Hermione's day in csses started off normally enough. She picked her usual chair, surrounded by her friends—were they her friends? She still wasn't sure, it was still difficult to be friends with 12 & 13 year olds when you're a some 35 years old reincarnated, even if her personality had regressed some being in a body still going through adolescence. The little prank she and Lua had set up that morning at the Slytherin table had been fun, leaving her giddy with an unfamiliar warmth—the simple joy of not being alone anymore.

  Lua had taught her a deceptively simple communication spell. It allowed them to send thoughts to each other through eye contact—an early, rudimentary form of Legilimency. It had been the key to their perfect synchronization that morning, letting them speak in unison. Apparently, it was a spell that developed naturally between twins, which expined how the Weasley twins managed their twin speak. Regardless, it would be great for pulling a few more pranks on her friends—yes, they were her friends now, she realized. Yes they were her friends and she'd look out for them just as she would for Lua, not to mention this new spell would pose a great tactical edge ter if needed.

  Still smiling from the morning’s antics, Hermione barely noticed as the cssroom settled into its usual rhythm. It wasn’t until Flitwick cleared his throat—a tiny but commanding sound—that she pulled herself back to the present. He had asked the css to review first-year spells and what they had learned in the first semester, fairly routine, no point learning new spells if you forget the old ones, it was to build muscle memory for the newts when you needed to do silent casting, not that more than 7% of the student popution stayed after OWLs.

  They were to start with the Lumos charm, not one Hermione would find particurly challenging after crafting her own variant Lumos Colorvaria, to make it change colours, and then of course, the combat version, Secans Lux. Regardless of whether or not she needed to practice, she complied, mostly so as not to disrupt the css.

  She reached for her wand, where it y across her desk, but before her fingers even brushed the wood, it snapped into her palm as though drawn by an unseen force.

  She froze, heart skipping a beat. That—that wasn’t normal.

  Her mind scrambled for an expnation. Wandless magic? No—she had never even attempted it. Accidental magic, then? But there hadn’t been enough emotion behind it for a typical outburst. Magic required intent, structure, cause and effect. This had been neither deliberate nor chaotic.

  She needed proof. Carefully, she turned her gaze toward her quill, focusing on it. Come here.

  Nothing. Not even a twitch.

  Hermione exhaled slowly, rexing just a fraction. A fluke, then. An anomaly—perhaps a deyed reaction to the lingering excitement of this morning’s antics. An emotional response, then? That would expin it. A burst of uncontrolled magic, nothing more.

  She shook herself and continued reviewing the basics. Nothing further unusual happened with her spells or magic, so she pushed the earlier wandless magic incident to the back of her mind. It wasn’t until she heard a startled gasp followed by a short scream behind her that she spun around, her senses immediately sharpening. Seamus had once again set his feather on fire, prodding at it when his spell didn’t work—just like in first year. Hermione felt a fsh of exasperation, at least he was consistent she mused to herself, her mind already supplying the necessary counterspell. Finite. Aguamenti. She needed it extinguished.

  Before she could even lift her wand, a sphere of water materialized out of thin air, hovering for a fraction of a second before crashing down onto the feather, drenching it and the surrounding desk. The fmes died instantly, leaving only a faint wisp of steam.

  Hermione’s breath hitched as she turned sharply, expecting to see someone else’s wand raised—but no one had moved. No one had cast a spell. The water had reacted too fast, too precisely. That wasn’t a normal spell—it had known exactly what she needed. Her grip on her wand tightened before her gaze flickered toward Professor Flitwick, but the tiny professor was still rushing over, clearly expecting to handle the problem himself. Could it be another burst of accidental magic? Twice in such a short period suggested otherwise. Once was happenstance. Twice was coincidence. And three times? That was something else entirely.

  Nothing else out of pce happened during css, despite this however, Hermione was still observing, the question was now in the back of her mind, Why was magic acting without command? her next step should be to do background research on the matter, but she had already checked, she had done a fair bit of reading on the topic of accidental magic, thinking it was the step to learning wandless magic, it wasn't, it was a misnomer. Accidental magic was usually chaotic and very rarely provided the result that was needed or wanted, yes the initial intent was there and usually it would work, but not without other effects, she recalled when she had wanted a book from the shelf in her younger years, and yes it had summoned a book to her, but what wasn't mentioned in the books, was that it had also set the bookshelf on fire. She hated relying on personal experience to reinforce a theory; it was too anecdotal, too unreliable.

  As they collected their things ready to head towards Transfiguration, she was pulled from her thoughts by Daphne "My hairs going to smell of smoke all day now" she grumbled causing Hermione to smile ruefully at her friend. Hermione smirked, amusement flickering through her frustration. “I can remove the smell if you’d like.”

  Daphne eyed her warily. “Without setting me on fire?”

  “That was Seamus,” Hermione pointed out dryly, already flicking her wand. “Tersus.”

  A faint shimmer passed over Daphne’s hair, and the acrid scent of smoke vanished instantly, leaving behind only the faintest hint of vender.

  Daphne inhaled experimentally, then gave an approving nod. “Better. Maybe I should keep you around as a personal maintenance spell.”

  Theo, who had been listening in, smirked. “Oh, definitely. What’s next, Granger? Going to start charging for magical hair treatments?”

  Hermione rolled her eyes, tucking her wand away. “I’ll make a fortune off of the lot of you.”

  Daphne grinned, linking her arm through Hermione’s as they stepped out into the corridor. “I’d pay.”

  Bise, who had just caught up with them, raised an eyebrow. “Are we discussing Hermione’s future career as Slytherin’s personal spell-crafting stylist?”

  “Obviously,” Theo said. “We’re thinking of drafting up a business pn.”

  “Daphne’s already the first customer,” Hermione quipped, still distracted. The conversation was helping her push aside the gnawing unease of what had happened in Charms—but only for now.

  They continued to bicker and banter as they made their way to Transfiguration, ughter bubbling between them. Theo, caught mid-sentence, tripped on the trick step, nearly taking Daphne and Bise down with him. Their usual Slytherin grace shattered completely as they barreled into the cssroom, breathless and ughing, but Hermione didn’t care. She wouldn’t change this for anything.

  Hermione settled into her seat, rolling her wand between her fingers, feeling the quiet thrum of magic within its unusual combination of Aspen and English Oak. Since her encounter with the Fae during the solstice, she had become more attuned to magical artifacts. Even the castle felt different now—its magic thrummed beneath her fingertips whenever she touched its stone walls, its presence more noticeable than before.

  Transfiguration wasn’t like other subjects—it didn’t require constant review of past spells because its principles were fundamentally different. While words and wand movements were essential at first, they were ultimately just training wheels, helping the mind accept the magic and guide its flow. But the hardest truth to grasp about Transfiguration was that it never truly changed an object. Instead, it convinced the world to believe a lie—a carefully woven deception that would eventually fade, revealing the truth beneath it.

  The lesson today was to transfigure this button into a beetle, Hermione’s deep connection to her magic, strengthened after her inheritance at Gringotts and sharpened by her keen memory, meant she had already mastered the fundamental mechanics of Transfiguration. There was little left for her to learn—except self-transfiguration, a branch of magic she had no desire to study beyond its theoretical applications. She raised her wand and cat the spell, and nothing happened.

  She stared at the button seeing it hadn't changed, she scrunched her face in confusion, and recast the spell, paying close attention to the flow of her magic, making sure it followed the correct flow, and it did perfectly, but the spell just didn't seem to stick to the beetle.

  Daphne, already watching out of the corner of her eye, smirked. “Granger, did you just—fail?”

  Hermione ignored her. She focused, reset her stance, and cast again. Still nothing.

  Theo, hearing Daphne’s tone, leaned in slightly. “Wait—Hermione Granger failed a spell? This is historic.”

  Bise, barely looking up from his own transfiguration, mock gasped. “Quick, someone summon Skeeter. The brightest witch of our age has been bested by a button.”

  Daphne grinned. “Oh, this is delightful. What’s next, Hermione? Going to tell us you can’t brew a basic Wit-Sharpening Potion?”

  Hermione, gritting her teeth, shot them a gre. “I know exactly how to perform this spell.”

  Daphne tilted her head in mock sympathy. “Of course, of course. But if you ever need me to tutor you, Mia, just let me know.”

  Theo smirked. “Yes, we lesser beings must help where we can.”

  Hermione huffed, trying one more time, only for the button to remain stubbornly unchanged.

  Daphne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I mean, it is a very… resilient button. Perhaps it likes being a button.”

  Bise chuckled. “Or maybe, just maybe, magic has finally turned against her. What a tragedy.”

  Hermione had stopped paying attention the moment Daphne muttered, "Perhaps it likes being a button."

  The words settled uneasily in her mind. What if that was the problem? What if the button didn’t refuse to change because of a mistake on her part—but because it wanted to remain a button?

  That thought shouldn’t matter. It had never mattered before. Transfiguration was about will, about control—the object’s nature had never been relevant. But something had changed.

  Since the Solstice, her magic had been... different. Three times now, it had disobeyed expectations, bending itself to need rather than command.

  This was no longer happenstance or coincidence—it was a pattern.

  And there was only one other thing that had changed—she was no longer able to lie. She realized it all at once and nearly smacked her forehead. If she couldn’t speak lies, and that force stopping her was actually her magic itself, then of course she wouldn’t be able to lie with magic either. Transfiguration wasn’t just altering an object—it was deceiving reality. And her magic refused to do that. Conjuration however wasn't a lie, it was a temporary creation, so that aspect would still work, but she couldn't carry out a temporary change because it would be a lie. So, how to get around this, it certainly meant her magic could not follow the same path or flow as it had done previously, so this meant she would need to change the object from what it is to what she wanted it to be, but did the button not want to change, or did it just not want to lie? The button knew what it was. It wasn’t resisting—because it wasn’t the one lying. The deception wasn’t in the object, it was in the magic itself. If she couldn’t lie with words, then she couldn’t lie with magic either.

  That meant there was only one solution.

  She knew true Transfiguration was possible—both Dumbledore and McGonagall had mastered it, making permanent changes when necessary. But even beyond them, history had proven transformation could become irreversible.

  She recalled reading in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them about the MacBoon cn, who had been permanently transfigured into five-legged creatures. The Department for the Regution and Control of Magical Creatures had attempted to undo the spell—but failed.

  But that was the problem—she didn’t know how to make it permanent. And she wasn’t about to risk botching a spell she barely understood. "Professor McGonagall, I had a question regarding the theory of permanent Transfiguration. Could I trouble you for a moment?"

  McGonagall looked up from where she had been overseeing another student’s transfiguration and tilted her head slightly, scrutinizing Hermione. “That is an advanced question for a second-year, Miss Granger,” she said, though there was no disapproval in her tone—only curiosity. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Hermione kept her expression neutral, though her fingers tightened slightly around her wand.

  McGonagall studied her for a moment longer before setting down her own wand and answering. “True permanence in Transfiguration is not determined by power alone, nor by mere intent. Any skilled witch or wizard can force a transformation to st for an extended period, but that is simply sustaining a spell—it is not true change."

  McGonagall’s gaze sharpened. “To make a Transfiguration permanent, one must not only shape the magic to reflect the change but convince magic itself that no other state was ever possible. It is not enough to force an object into a new form; it must be redefined at its very core.”

  Hermione’s fingers tightened instinctively around her wand. That… made sense. It fit perfectly.

  “That is why permanent Transfigurations are rare,” McGonagall continued. “The object must accept the transformation, not simply be subjected to it. Otherwise, reality will push back—the magic will unravel, and the object will return to what it once was.”

  Hermione considered those words, not noticing the curious looks she was receiving from her friends along with the professor.

  "That is, of course, not something taught until one pursues a Mastery in Transfiguration, Miss Granger. It is a discipline that requires both skill and great caution—as I’m sure you understand." she added.

  Hermione didn't catch the st part of the professors warning however, she was already running through the theory in her mind, she understood that a permanent change would mean re arranging everything within the button, all the molecules, the very atoms themselves to become what it needed to, she didn't need to visualize these changes, but knowing that it was needed as part of the permanent change? That was a given, that would give her the edge over most witches and wizards who attempted this, not to mention, she had another way to change it, the Fae had taken her fathers name, which meant they could have given a different name did that mean it would have changed who he was fundamentally? If so, could she combine this naming something with her magic? Her wand was in her hand before she even finished the thought, the magic already thrumming through her veins. She cast.

  Minerva stared at the beetle, her mind momentarily refusing to accept what she had just witnessed.

  A second-year. A second-year had just performed a spell that most fully trained witches and wizards would never achieve—one that many attempting a Mastery still struggled to perfect.

  Albus had said she was special and even Severus was impressed by the girl. But this was beyond anything she had anticipated.

  "Ten points to Slytherin for a fwless Transfiguration," McGonagall said, her tone composed, but her sharp gaze lingering on Hermione for a beat too long. Then, quietly, almost as an afterthought—but not really—she added, "See me after css."

  Daphne just sat there with her mouth open before she seemed to rally. “So let me get this straight—you struggled with the spell like the rest of us, and instead of fixing it, you just… skipped to the hardest version possible and made it work?”

  Theo, who had been watching closely, let out a low whistle. “That wasn’t just Mastery-level Transfiguration,” he said, shaking his head. “That was cheating.”

  Bise, still staring at the beetle, leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “That wasn’t cheating,” he said after a pause. “That was something else entirely.”

  Daphne threw her hands in the air. “Oh, fantastic! She’s reinventing magic now! Just wonderful.”

  Theo smirked. “If she starts doing that, we’re all doomed.”

  Bise didn’t smirk. He was still watching Hermione, calcuting. “I don’t think she reinvented anything,” he murmured. “I think she's just been holding back on us.”

  Silence hung for a beat too long before Daphne shook herself off and huffed. “Well. Next time you decide to have a magical breakthrough, could you at least pretend to struggle first? For our sake?”

  Hermione tilted her head toward her friends, a slow smirk curling at her lips. “But where would the fun be in that?”

  Groans erupted around her.

  “I swear,” Theo muttered, shaking his head. “Why are we even friends with her?”

  “Terrible life choices,” Bise deadpanned.

  Daphne threw up her hands. “Next time, just pretend to struggle. For our sanity.”