Breakfast
Morning light spilled through the enchanted ceiling, soft and golden, as owls swooped overhead in a flurry of feathers and parchment. The Great Hall buzzed with chatter — a low hum of students trading gossip, homework complaints, and summer stories now three weeks stale.
At the Ravenclaw table, Shya was buttering her toast with the kind of focus normally reserved for duels."One day," she said, "they'll enchant the toast to butter itself. Then Hogwarts will finally catch up with the twentieth century."
Talora didn't look up from her porridge. "Given Filch still cleans with a mop, I wouldn't hold your breath."
Padma poured pumpkin juice, Mandy flipped through her notes, and Lisa was mid-gossip about a Charms Club mishap when a familiar burst of red feathers dropped a letter right into Ron Weasley's lap at the Gryffindor table.
The Great Hall went silent.
"Oh no," Lisa whispered.Shya grinned, leaning forward like she'd just been handed front-row seats. "Oh yes."
Ron froze. His brothers ducked. And then — the Howler exploded.
"RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR!"
Mrs. Weasley's voice bellowed across the hall, rattling plates and echoing off the enchanted rafters. Half the Gryffindor table winced. Hufflepuffs were covering their ears. Slytherins were already howling with laughter.
Roman leaned lazily back at the Slytherin table beside Cassian, smirking. "Ten points to Weasley for public humiliation."
"Make it twenty for the echo," Cassian replied, biting into an apple as if this were better than breakfast theatre.
"YOU COULD HAVE DIED! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SEEN!"
Shya clapped her hands once, delighted. "Oh, she's got projection. We should invite her to the duelling club — I think she just stunned half the hall."
Talora smiled behind her spoon. "Precision, passion, and volume — McGonagall would approve."
Padma laughed into her napkin. "You think Potter's regretting the friendship yet?"
"Give it a week," Shya said. "He'll probably drive a broom through a chimney next."
When the Howler finally burst into smoke, the silence hung for a single beat — and then the entire hall erupted. Gryffindors groaned, Slytherins jeered, and the Ravenclaws — elegant, amused, quietly merciless — applauded.
Cassian caught Shya's eye from across the aisle, mouthing, worth the detention.
She raised her glass in mock salute. "Breakfast entertainment — five stars. Would recommend."
Roman's faint smirk lingered as he leaned toward Cassian. "Careful, Nott. You're encouraging her."
"She doesn't need encouragement," Cassian said, grin lazy. "She is the chaos."
The bell rang faintly in the distance. McGonagall's sharp figure appeared at the head table, parchment in hand.
"Transfiguration next," Talora said, standing smoothly and collecting her books.Shya groaned. "Nothing like a lecture on discipline right after watching a Howler detonate."
Lisa grinned. "You mean foreshadowing."
"Exactly," Shya said dryly, shouldering her bag. "Let's go learn not to explode."
Transfiguration
The September sun filtered through the tall windows of the Transfiguration classroom, slanting gold across rows of parchment and brass instruments. There was a quiet tension in the air — the kind that came with McGonagall's lectures.
"Transfiguration," she began crisply, "is not artistry, nor brute force. It is precision. You will find that inanimate-to-animate transfigurations demand more discipline than you have yet displayed."
Quills scratched, pages rustled. Shya sat forward, sketching diagrams in the margins of her notes — the movement of energy between form and matter — while Talora, ever meticulous, copied equations in perfect, looping script, occasionally color-coding her page.
When the practical portion began, the assignment seemed deceptively simple: turn a beetle into a button.
A faint hum of magic filled the room as wands were raised. Talora's beetle twitched, its shell hardening into glossy enamel before reversing back, trembling on the desk. Shya's, on the other hand, shimmered halfway — its wings flattening into gold-plated curves, its body gleaming like jewelry but still stubbornly alive.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, voice quiet but edged with amusement. "Your beetle's halfway to couture."
Shya didn't look up. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Across the aisle, Roman's beetle exploded into a puff of glitter and wings.
Talora covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. "That's… one way to do it."
McGonagall's quill scratched on her parchment, impassive but approving. "Progress. For some of you, at least."
The class exhaled, tension breaking. It wasn't perfect magic — not yet — but it was progress. And that, in McGonagall's classroom, was nearly divine.
Herbology
The heat hit them the moment they stepped into Greenhouse Three — thick, humid, alive. Leaves brushed against shoulders, the air buzzed with enchantments, and the scent of damp soil and something faintly acidic clung to their robes.
Professor Sprout was already in her element, cheeks flushed, hair escaping her hat as she gestured toward a tray of small, rather unpleasant-looking plants. "Mandrakes! We'll be repotting them today. Remember your earmuffs — I don't want anyone fainting on my floor again."
Lisa groaned quietly. "Again? That's not comforting."
"Could be worse," Shya murmured, strapping on her earmuffs. "They could bite."
"Don't tempt them," Cassian said dryly from across the table, earning a smirk.
Talora, calm as ever, positioned her pot, gloves, and trowel with quiet efficiency. "You just have to be gentle," she said, half to herself. "They don't like sudden movements."
Shya shot her a look. "You talk like it's a toddler, not a screaming vegetable."
"It's both," Roman muttered. "Screaming, needy, occasionally throws dirt at you."
Professor Sprout clapped her hands. "On three! One — two — three!"
The greenhouse erupted into noise.
Talora's Mandrake came up cleanly, its tiny, ugly face scrunched in silent outrage beneath the muffling charm. She quickly repotted it, firm and precise.
Shya's, however, thrashed like a possessed turnip. Soil flew in every direction — splattering Lisa's notes, Mandy's face, and Padma's pristine uniform.
"I swear it looked at me," Shya hissed, trying to force it into the new pot.
"That's because you glared first," Lisa laughed, dodging a clump of dirt.
"Typical," Cassian called over the noise. "Even the plants are terrified of confrontation."
Shya shot him a sharp look, her Mandrake flailing harder. "I'll have you know this is tactical chaos."
"Uh-huh," Talora said, her tone the picture of serenity as she wiped her gloves clean. "Tactical. Right."
By the time Professor Sprout called for cleanup, half the table was covered in soil, Shya's Mandrake had fainted dramatically, and everyone's earmuffs were crooked.
Sprout gave them all a broad, proud smile. "Excellent work! Some of you more… spirited than others. But that's part of learning."
As they filed out into the sun, Shya brushed dirt from her sleeves and muttered, "I don't care what anyone says, plants are vindictive."
Talora grinned. "And yet somehow, you're the one with the dirt on your face."
Charms
The cool, airy calm of the Charms corridor was a welcome contrast to the chaos of the greenhouses. The seven Ravenclaws slipped into their seats as Professor Flitwick clambered onto his usual stack of books, eyes twinkling.
"Good afternoon! Today, we're revising the Wingardium Leviosa charm — but this year, we'll focus on control. Grace, not chaos. I expect no more flying textbooks or accidental decapitations."
Lisa elbowed Mandy. "That was one time."
"Accidental decapitation?" Roman echoed with mock horror as he leaned back in his chair. "Please tell me it was a Slytherin textbook at least."
"Gryffindor," Shya said without looking up. "So yes, a public service."
The class chuckled as Flitwick demonstrated, his quill floating smoothly in front of him. "Remember: swish and flick — precise, steady. Don't overexert your intent."
Pairs formed — Lisa with Mandy, Padma with Talora, and Shya with Cassian. Roman took the open desk beside them, his wand already poised, a faint grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Lisa's feather shot straight up, whirled in a circle, and collided with Mandy's. Both crashed down dramatically.
"They're in love," Roman said, deadpan.
Flitwick, ever the optimist, clapped his hands. "Excellent enthusiasm!"
Talora's feather lifted with perfect poise — slow, elegant, unwavering. "Controlled, deliberate — five points to Ravenclaw!" Flitwick declared.
Roman's followed hers neatly, hovering in lazy tandem. "She makes it look easy," he muttered.
"That's because it is easy," Cassian murmured, not looking up from his own feather, which floated halfway up.
"Oh?" Shya asked innocently — and with a subtle flick of her wand, made his feather spin like a top before shooting into his hair.
Cassian brushed it out calmly. "You're impossible."
"And yet you keep sitting next to me," she said, perfectly mild.
Roman snorted. "That's bravery. Should've been a Gryffindor."
Shya's quill snapped upright midair, hovering like an offended cat. "Take that back."
The class broke into laughter — even Flitwick was chuckling behind his hand. "Excellent control, Miss Gill! Excellent humor, Mister Nott!"
By the time the bell rang, the desks were littered with fallen feathers, parchment scraps, and one thoroughly traumatized quill.
Cassian leaned toward Shya as they packed up. "You do realize you're single-handedly responsible for half the noise level in this class?"
"Correction," she said, tucking her quill into her bag. "I'm responsible for the interesting half."
Roman caught Talora's amused glance as they walked out. "This year's going to be chaos, isn't it?"
She smiled, soft and certain. "The best kind."
Potions
The dungeon smelled of damp stone, singed nettle, and something faintly metallic. Cauldrons hissed and bubbled in unison, steam curling lazily through the low light. Professor Snape stalked between the rows like a shadow given form — his voice low and cutting as he tore into Potter and Weasley at the front of the class.
"Flying a car to school," he sneered. "The sheer idiocy of it. Fifty points from Gryffindor for managing to embarrass yourselves and the rest of us in one fell swoop."
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
The rest of the room was a symphony of forced concentration — quills scratching, spoons clinking, the quiet bubble of potions that everyone prayed would behave.
Shya bent over her cauldron, brow furrowed, stirring counterclockwise with the exaggerated patience of someone forcing herself not to throw the spoon. The potion shimmered a little too violently, and Cassian, beside her, reached over wordlessly to steady the handle before it sloshed over.
"Three stirs, not four," he murmured under his breath.
Shya gave him a sidelong look. "You counting now?"
"Someone has to."
Across the room, Talora's potion glowed a perfect pale silver. Roman leaned against the table, half watching her, half keeping an eye on Snape. "That's unnervingly perfect, Livanthos. You're making the rest of us look bad."
Talora smirked without glancing up. "Try precision sometime. It's revolutionary."
He grinned. "I'd rather try charm."
"Mr. Nott," Snape's voice cracked through the room like a whip, "perhaps you'd like to demonstrate how charming an essay on the use of sopophorous beans can be?"
Roman shut his mouth instantly. Shya snorted into her sleeve.
By the time Snape barked, "Bottles, labels, and out," the air was thick with tension and relief. The moment his robes swept dramatically out the door, the dungeon collectively exhaled.
The seven of them regrouped in the corridor — Shya, Talora, Cassian, Roman, Lisa, Mandy, and Padma — moving toward the stairwell with the speed of people escaping a crime scene.
"Do you think he's ever smiled?" Lisa asked, clutching her book bag.
"Once," Mandy said, thoughtful. "Then he realized it wasn't intimidating."
"Did you see the look he gave Potter?" Padma said, shaking her head. "I thought his face might actually crack from rage."
"He's probably furious they didn't expel them," Talora said. "Flew a car into a tree, nearly exposed magic to the entire Muggle world — and somehow, they still got away with it."
"Classic Gryffindor immunity," Shya muttered, voice dry. "If we'd done it, we'd be scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the decade."
Roman gave a low chuckle. "Please. If we'd done it, we'd have at least landed the car properly."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "And avoided the tree."
"Obviously."
Lisa grinned. "I swear, Snape's going to combust before Christmas if Potter keeps breathing near him."
"Tragic," Mandy said solemnly. "But poetic."
By the time they reached the upper corridors, the mood had lightened, laughter bouncing off the stone walls. A group of younger Ravenclaws pressed themselves aside to let them pass — wide-eyed, whispering — the older students already half myth to them.
The chatter of students grew louder as they neared the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Someone's voice — high, enthusiastic, and unmistakably self-satisfied — carried into the corridor.
"Oh no," Lisa groaned. "He's already talking."
"Place your bets," Shya said, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Five Galleons says he mentions himself before the first spell."
"Too easy," Talora replied. "Make it ten."
Inside, the classroom glittered with framed photographs — all of Gilderoy Lockhart, all smiling, all winking at slightly different intervals. His books were stacked like a shrine on every desk, the titles gleaming in ornate gold lettering.
Cassian muttered, "I thought self-worship was discouraged."
"Not when you can autograph it," Roman said.
They took their seats, Shya crossing her legs and whispering to Lisa, "You'd think someone would tell him blue robes don't go with that hair."
Lisa snorted. "He probably hexes the mirror until it agrees."
Lockhart beamed from the front, raising his hands as if basking in invisible applause.
"Ah, my lovely students! Ready to embark on a thrilling journey through my greatest adventures?"
Talora leaned over to Shya, voice low. "If this is thrilling, I'd rather be in detention."
Shya smirked. "Give it a week. You might get both."
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Lockhart's teeth practically sparkled under the enchanted chandeliers.
"Let's begin, shall we?" he said, voice buttery-smooth and full of self-satisfaction. "I am, of course, Gilderoy Lockhart—Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League; and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award."
He paused, clearly expecting applause. None came.
A bead of sweat rolled down Neville's temple.
Shya leaned toward Talora. "If he lists one more award, I'm hexing his mirror."
Talora didn't look up from her notes. "Don't bother. It'd just thank him."
Lockhart's grin didn't waver. "Now! To get to know one another, I've prepared a little quiz."
A collective groan swept the classroom.
Lisa whispered, "Please tell me it's about dark creatures."
"It's about him," Mandy muttered. "It's always about him."
Sure enough, the first question was: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
The second: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest ambition?
"Do we get extra credit if we vomit?" Shya asked under her breath.
Padma shot her a warning look, though she was clearly fighting a smile.
By the time Lockhart had collected the papers—beaming as though they'd all passed an exam on his personal greatness—the class's collective will to live was hanging by a thread.
"Well!" he said brightly. "You'll all be pleased to know Miss Brocklehurst here got the most correct—seventeen out of twenty! Well done, my dear."
Lisa sank into her chair, face red. "I guessed," she muttered.
Lockhart whipped off the cloth with a flourish. "Cornish pixies!" he announced proudly. "Freshly caught! Mischievous little fellows, but nothing I can't handle."
The blue creatures immediately went berserk, shrieking and clawing at the bars. Lockhart puffed out his chest, positively glowing with self-satisfaction.
"Let's see what you make of them!" he declared.
From the second row, Seamus Finnegan raised his hand, uncertain. "Uh, they're not—dangerous, are they, sir?"
Lockhart flashed his perfect smile. "Don't be silly, Seamus. They're just pixies!"
A ripple of nervous laughter went around the room. Talora muttered, "He says that like it's reassuring."
And then Lockhart threw open the cage.
Chaos exploded instantly. Pixies shot into the air like bolts of electric blue lightning, screeching gleefully as they dove for quills and hair. One snatched Mandy's bag clean off her chair; another yanked Neville upside-down by his robes.
"Immobulus!" Hermione Granger cried, but the spell fizzled — and her wand was promptly snatched by a cackling pixie.
Shya ducked as a pixie dive-bombed her inkpot. "He's an idiot."
"Understatement of the century," Talora shot back.
Lockhart was shouting over the pandemonium. "Now, now, they're only little—Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
Nothing happened.
A pixie stole his wand mid-syllable and hurled it out the window. Lockhart yelped and ducked.
"Brilliant work, Professor," Shya said flatly, eyes narrowing.
"Ten out of ten for panic," Talora added.
Together, the girls raised their wands. "Incendio minor!"
Twin streams of controlled flame arced through the air, tracing elegant spirals before dissipating—startling the pixies into scattering. The remaining few shrieked and retreated toward the corners of the ceiling.
Lockhart, meanwhile, was flapping helplessly at the front of the room, one sleeve caught in a pixie's claws. "Don't panic! Pesky little—oh, Merlin—" escaping to the safety of his office.
Hermione retrieved her wand, managing a crisp, "Immobulus!" at the last second. The last few pixies froze mid-air and dropped with soft thuds.
A stunned silence followed.
Lisa blinked. "Did he just… run away?"
Padma pointed to the empty space where Lockhart had been. "Yes. Yes, he did."
Shya looked around the wrecked classroom—chairs overturned, books torn, blue feathers drifting down like snow. She turned back to the girls, deadpan. "So that's what 'hands-on learning' means."
The Ravenclaw table burst out laughing. Even Cassian's mouth twitched.
Hermione, red-faced and still clutching her wand, turned toward them. "He was trying to help!"
"Oh, definitely," Shya said, her tone casual and lethal. "If screaming and fleeing counts as leadership, then he's practically Dumbledore."
"Its just his first class, He's written books, He's won awards! He's a hero! Most importantly he's our Professor! " Granger practically shouted.
"If Lockhart's your idea of a role model, Granger, I'm starting to see why you need to work so much harder than anyone else for our classes."Shya quipped
Laughter rippled through the room again, sharp and delighted. Hermione's eyes flashed, her jaw tightening, but she turned away stiffly, muttering under her breath.
As the class filed out, Lockhart reappeared at the door, adjusting his rumpled robes and pretending as if he hadn't just abandoned ship.
"Well! That was… invigorating! Ten points to Ravenclaw for initiative."
Shya smirked at Talora. "Did he just reward us for surviving him?"
Talora shouldered her bag, smiling faintly. "I think so."
Roman leaned in as they passed. "We should start keeping tally. 'Points earned for rescuing incompetent adults.'"
Cassian's low voice followed, soft enough that only Shya heard: "That's going to be a long list."
And as they stepped into the corridor, laughter trailing after them, even the chill September air couldn't quite smother the warmth of that ordinary, extraordinary moment.