𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳 . . . 𝗂-ˈ𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋-ē-ə𝗅
༢ ͎۪۫ ༊ ❛ 𝖿𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 ﾉ 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗓𝗄𝖺𝖻𝖺𝗇. ❜
▇ ¨. ༢ ͎۪۫ ༊*·˚ ╱ 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 ❜
. . . ➾ ˗ˏˋ assigned seats, beetles, and bickering ࿐ྂ
𝗗𝗔𝗪𝗡 𝗔𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗚𝗘

     𝑩𝒀 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑰 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 Transfiguration classroom, my irritation had dulled to a simmer. Wren and Cassian were already there, leaning against the wall near the doorway. Cassian, ever the charmer, was grinning lazily, while Wren was fidgeting with her wand, shooting quick glances his way when she thought he wasn't looking. Subtlety had never been her strong suit.

     "Well, look who's still alive," Cassian drawled as I approached. "I half-expected to hear you'd hexed Diggory into oblivion after breakfast."

     I glared over at him before rolling my eyes. "Don't tempt me," I replied sharply. "And stop looking so smug. It's unnerving."

     "Smug?" He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "I'm not smug. I'm delighted. There's a difference."

     "I still can't believe he did that," Wren whispered, her delicate brows furrowing as she walked through the heavy wooden doors that were already ajar — a couple students already inside, while others were behind us.

     "Spilling juice or following her like a lovesick puppy to fix it?" Cassian interjected, a grin tugging at his lips.

     "He's not a lovesick puppy," I snapped, quickening my pace to walk ahead of him. "He's a prat. There's a difference."

     Wren tucked a strand of pale blond hair behind her ear, her expression skeptical. "He looked like he felt bad about it, Dawn."

     "He can feel bad all he likes," I replied curtly.

     Cassian let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying my irritation. "It's always Diggory with you, isn't it? Maybe he's not the problem, Aldridge. Maybe it's you."

     I shot him a withering look but didn't bother responding. Cassian thrived on pushing my buttons, and engaging would only encourage him.

     Inside, Professor McGonagall stood by her desk, surveying the arriving students with her trademark no-nonsense demeanor. The desks had been rearranged into pairs rather than the usual rows, and my stomach sank as I realized what that meant.

     "Assigned seats," Cassian muttered, his tone equal parts disdain and curiosity.

    Wren immediately perked up, leaning slightly forward. "Maybe I'll get someone decent this year," she whispered, her voice low but tinged with hope as she cast a glance at Cassian. "Better than last year, at least."

     I arched a brow, curious. "Didn't you sit by Edgar Honeysett last year?"

     Wren groaned and flopped against one of the desks dramatically. "Don't remind me," she said, her voice muffled. "He spent half the term carving a Hippogriff into the desk — badly, I might add — and the other half talking about his broomstick polish collection. A broomstick polish collection, Dawn! Who even has that?"

     I smothered a laugh. "Well, he's definitely passionate about something, I suppose."

     "I'd rather sit with the Bloody Baron," Wren muttered darkly. She perked up a moment later, eyeing McGonagall with renewed interest. "But maybe this year's my lucky one. What about you, Dawn? Who did you end up with last year?"

     "Adrian Pucey," I replied, and Wren's face twisted in mock horror.

     "No. Way."

     "It wasn't that bad," I defended, shrugging. "At least he didn't talk much."

     "Not much," Cassian cut in, "because he spent most of his time glaring at anyone who so much as breathed too loudly."

     Wren shivered theatrically. "Pucey. I'd have asked for a transfer."

     I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't entirely disagree. Adrian Pucey had been... intense. He didn't talk unless it was absolutely necessary, and when he did, it was short, clipped sentences that made me feel like I was being interrogated. I couldn't complain, though. At least he didn't try to start conversations about niche cleaning products.

     "Maybe we'll get lucky this time," I said, glancing at the paired desks. Though with my luck, I'd end up with Edgar this year, and Wren would get the ideal seatmate.

     The room quickly filled with the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor and the rustling of parchment as students settled in. McGonagall raised a hand, and the noise subsided almost instantly.

     "Good morning, class," she began, her clipped Scottish accent commanding immediate attention. "I trust you all had a restful summer. Today, we will begin our study of human transfiguration. As this is a complex and advanced branch of magic, you will be working with partners for the term. These partnerships have been assigned to ensure a balance of skills and abilities. Your partner will not only be your seatmate but also your study partner for all practical assignments."

     A collective groan rippled through the room, and McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Anyone caught complaining will find themselves partnered with Mr. Filch for detention," she added, silencing any further dissent.

     She picked up a roll of parchment and began reading names aloud.

     "Mr. Fawcett and Mr. Carmichael."

     Two Ravenclaws shuffled to a desk near the front. I barely registered their movement, my attention instead darting between McGonagall and Cedric, who was leaning casually against a desk on the other side of the room, looking maddeningly unbothered.

     "Miss Vaisey and Mr. Sloper."

     Another pair settled into seats toward the middle of the room.

     "Miss Greengrass and Mr. Smith."

     Daphne Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin, took her place beside Zacharias Smith, who already looked bored out of his mind.

     "Miss Willoughby and Mr. Vale."

     Wren let out a tiny squeal of excitement, quickly stifled by a glare from McGonagall. Cassian smirked as he sauntered over to their desk, his confidence bordering on arrogance. Wren practically floated after him, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of delight and nerves.

     I rolled my eyes. Of course, Wren got exactly what she wanted.

     "Miss Aldridge and Mr. Diggory."

     My stomach dropped.

     For a moment, I thought I'd misheard. But no, McGonagall's sharp gaze was fixed on me, and Cedric was already grinning as he made his way to the desk at the back of the room. I glanced over at Wren and Cassian — Wren giving me a sympathetic look while Cassian seemed to be amused.

     "Of course," I muttered under my breath, reluctantly dragging myself to the seat beside him.

     "Fancy seeing you again so soon," Cedric said, his voice low enough that only I could hear as he leaned in closer.

     "Don't start," I warned, dropping my bag onto the desk with more force than necessary. He chuckled but didn't push further, much to my relief.

     Once all the pairs were seated, McGonagall began the lesson in earnest, outlining the theoretical principles of human transfiguration. The room was silent except for the scratching of quills as we took notes, but I could feel Cedric's gaze on me every few minutes.

     "What?" I finally hissed, not bothering to look up from my parchment as I wrote notes of my own. I heard a small laugh come from Cedric.

     "Nothing," he replied, the amusement in his voice grating on my nerves. I risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it. He was leaning back in his chair, his quill twirling lazily between his fingers, and that stupid, infuriating smile still playing on his lips.

     "If you're not going to pay attention, at least stop staring at me," I snapped.

     "I'm not staring," he said, feigning innocence.

     "You're doing something."

     "I'm existing. Is that a problem for you?"

     "Yes," I bit out, turning back to my notes.

     "Miss Aldridge, Mr. Diggory," McGonagall's voice cut through our whispered argument, making me stiffen. "If you're quite finished, perhaps you'd like to demonstrate the charm I've just explained?"

     I froze, my mind blank. Cedric, however, rose smoothly from his seat, his wand already in hand. "Of course, Professor," he said, his tone respectful but confident.

     I followed reluctantly, gripping my wand like it might slip from my grasp. McGonagall raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, stepping aside to give us space.

     "You can lead," Cedric whispered, his voice barely audible.

     I shot him a suspicious look but didn't argue, raising my wand and muttering the incantation under my breath. A soft golden light enveloped the beetle on the desk in front of us, and its shape began to shift, elongating into the vague form of a goblet.

     The transformation wasn't perfect — the goblet was slightly lopsided, and its surface was marred by odd ridges — but it was functional.

     "Not bad," Cedric said, stepping forward to smooth out the imperfections with a flick of his wand.

     "Show-off," I muttered, returning to my seat.

     The rest of the class passed in a blur of demonstrations and paired practice. Cedric and I worked in uneasy silence, our interactions limited to curt instructions and occasional corrections. Despite my annoyance, I couldn't deny that he was skilled — annoyingly so.

     By the end of the lesson, the tension between us had settled into something almost tolerable. Almost. As the bell rang and we packed up our things, Cedric leaned closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

     "See? We make a pretty good team."

     I snorted, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "In your dreams, Diggory."

     He grinned, and for a split second, I thought I saw something genuine behind the teasing glint in his eyes. But before I could dwell on it, Wren appeared at my side, babbling excitedly about her practice with Cassian, and Cedric disappeared into the crowd of students filing out of the classroom.

     As I followed Wren and Cassian down the corridor, I couldn't shake the feeling that the term was going to be far more complicated than I'd anticipated.