 Wesley Blackwell, Gryffindor
Hesitation changes magic. The thought drifted lazily through Wesley’s mind as he stared down at the twig sitting on his desk. Professor Voss had mentioned intention earlier; how uncertainty bled into a spell and twisted the result before it even left the wand.
I wonder if that affects potions too. Same principle, right? He resisted the urge to groan aloud. It was far too early in the morning to be having philosophical debates with himself.
The classroom smelled faintly of burnt parchment, cedarwood, and something unpleasantly sulfuric from a failed attempt two rows over. Around him, students murmured incantations under their breath while bits of string twitched uselessly or objects transformed halfway before giving up entirely.
Meanwhile, Wes was still staring at a stick.
"Exigo Mutatio?" he muttered uncertainly, narrowing his eyes at it like the twig might suddenly reveal its hidden purpose. What exactly was he supposed to turn this into? His brain offered absolutely nothing useful. A cup? Pointless. A spoon? Boring.
Then the answer hit him instantly: Quidditch. Of course.
His lips twitched upward slightly as he straightened in his seat. If he could turn the twig into anything worthwhile, it would be a broom. Not one of the old school brooms either. Something fast. Sleek. Professional. Something worthy of making the team.
Wesley adjusted his grip on his wand and focused harder this time, picturing the polished wood handle, the bristles fanning neatly at the end, the smooth weight of a proper broom beneath his hands while soaring over the pitch. Confidence settled into his chest. "Exigo Mutatio." Magic surged through the wand.
The twig immediately began to twitch and stretch, thin bark cracking softly as the wood elongated before his eyes. Wesley leaned forward, amber eyes lighting up as the end split apart into rough beginnings of broom bristles. It was working. Merlin, I’m actually doing it...
The transformation suddenly slowed. Then stopped. Wesley blinked. The tiny broom sat stubbornly on the desk, barely larger than his hand.
Silence.
"Come on, you dumb twig," he muttered under his breath, glaring at it intensely. "You can do it."
Nothing happened. The miniature broom gave a pathetic little wobble before falling sideways onto the desk. Wesley exhaled sharply through his nose and slumped back in his chair with a sigh. So close. At least it vaguely looked like a broom. That had to count for something.
Then Professor Voss spoke again.
As the room settled, Wesley glanced around at the aftermath of everyone else’s attempts. Tangled bits of string hung limply from desks, twisted metal clips clung stubbornly to sleeves and hair, and somewhere nearby, something smelled faintly of fire.
Honestly? It looked less like a classroom and more like a magical disaster site. Exactly the kind of thing that apparently made Professor Voss happy. Wesley listened carefully as she explained the next exercise, though every sentence somehow sounded more concerning than the last.
No preparation. No perfect answer. Adapt or fail. Fantastic.
Then chaos exploded across the room.
A violent gust of wind tore through the classroom hard enough to send parchment spiraling into the air like startled birds. Wesley instinctively ducked as loose quills shot overhead, splattering ink across nearby desks and robes. Somewhere to his right, books crashed to the floor with enough force to make several students yelp.
A lantern overhead suddenly snapped loose with a sharp metallic CLINK, swinging dangerously from a single chain. And somewhere in the room...water. Lots of it. Professor Voss was insane.
Wesley jerked sideways to avoid a flying quill as papers whipped past his face. Around him, students scrambled toward different disasters while the room descended into complete pandemonium.
Still crouched slightly, Wesley forced himself to stop. Breathe. Identify the need. His eyes darted quickly across the room. The flooding basin was already being handled. Someone had stabilized the collapsing desk. Another student was dealing with the falling books.
That left the lantern.
Wesley’s stomach tightened as he looked up at it swaying overhead. The broken chain creaked ominously every time it swung. If that thing came down on someone...he swallowed hard and stepped forward. He could do this.
If you screw this up, someone gets hurt.
The thought almost made him hesitate. Almost. Make the decision. Decide your intention. Wesley tightened his grip on his wand until his knuckles turned pale.
My intention is to secure the lantern.
My intention is to keep everyone safe.
The panic around him seemed to dull at the edges as he focused solely on the broken chain. "Exigo Mutatio!" This time, the spell left his wand with far more force.
A sharp burst of magic struck the damaged chain, and Wesley held his breath as the broken metal trembled violently. For one horrifying second, nothing happened. Then, the shattered links slowly began pulling themselves back together. Piece by piece. Metal twisted, reshaped, and fused itself whole again with soft creaking sounds until the chain finally steadied completely above the classroom.
The lantern stopped swinging. Wesley stared upward for half a second longer just to make sure it would hold before finally exhaling the breath he'd been holding.
Okay.
Maybe Professor Voss wasn’t completely insane.
Maybe.
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