Chapter 27: Before the Dungeon Fireplace, the Young Lady's After-Class Deal (Patreon)

In early December, a gale swept across the Scottish Highlands, and the dungeons grew colder by the day.

In the Slytherin common room, logs crackled in the hearth, and the eerie green firelight warmed the rough stone walls. Through the tall windows, the currents deep in the Black Lake already carried faint shards of ice, and a few long-tailed silverfish glided slowly past the glass.

At the long table, Draconia glared at a black beetle crawling around inside a glass jar, her brows knotted tight.

"Tap."

She swung her wand for the fourteenth time and recited the syllables of the Transfiguration incantation. The beetle merely twitched its antennae. A mottled patch of iron gray spread across its shell, and then it scrabbled on its thin legs and turned right back into itself.

"Failed again."

Beside her, Daphne Greengrass rolled up her parchment and rubbed her wrist with a rueful sigh. "Professor McGonagall's homework is vicious. The Transfiguration test is tomorrow, and if we can't hand in a decent button, that Granger girl from Gryffindor will top the class again."

At the name "Granger," Draconia's face visibly darkened.

She bit her lip and jabbed the jar, beetle and all. "That frizzy-haired girl just memorized a few spell variants! How does she always manage to hand in her work first?!"

Daphne took a small sip of hot black tea, her gaze drifting meaningfully toward the high-backed leather armchair at the far end of the hearth. "If you really don't want to lose to her, isn't there a ready-made perfect answer sitting right over there?"

Draconia followed her gaze.

In the armchair by the fire, Raven sat with his chin propped on one hand, leafing through a thick handwritten volume on Ancient Runes. A slender obsidian engraving needle was pinched between his fingers, and he looked so relaxed that the end-of-term pressure might not have existed at all.

The tips of the young lady's ears turned faintly pink. She whipped her head back around and sniffed. "Ask him? Don't be ridiculous! A Malfoy never begs!"

Two minutes later.

Click, click, click. A crisp patter of small leather boots, deliberately heavy, stopped in front of Raven's desk.

Raven closed the volume and looked up at the girl hugging a large roll of parchment.

Draconia was wearing a deep green wool sweater with a white fur-trimmed collar today, her platinum hair tied loosely behind her head. She lifted her chin a little and slapped the parchment down on the corner of his desk with a smack, her expression deadly serious.

"Capet, we need to talk."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "What can I do for you, Miss Malfoy?"

"It's not a favor. It's a fair 'allied exchange.'"

Draconia cleared her throat and stared at the inkwell on the desk, her words tumbling out fast. "Last week my father sent you a set of out-of-print sixteenth-century rune knives. As the return on the Malfoy family's sponsorship, you are obliged to honor the pact and coach me through tomorrow's Transfiguration problem."

Watching her put on a show of composure, Raven felt a faint smile surface in his eyes. "So Mr. Lucius's thank-you gift came with after-class tutoring clauses?"

"Every Malfoy investment has its returns!" A flush of indignation rose in Draconia's cheeks, and she glared at him. "Just say whether you'll teach me or not!"

"Sit down, Miss Malfoy." Raven nudged the reference book beside him out of the way. "Take out your Transfiguration notes."

Draconia let out a quiet breath of relief, pulled out the chair, and sat down next to him.

They sat very close. The familiar cool scent of white roses on her mingled with the pine smoke from the hearth and drifted faintly through the air.

Raven pulled her parchment over, skimmed it, and tapped the third line with a fingertip. "Your problem isn't the pronunciation. It's the ratio of magic. You're treating Transfiguration like a Charm."

"What's the difference?" Draconia frowned. "Isn't it all just channeling magic into a target?"

"Charms apply force. Transfiguration is conceptual restructuring."

Raven casually took a small beetle from a wooden box and set it on the desk. Then he drew his wand and slowly demonstrated the downward angle of the wrist. "A beetle's shell is chitin. A metal button is a lattice of copper and iron. You've been forcing your magic into the shell by brute strength, and the creature's natural rejection response bounces it right back."

He turned to face her and looked into her eyes. "Tilt your wrist down five degrees. Don't think about crushing the beetle into metal. Guide the properties it already has, and let it reassemble according to the rules you set."

Draconia tightened her grip on her wand and tentatively copied his wrist motion.

But the moment Raven leaned in to watch, her steady breathing stumbled for half a beat, for no reason she could name.

His gaze was focused and calm. They were close enough that she could make out the faint shadow his lashes cast.

"Too stiff." Raven suddenly reached out and tapped the outside of her wand wrist with a fingertip. "Relax your elbow."

"Eek!" Draconia jerked her wrist back as if she'd been shocked, and her quill carved a long streak of ink across the parchment. Without thinking, she even left a tiny blot in the blank margin.

"Y-you could just say it! Why are you suddenly touching me!" The young lady slapped a palm over the blot, her whole face flaming red, her gray-blue eyes full of flustered fury.

Raven glanced at the ink under her hand, a clumsy attempt at hiding it, and withdrew his hand with a half-smile. "Looks like someone's mind wasn't on Transfiguration just now."

"Nonsense!" Draconia bit her lip and pressed on stubbornly. "My hand just slipped!"

"Then try again." Raven pushed the beetle back in front of her. "Unless you really want to watch Miss Granger collect more points from Professor McGonagall tomorrow."

That line hit the young lady's soft spot dead on.

Draconia ground her teeth, drew a deep breath, and forced down the flutter in her chest. She replayed every word and every wrist angle Raven had shown her, her eyes locked on the beetle.

Wrist down five degrees. Conceptual restructuring, not brute force.

"Transfiguration complete."

With a low hum, a steady, faint white light slipped from her wand tip and wrapped gently around the little beetle.

A delicate metallic chime sounded. The struggling creature shrank and hardened in just two seconds, its black shell melting away like snow, until it became a large pure-silver coat button engraved with an intricate scrollwork pattern!

The button's surface was smooth and flawless, and the thread hole in the middle was as neat as if it had been measured with a ruler.

"I did it!" Draconia nearly shouted. Her gray-blue eyes lit up, and the corners of her delicate lips curved into a smile, unguarded, pure, and dazzling.

Raven leaned back in his chair and quietly watched the brilliant smile, bare of every defense for that one moment. The amusement in his eyes softened. "Very precise work. It seems a certain young lady's talent goes beyond knocking over cauldrons."

The smile on Draconia's face froze. She realized in an instant that she had let her guard down.

She quickly composed herself, coughed lightly, awkwardly lifted her small chin, and swept the silver button into her palm.

"Hmph... I told you ages ago that I only needed to adjust my approach a little."

Her cheeks still pink, the young lady let her eyes drift to the Black Lake outside the window and added in a small voice, "But... you explained it clearly enough. I won't disgrace Slytherin in tomorrow's Transfiguration test."

She hurriedly stuffed the parchment into her bag and stood. Her little leather boots tapped a light rhythm on the flagstones as she hurried toward the corridor to the girls' dormitories.

Raven picked up the obsidian engraver from the desk and spun it deftly around his fingers.

Firelight from the hearth glowed against the snow whirling past the window.

December at Hogwarts. The bells of parting and holidays were drawing closer by the day.