9 9. Classes

As Professor McGonagall's introduction to Transfiguration unfolded, Apollyon absorbed every word, her fascination with the subject deepening. The professor moved on to explain the foundational principles of the discipline, emphasizing the importance of visualization and the mental discipline required to alter an object's physical properties without losing its essence.

"For your first lesson," McGonagall continued, her tone becoming more practical, "we will start with something simple yet fundamental: turning matches into needles." With a wave of her wand, she distributed the materials needed for the day's exercise—a small wooden match for each student.

The challenge, as Professor McGonagall outlined it, was not merely to change the match's appearance but to transform its very substance into metal, a task that required a clear vision of the end result and a precise application of magical energy. "Concentration and clarity of intent are key," she instructed. "You must see the needle in your mind's eye, believe in its reality, and then channel your magic to make it so."

Apollyon listened intently, her eyes fixed on the match lying on the desk in front of her. She took a deep breath, centering herself and focusing her thoughts on the image of a sharp, gleaming needle. With her wand poised, she recited the incantation, "Mutatio adusum," her voice steady, her mind filled with the visualization of the transformation.

At first, nothing happened. The match remained stubbornly wooden, its form unchanged. Around her, other students experienced various degrees of success—some matches slightly elongated, others turning silver but retaining their original shape. Apollyon refused to be discouraged. She remembered Professor McGonagall's emphasis on concentration and intent, and she redoubled her efforts, refining her mental image of the needle, its weight, its cold metallic surface, its sharp point.

With a flick of her wand and a more focused invocation of the spell, Apollyon felt a surge of magic flow through her, more controlled and precise than before. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the match on her desk began to quiver, its form blurring and reshaping until, before her eyes, it lengthened and thinned, taking on a metallic sheen. A moment later, a perfect steel needle lay in place of the match, its point gleaming in the light of the classroom.

A small gasp escaped her lips, a mixture of surprise and delight at her success. Professor McGonagall, making her rounds, paused by Apollyon's desk, her sharp gaze taking in the transformed object. "Very well done, Miss Seraphina," she said, a rare note of approval in her voice. "An excellent demonstration of focus and precision."

The praise from such a respected teacher filled Apollyon with a sense of pride and accomplishment. She had not only managed to perform the transfiguration but had also earned recognition for her efforts. The rest of the class passed in a blur of excitement and concentration as they practiced the spell, with Professor McGonagall offering guidance and corrections.

As the class drew to a close, Apollyon felt a deep satisfaction. Transfiguration, with its demands on the mind and the imagination, challenged her in ways she had never experienced before. However had an advantage over the others in her class, having the mind of an adult. And a highly experienced one in different material at that.

Buoyed by her success in Transfiguration, Apollyon left the classroom with a sense of accomplishment that lent an extra spring to her step. The ability to consistently turn the matchstick into a needle, albeit slowly, had not only earned her Professor McGonagall's praise but also solidified her confidence in her magical abilities. The realization that she was one of the best in her class at this particular spell filled her with a quiet pride and an eagerness to tackle more complex challenges.

Her next class, Charms with the Ravenclaw house, promised to be another opportunity to explore the depths of her magical talent. The subject of Charms, focusing on the casting of spells to achieve specific effects, appealed to Apollyon's love for the practical applications of magic. The prospect of learning alongside Ravenclaw students, known for their wit and wisdom, added an extra layer of anticipation to the upcoming class.

Arriving at the Charms classroom a few minutes before the class was set to begin, Apollyon entered a room buzzing with the energy of eager students. The classroom was bright and welcoming, the walls lined with shelves filled with books and various magical objects that hinted at the wonders of the subject. At the front of the room, Professor Flitwick, the Charms master and head of Ravenclaw House, stood on a stack of books to be level with his students, his diminutive stature belied by his reputation as a brilliant wizard and teacher.

Apollyon found an empty seat near the front, keen to immerse herself fully in the lesson. As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, Professor Flitwick greeted the students with a cheerful, "Good morning!" His voice, though small, carried a warmth and enthusiasm that immediately captivated the room.

"Today, we will begin with one of the most essential charms in a witch or wizard's repertoire," Professor Flitwick announced, his wand at the ready. "The Levitation Charm, or 'Wingardium Leviosa.' It is not merely about making objects fly, but understanding the delicate balance of lift and control."

The class leaned in, hanging on his every word as he demonstrated the charm, a feather rising gracefully from his desk to float in the air above them. The flick and swish of his wand were precise, the incantation spoken with a clear, deliberate emphasis on the pronunciation.

As Professor Flitwick concluded his demonstration, the feather gently descending back onto his desk, the class erupted into a buzz of excitement, eager to try the charm for themselves. Apollyon watched intently, memorizing the professor's movements and the cadence of his voice as he pronounced the spell. She felt a surge of determination; if she could excel in Transfiguration, surely she could master the Levitation Charm as well.

Each student was provided with a feather, and Apollyon's lay before her on the desk, delicate and weightless. She positioned her wand as Professor Flitwick had shown, her mind focused on the task at hand. "Wingardium Leviosa," she intoned, mimicking the flick and swish motion she had observed. But instead of rising gracefully into the air, her feather merely twitched, stirring slightly on the desk before settling back into stillness.

Around her, some students were met with varying degrees of success; feathers hovered, dipped, and in a few cases, soared too enthusiastically towards the ceiling. Apollyon's determination deepened with each attempt, her brow furrowed in concentration as she repeated the spell. "Wingardium Leviosa," she whispered again, hoping to see her feather take flight. Yet, despite her efforts, the feather only managed a feeble hover a few inches above the table before drifting back down.

Frustration began to weave its way into Apollyon's resolve. She observed her classmates, trying to discern what she might be doing differently. Her pronunciation was careful, her wand movements mimicked those of Professor Flitwick's demonstration, yet the desired effect eluded her. It was a humbling reminder that, despite her early success in Transfiguration, the journey to becoming a proficient witch would be filled with challenges and setbacks.

Professor Flitwick, noticing her struggle, made his way over to her desk. His approach was gentle, a smile on his face that was both encouraging and understanding. "Miss Seraphina," he said, his voice kind, "the key to the Levitation Charm lies not just in the wand movement and the incantation but in the belief in your ability to lift the object. It requires a certain... lightness of touch and confidence in your magic."

Taking his advice to heart, Apollyon took a deep breath, attempting to shed the weight of her frustration and to approach the spell with a renewed sense of belief in herself. "Wingardium Leviosa," she tried once more, her wand tracing the familiar arc in the air, her mind clear and focused on the feather before her.

This time, the feather stirred more convincingly, wobbling unsteadily into the air. It hovered, albeit shakily, a few inches above the desk, a testament to her perseverance and the subtle shift in her approach. Though it was far from the effortless flight Professor Flitwick had demonstrated, it was progress, and Apollyon felt a flicker of pride at the small victory.

As the class continued, Apollyon practiced the Levitation Charm with dogged persistence, each attempt bringing her feather a little higher, a little steadier. The lesson was a valuable one, not just in the mechanics of casting a charm, but in the importance of mindset and self-belief in the practice of magic.

Leaving the Charms class, Apollyon felt a mix of humility and resolve. Today had underscored the fact that her journey at Hogwarts would be one of learning and growth, filled with both triumphs and challenges.

Walking towards the Great Hall for lunch, Apollyon mulled over Professor Flitwick's advice. The Charms class had been a humbling experience, a stark reminder that the path to mastering magic was filled with its own set of challenges and learning curves. Yet, Professor Flitwick's words had struck a chord within her, highlighting the importance of belief in one's own abilities and the subtle nuances of spellcasting that went beyond mere wand movements and incantations.

The idea that confidence and a "lightness of touch" could influence the effectiveness of a spell was a concept that resonated with her deeply. It wasn't just about forcefully willing the magic to happen but rather guiding it with a sure but gentle hand, trusting in her own capacity to harness and shape the magical energy. This insight offered a new perspective on her approach to learning magic, emphasizing the mental and emotional components as much as the physical ones.

As she entered the bustling Great Hall, the noise and activity of her fellow students brought her back to the present moment. The hall was alive with the sound of conversation, laughter, and the clattering of dishes as students enjoyed their lunch. The delicious smells wafting from the tables made her realize how hungry she was, her morning's activities and the concentration required for Charms class having taken their toll.

Finding a spot at the Slytherin table, Apollyon helped herself to a generous portion of the day's offerings. As she ate, her thoughts drifted back to the morning's workout by the Black Lake and her successful transfiguration of the matchstick into a needle. The day had already been a journey of highs and lows, of triumphs and lessons learned.

The contrast between her experiences in Transfiguration and Charms highlighted the diverse nature of magical education at Hogwarts. Each subject required a different set of skills, a different approach, and, as Professor Flitwick had so aptly demonstrated, a different mindset. This realization only served to deepen Apollyon's appreciation for the complexity and richness of the wizarding world she was now a part of.

Lunch provided a much-needed break, a chance to recharge and reflect on the morning's lessons. Apollyon found herself grateful for the guidance of her professors, each of whom brought their own insights and expertise to their teaching. The advice from Professor Flitwick, in particular, felt like a valuable piece of wisdom that she would carry with her, not just in her studies but in her journey towards understanding and mastering her own magical abilities.

As lunch came to a close and students began to disperse to their afternoon classes, Apollyon felt a renewed sense of determination. The challenges she faced were merely stepping stones, each one an opportunity to learn and grow. With Professor Flitwick's advice in mind, she was ready to face the rest of the day's classes, each spell and incantation a chance to prove to herself what she was capable of, guided by confidence, belief, and a lightness of touch.

--

Apollyon's anticipation for her final class of the day, Potions with Gryffindor, was tinged with a hint of apprehension. The dynamics within Slytherin house were complex, especially for someone of her background. Being Muggle-born in a house that traditionally valued pureblood lineage put her in a unique—and not always comfortable—position. Her partnership for the class reflected this tension. She found herself paired with Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin known for his sharp wit and equally sharp sense of blood purity. Blaise's initial reluctance to partner with her was palpable, his disdain barely concealed as they took their places at one of the potion-making stations.

The dungeon where Potions class was held felt cool and slightly damp, the air tinged with the scent of various ingredients stored along the walls. The room buzzed with the low murmur of students preparing for the lesson, but an expectant silence fell as Professor Snape entered. His presence dominated the room, his dark robes billowing behind him as he moved to the front of the class.

Snape's gaze swept over the students, landing with a particular intensity on Harry Potter, who sat with his sister, Eleanor, among their Gryffindor classmates. Apollyon watched, curious about the interaction between the famous Potter siblings and the formidable Potions Master.

"Settle down," Snape began, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Today, we begin with a simple potion: the Boil-Cure Potion. But before we commence, let's see what you know."

His eyes still fixed on Harry, Snape began to fire questions, the same ones he had used in another life to unsettle and embarrass him. "Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry, unlike his counterpart from the books, responded with a confidence bolstered by his upbringing in a magical family, unbothered by Snape's intimidating demeanor. "I don't know, sir," he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips, reminiscent of James Potter's defiance. "But I'm here to learn, aren't I?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, but before he could retort, he continued his barrage of questions, each designed to highlight Harry's current lack of knowledge. "And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Again, Harry shrugged, his confidence unshaken. "Can't say, sir. But I suppose that's in the textbook you assigned, right? I'll be sure to look it up."

Eleanor Potter, sitting beside her brother, watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and slight concern. Her expression conveyed solidarity with her brother, but she seemed more aware of the tension in the room, her eyes occasionally darting to Apollyon and others to gauge their reactions.

Throughout this exchange, Apollyon felt a mix of admiration for Harry's poise and unease at Snape's clear disdain. It was a stark reminder of the complexities of Hogwarts, where alliances and animosities could shape one's experience. Her attention was briefly drawn back to her own partner, Blaise, who watched the exchange with a carefully neutral expression, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest at Harry's responses.

As Snape moved on to demonstrate the day's potion, the atmosphere in the dungeon remained charged, the earlier exchange hanging over the class like a cloud. Apollyon took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. Despite the tensions, she was determined to succeed, to prove her worth not just as a Muggle-born Slytherin but as a capable witch in her own right

As Professor Snape turned his attention to the demonstration of the Boil-Cure Potion, the class settled into a focused silence, the earlier tension momentarily forgotten in anticipation of the lesson ahead. Snape's movements were precise and deliberate, each ingredient added with an exactitude that spoke of his deep mastery of the potions craft. Apollyon watched intently, her methodical mind absorbing the sequence of steps, the proportions of ingredients, and the subtle changes in the potion's color and consistency as it brewed.

The recipe for the Boil-Cure Potion was complex, requiring a careful balance of crushed snake fangs, dried nettles, and a precise number of porcupine quills, among other ingredients. The potion's success hinged on the exact timing of each addition and the steady control of the heat beneath the cauldron. It was the kind of challenge that appealed to Apollyon's love for detail and her burgeoning passion for the magical sciences.

When the time came for the students to attempt the potion themselves, Apollyon approached the task with a quiet confidence. Despite Blaise Zabini's initial reticence, their partnership settled into a reluctant cooperation, with Apollyon taking the lead. She measured out the snake fangs with a meticulous eye, grinding them into a fine powder before carefully adding them to their cauldron, which simmered gently over a low flame.

Her movements were unhurried, each step performed with a concentration that bordered on meditation. The dried nettles were next, followed by the porcupine quills, which had to be added one at a time at precise intervals. Apollyon's focus was unwavering, her gaze fixed on the potion as it slowly began to change, the liquid darkening to the rich, deep purple indicative of a correct brew.

Blaise, for his part, seemed surprised by Apollyon's aptitude, his earlier disdain giving way to a grudging respect as he followed her instructions, fetching ingredients and carefully watching the potion's progress. Together, they worked in silent synchrony, the tension between them dissolving into a shared goal of perfecting their potion.

Around them, the dungeon was alive with the sounds of bubbling cauldrons and hushed conversations, the air thick with the scents of various potions. Not all attempts were successful; a few cauldrons emitted smoke or unpleasant odors, their contents rendered useless by miscalculations or hasty work. But Apollyon and Blaise's potion remained on course, the color and consistency exactly as described in the textbook.

As the class drew to a close, Professor Snape made his rounds, inspecting each student's work with a critical eye. When he reached Apollyon and Blaise's station, his expression was inscrutable. He peered into their cauldron, his gaze lingering on the potion's surface before giving a curt nod of approval. "Acceptable," he said, though the word felt like high praise coming from him. "Very well done, Miss Seraphina."

The acknowledgement from Snape, however sparingly given, filled Apollyon with a sense of achievement. Potions, with its demands for precision and understanding, was proving to be a discipline where she could excel, a domain where her methodical approach and attention to detail were strengths rather than limitations.

As the Potions class concluded and students began packing their belongings, Apollyon was ready to leave, her mind already on the lessons of the day and the homework that awaited. However, before she could take more than a few steps towards the door, Blaise Zabini's voice halted her progress.

"Seraphina," he called out, a tone in his voice that Apollyon hadn't heard during their earlier interaction. She turned, surprised to find him approaching her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I couldn't help but notice," Blaise began, his gaze steady on hers, "your aptitude for Potions. It's... impressive." There was a pause, as if he was weighing his next words carefully. "And while I may have had my... reservations," he continued, with a slight emphasis that acknowledged their initial friction, "I can't deny talent when I see it."

Apollyon was taken aback by the acknowledgment, unsure how to respond to this unexpected shift in Blaise's attitude. She nodded, a cautious, "Thank you," escaping her lips, her curiosity piqued by this change of heart.

Blaise seemed to gather his thoughts before adding, "I also noticed you struggled a bit in Charms earlier. It's nothing to be ashamed of; we all have our strengths and weaknesses. But as Slytherins, we strive to excel, to not let anything... sully our house's reputation."

There was a brief moment where Apollyon could detect the slightest hint of genuine concern beneath Blaise's carefully maintained facade of Slytherin pride. It was a surprising revelation, suggesting that his offer might be more than just an attempt to preserve the house's image.

"I could... offer some assistance, if you'd like," Blaise proposed, his voice betraying a hint of reluctance, as if the act of offering help was unfamiliar territory for him. "Not that I presume you need it, but perhaps a different perspective could be beneficial. We Slytherins must look out for one another, after all."

The offer, veiled in the guise of house loyalty, was unexpected but not unwelcome. Apollyon realized that Blaise's pride in their house could indeed be genuine, but his interest in helping her might also stem from a recognition of her potential—as a fellow Slytherin and perhaps, as a friend.

"Thank you, Blaise," Apollyon responded, her initial wariness giving way to a tentative appreciation. "I'd like that. And perhaps I can share some of my approach to Potions in return."

Blaise's expression softened slightly at her acceptance, a small nod sealing their newfound understanding. "Very well, Seraphina. Let's ensure Slytherin remains at the top, where it belongs."

As they parted ways, Apollyon couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie, however unlikely, beginning to form. Blaise Zabini, with his complex layers and unexpected depth, had shown her that even within the competitive environment of Slytherin, there was room for mutual respect and support. Their partnership in Potions, initially marked by tension, had evolved into an opportunity for collaboration, a reminder that beneath the surface, every Slytherin shared a common goal: to excel and to make their house proud.