An acrid smell reminiscent of burning tyres filled the classroom as Oleandra's Flobberworm deflated before her eyes, expelling its entrails in the form of a thick belch of black smoke. She could only watch helplessly as the previously… well perhaps not lively, but at least alive, magical creature was reduced to carbonised stain on her desk.
"A result that could only be expected from someone who didn't even bother to complete last year's lessons," Professor McGonagall said flatly, Vanishing the charcoal residue on Oleandra's desk with a lazy flick of her wand. "You are hardly the prodigy you imagine yourself to be, Miss Greengrass, but your talent for murder is painfully evident. Perhaps you should consider a N.E.W.T. class better suited to… your particular abilities."
Oleandra obstinately continued staring holes in the spot where her Flobberworm had lain, silently enduring the sniggers of her Gryffindor and Ravenclaw classmates. She had practised as many sixth-year spells as she could in the short time she had spent at the Leaky Cauldron, but without a Flobberworm to practise on, how on earth did Professor McGonagall expect her to succeed at such a difficult piece of animal Transfiguration on her very first attempt?
As the lesson dragged on, it became ever more apparent to Oleandra that she was unwelcome in Professor McGonagall's classroom. The elderly Witch barely tolerated her and her sister; the only reason the twins were even sitting in her class was because the headmaster had compelled her to accept them, despite her unmistakeable bitterness at their involvement in Professor Dumbledore's death.
"She's worse than Professor Snape ever was in Potions!" Oleandra growled when Professor McGonagall finally turned around to write something on the blackboard. "She's always had it in for me, but this is ridiculous! Why hasn't she called on anyone else?"
"No talking during class," Professor McGonagall said drily, Charming a piece of chalk into writing in her place with a wave of her wand. "Five points from Slytherin."
Professor McGonagall continued picking solely on Oleandra throughout the two-hour, double Transfiguration lesson, fully aware that she had missed about half of her sixth year's magical education. Daphne was off limits, officially recognised by You-Know-Who as his Dark Lady, so she had to content herself with harassing Oleandra at every opportunity.
In the final ten minutes before the lunch bell, Professor McGonagall called on the class to perform an especially challenging piece of Human Transfiguration.
"Last year, I taught you how to make minor changes to your body parts, such as altering the shape of your facial features or changing the colour of your hair and skin," Professor McGonagall said nastily, her gaze settling on Oleandra at the back of the class. "I trust you practised diligently over the summer, since you necessarily all had to come of age by the start of term… Now, if you would kindly change your hair and skin to, say… bubblegum pink, and your noses to a pig's snout."
Oleandra had lost count of the number of times Professor McGonagall had cautioned her students that Transfiguration— especially Human Transfiguration— was a perilous subject. "Anyone messing about in my class will leave and not come back," she had warned. She had come close to banning Oleandra from her lessons after she'd accidentally sent a jet of water at Neville with her new wand, and now, she wished she had.
"You don't have to do that," Daphne told her sister in anger, abruptly standing up and staring down Professor McGonagall, eyes narrowing. "She wants you to fail."
The first class of the term was always a refresher of the previous years' spells, so all this time, Oleandra had believed that Professor McGonagall's targeted strictness was half due to hatred, and half out of concern for her safety. After all was said and done, Professor McGonagall did care for her students' well-being… even if they were headmaster-killers.
But now, it seemed, that was not even the case.
"If you believe your sister unable to perform so simple a spell, then by all means," Professor McGonagall said drily. "Let her demonstrate just how little she belongs in my N.E.W.T.-level class."
Unfortunately for Professor McGonagall, she could scarcely have asked anything easier of Oleandra, who had stolen Tonks's Metamorphmagus powers. Changing her appearance had become second nature to her.
"Easy peasy," Oleandra spat, shooting a nasty glare at Professor McGonagall.
Oleandra knew that the last thing she ought to be doing was demonstrating powers she had no business possessing, but Professor McGonagall had struck her where it hurt— in the ego. After enduring just under two hours of laughter and belittlement, she could not resist showing off.
"I'm waiting with bated breath," Professor McGonagall said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
She knew all too well how even the slightest mistake in Human Transfiguration could lead to permanent, horrific disfiguration. She had challenged Oleandra on purpose, hoping to discredit You-Know-Who's faction by provoking one of their strongest Witches into changing herself into a pig!
Oleandra holstered her wand, and Professor McGonagall scoffed.
As expected, the girl was posturing. She did not have the courage to perform the spell, for which she hadn't even been given the incantation. Though her surrender was not as spectacular as her self-disfigurement, McGonagall would still count it as a victory…
"What in Merlin's name…"
Professor McGonagall goggled as Oleandra turned herself pink from head to toe and reshaped her nose into a pig's snout, wandlessly and nonverbally. When Oleandra restored her natural appearance in the blink of an eye, Professor McGonagall's jaw nearly fell open.
Could she do that, McGonagall wondered to herself? Perhaps, but certainly not that fast!
Most African wizards were skilled enough at both Transfiguration and wandless magic to Transfigure themselves into an animal without a wand, but not nonverbally. Moreover, it took them years of practice to change themselves into a single totem animal they had studied from every angle— two at most, if you counted the Animagus transformation— even if it was only a partial transfiguration.
As a Scottish Witch through and through, Professor McGonagall was all but helpless without a wand!
"I reckon twenty or thirty points ought to do the trick for that display," Oleandra said smugly, thoroughly enjoying the dumbfounded look on her teacher's face. "Don't you think?"