hesitation—she already belonged entirely to Fleur. Everything about her was Fleur's.
One by one, students settled into their places. Neville Longbottom dropped his quill, scrambling under the desk to retrieve it. Dean and Seamus were arguing in low tones about Quidditch. On the Gryffindor side, Ron leaned toward Harry.
"Do you think she'll actually check them all?" he muttered, waving his parchment nervously.
Harry shrugged, looking distracted. Hermione, sitting primly, gave Ron a sharp look. "If you'd done it properly, you wouldn't be worrying now."
Before Ron could retort, the classroom door swung open with brisk precision. Professor McGonagall entered, her tartan robes sweeping the floor, her expression as stern as ever. She set her books on the desk and adjusted her square spectacles, surveying the class with a hawk's eye.
"Homework, please," she said crisply. "Pass it forward."
There was a flurry of parchment as rolls were handed along. McGonagall moved down the rows, collecting, scanning, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
When she reached Ron's desk, she stopped. Slowly, she unrolled his parchment, her eyes flicking across the lines. Then, with almost theatrical slowness, she pulled Hermione's essay from the pile. She held them side by side.
The silence in the classroom grew heavy.
"Well, well," McGonagall said at last, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Mr. Weasley, it appears your essay is a near word-for-word replica of Miss Granger's. A few clumsy synonyms here and there do not disguise the fact."
A ripple of laughter broke out. Ron's ears went red.
"I—I just—" he stammered.
"Cheating is not tolerated in my classroom," McGonagall said sharply. "Miss Granger, I will also remind you that aiding such behavior is equally unacceptable. I expect better from both of you."
Hermione flushed crimson, her lips parting in protest, but McGonagall raised a hand.
"Not another word. You will both redo the essay. Separately. By yourselves."
"Yes, Professor," Hermione whispered, mortified. Ron ducked his head, muttering something unintelligible.
From the Slytherin side came a sudden, loud burst of laughter. Draco Malfoy leaned back in his chair, smirking broadly. "Classic, Weasley. Can't even write your own homework. What's next—borrowing her brain for exams?"
A few Slytherins chuckled. Ron's face darkened, and he looked ready to leap across the aisle, but Harry grabbed his arm.
Tracey leaned toward Eira, hiding her smile behind her hand. "He's always like that," she whispered. "Copies off Granger every chance he gets. Pathetic, really."
Eira's lips twitched in amusement, but she kept her eyes on the professor.
McGonagall snapped the parchments shut and swept back to the front. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. Cheating will result in no marks—and wasted time. Now—wands out."
The mood in the room shifted, students fumbling eagerly for their wands.
"This term," McGonagall continued, "we will be advancing into complex transformations. Today, we begin by transfiguring newts into glass vials. Precision is key: the shape, the thickness of the glass, even the clarity must be perfect. This exercise will test your control, focus, and understanding of the magical properties of both the living creature and the object you aim to create. Clear your desks."
Small newts were distributed, each student receiving a wriggling amphibian in a glass tank. The classroom filled with a low murmur of anticipation.
"Study the properties of your intended object," McGonagall instructed, demonstrating with a flick of her wand. Her newt shimmered, elongating and solidifying into a flawless cylindrical vial, perfectly transparent, before reverting to its original form with another flick.
"Your turn."
Immediately, the room erupted in wand movements and whispered incantations. Neville's newt shimmered faintly before leaping out of the circle of his spell. Dean managed a misshapen vial with cracks along the sides. Ron's newt twisted and rolled, stubbornly refusing to stay in place. Hermione, with calm precision, produced a perfectly clear vial within minutes.
Eira focused, her wand steady, her movements fluid. She visualized the cylindrical shape, the delicate thickness of the glass, the perfectly smooth surface. With a precise flick and whispered incantation, her newt dissolved into a flawless, gleaming glass vial.
Tracey leaned closer, whispering with a triumphant grin. "See? I knew sitting next to you would be brilliant! I predicted it—you'd be amazing at Transfiguration. I mean, I knew it. It's almost like I have magical foresight or something."
Eira let out a small laugh. "Instead of congratulating yourself, maybe focus on turning your newt into glass. Predictions won't help if the spell fizzles."
Tracey peeked at her vial and shrugged. "Well, mine's… still halfway between newt and glass. A little dramatic, really. Maybe it's got a flair for the theatrical. Kind of like… you know, Professor Dumbledore!"
Eira suppressed a smile. "If your newt starts reciting poetry and offering cryptic advice, I won't be surprised."
Tracey whispered, giggling, "Don't give it ideas. I don't think the poor thing could handle a beard that long and wise at the same time!"
Eira shook her head, amused. "Keep it under control, or you'll be explaining to Dumbledore why there's a half-glass, half-newt creature hopping around his office."
Tracey tapped her temple conspiratorially. "Noted. But if it happens, I'll tell him it's experimental research. Very important research."
McGonagall's sharp gaze swept the classroom, resting on Eira's work. Her brows lifted ever so slightly.
"Excellent, Miss White," she said crisply. "Five points to Slytherin."
A ripple of whispers passed through the room. Draco cast Eira a look, equal parts impressed and irked. Pansy, sitting beside him, pursed her lips.
On the Gryffindor side, Ron scowled at his stubborn newt. Hermione glanced at Eira's work, a mixture of admiration and quiet curiosity flickering across her face.
The rest of the lesson continued in a flurry of attempts and corrections. McGonagall moved between desks, offering curt advice, her sharp voice slicing through the occasional explosion or shriek of a miscast spell. Seamus, unsurprisingly, earned multiple scoldings.
By the end of the class, only a handful of students had successfully created perfect glass vials. Eira's remained the most precise and flawless.
As the bell rang, students began gathering their belongings. Ron muttered complaints about unfair teachers. Draco grumbled about "show-offs." Tracey packed her books, leaning toward Eira with a grin.
"So," she whispered, tilting her head slightly, "what do you plan to do next? Since this afternoon we don't have class, and tomorrow it's Dean's Potions lesson."
Eira smiled softly. "I think I'll go for a proper walk around the castle… maybe even outside. I haven't had a proper stroll yet."
Tracey's eyes lit up. "Oh, then go on. Enjoy it! I have to go and talk with Daphne—urgent matters of utmost importance, naturally."
With a final wink, Tracey gathered her things and slipped out of the classroom, leaving Eira to finish packing at her own unhurried pace.