Last evening, when Gabriel had seen Harry and Ron coming to Hogwarts not on the train like the rest of the plebeians, but in a flying car, he'd felt an undeniable pang of envy.
That envy evaporated entirely the following morning.
"...STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE...!"
The shrill, magically amplified voice of Molly Weasley echoed through the Great Hall like a sonic explosion. Students across all four tables winced as the scarlet envelope hovered over the Gryffindor table, spewing fury in all directions.
"... LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED ..."
Gabriel leaned back, grinning like a cat. "Merlin, that woman has lungs."
Beside him, Luna tilted her head sympathetically. "Poor Ginny," she murmured. The younger girl had her head buried in her arms, her face turning the same shade as her hair, sneaking small, dismayed glances at the raven haired boy next to her.
"... ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME. Oh, and Ginny dear, congratulations on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud."
Gabriel snorted, half laughing into his pumpkin juice. "I don't know why she's embarrassed. Her crush's partner-in-crime is the reason for the yelling. Equal blame, equal shame."
Luna gave a solemn little shake of her head, patting his arm with gravity that was almost comical. "You don't understand the heart of a girl."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin.
His amusement, however, was soon redirected when he noticed her... unique choice of headwear. A bronze-and-blue tiara perched atop her pale hair, crowned with large, flapping wings that seemed to move on their own.
He blinked, fighting a laugh. "Alright, Hermes, what's with the hat?"
Luna beamed, wiggling in her seat, fingers brushing the wings fondly. "It's my Eagle Wingle. I made one for each House with Daddy so that I was ready no matter what. Hufflepuff's had cute little badger ears, and Slytherin's was a slytherin silver snake circlet."
Gabriel chuckled. "Nice alliteration. But why eagle wings? We're Ravenclaw."
A groan came from further down the table. An older Ravenclaw thudded his forehead against the wood. Another muttered, "Not again…"
Luna pointed toward the vast Hogwarts banner above the staff table. Specifically, at the blue and bronze quarter displaying a majestic bird. "That's an eagle."
Gabriel squinted. His eyesight was never the best at a distance, and the morning light didn't help, but - "No, that's silly. That can't be an eagle. We're Ravenclaw."
Padma, sitting across from him, groaned into her toast. "Gabe, we've been over this. Gryffindor doesn't have an actual griffin, and Hufflepuff doesn't have a - whatever a hufflepuff is."
He sniffed, affronted. "That's because none of you have any discernment. Look, Gryffin-dor comes from Griffin and d'or, which is French for golden. Now, have you ever seen a golden griffin, Padma? Hm? No? Exactly. But do you know what does have golden skin? Nemean lions."
Padma's head thunked against the table. "Oh, Morgana preserve us."
Gabriel pressed on, unbothered. "So, logically, the Gryffindor emblem must be the child of a griffin and a Nemean lion. That's why it doesn't have an eagle's head or wings."
Luna's wide eyes sparkled with interest. Gabriel smirked and turned toward her dramatically, gesturing at the blue and bronze crest stitched on her robes. "And our emblem, my dear Luna, isn't an eagle at all. It's a bronze raven. A rare magical species that resembles an eagle, sounds like one, but is actually a raven in disguise. It takes true wit" - he flicked a disdainful glance toward Padma - "to perceive its true nature."
Padma made a strangled noise of despair as Luna gasped softly, eyes wide in revelation. "I see! It's so obvious now!"
"Not another one," Padma muttered, burying her face in her hands as a few upper-years laughed into their porridge.
Luna, however, was radiant with newfound conviction. Then she turned towards the table beside theirs, full of students in black and yellow with their faces filled with mirth watching the whole scene, "What about Hufflepuff?"
Gabriel didn't even hesitate. "Oh, they're just weirdos."
That, as expected, set off an explosion of indignant protests from the nearby Hufflepuff table. Gabriel hid a grin behind his goblet, feeling Luna pat his arm approvingly.
Breakfast at Hogwarts was back to normal.
-~=~-
Later that morning, after a rather smelly joint Potions class with the Hufflepuffs, Gabriel found himself sitting beside Hermione in the Transfiguration classroom. The room was still half-empty; sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off the rows of polished desks and the gleaming, expectant blackboard.
Hermione, of course, had already launched into an impassioned recounting of everything she'd learned about the Great Flying Car Debacle.
"So let me see if I've got this right," Gabriel said, ticking off each point on his fingers as his expression grew steadily more incredulous. "They arrived late at the station, missed the barrier, didn't wait five minutes for Ron's parents to notice, decided to steal Mr. Weasley's illegal flying car, flew it all the way to Scotland, crashed it into the Whomping Willow, lost the car - which apparently became sentient - and broke Ron's wand in the process?"
He leaned back, grinning wide. "That about sums it up?"
Hermione's frown could have cut glass. "This isn't funny! They could have died! Or been expelled!"
Gabriel's restraint lasted all of two seconds before dissolving into laughter. "Hermione- hah! You- you really need to rethink your priorities."
She huffed, crossing her arms with a very unamused sniff. "You prat. I'm being serious! Professor Sprout had her arms all banged up from that tree this morning, luckily-"
Gabriel's grin faltered as she clasped her hands together and her voice took on an unmistakably dreamy tone.
"-Professor Gilderoy was there to help her."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Oh, no."
Whatever reply he was about to make was cut off as the classroom door burst closet with a BANG!
Professor McGonagall had swept in class, the same impeccable picture of poise as ever, and the room fell instantly silent.
"Transformation," she began crisply, pacing to the front. "As you already know - or I hope you do, seeing as we have been studying nothing but this for the entirety of the past year - is the branch of Transfiguration concerned with changing a target's form. Who can tell me its sub-divisions?"
Hermione's hand shot up so fast it nearly hit Gabriel in the face.
"Inanimate-to-Inanimate Transformation - changing an object or substance without life into another; Animate-to-Inanimate Transformation - turning a living being into a nonliving form; Inanimate-to-Animate Transformation - creating the likeness of life from inanimate matter; and Animate-to-Animate Transformation - changing a living being into the form of another!"
She rattled the entire list off in one breath, perfectly recited and completely unflustered.
"Well done, Miss Granger - five points to Gryffindor. But…" McGonagall's eyes glinted with a rare spark of challenge, "…you've missed one."
Hermione froze, scandalized. Gabriel could practically feel the mortification radiating from her as she frantically searched her mental library for the missing term.
Before she could raise her hand, he casually reached over and held it down. She tried to yank it free, still focused entirely on getting the professor's attention - completely missing that her other arm was still free.
Suppressing a smirk, Gabriel raised his own hand. "Shaping, Professor. Also known as Manipulation. It's the sub-branch that deals with changing a thing's shape without altering its form - like sculpting an ice cube into an ice sculpture."
"Rightly so, Mr. Moretti. Five points to Ravenclaw."
Hermione's glare could have melted steel.
"But," McGonagall continued briskly, "that is not what we'll be studying today. Last year, we focused primarily on Inanimate-to-Inanimate Transformations, and briefly touched upon Animate-to-Inanimate at the year's end. From now on, that will be our focus."
She paused, eyes sweeping over the class like a hawk. "To begin, I expect you to remember the four main factors that determine the complexity of a Transfiguration. Can anyone tell me what they are?"
Gabriel thought about answering first - but Hermione's hand was already up before McGonagall even finished the question.
"Concentration, Wand Power, Body Weight, and Viscosity!" she recited eagerly.
McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Five more points to Gryffindor."
Gabriel accepted the smug look Hermione gave him with all the grace he possessed - which was to say, none. He stuck his tongue out at her before turning his attention back to Professor McGonagall, who was now sweeping her gaze across the class.
"When you were working with small objects last year," she began, "the hardest part of your spellwork was envisioning your target changing into something else. From now on, that will represent only a quarter of the equation - Concentration."
Her wand traced a glowing sigil in the air, the word forming in tidy, floating letters.
"Wand Power, of course, is nothing more than the affinity your particular combination of wand wood and core has toward Transfiguration. It is the only factor that will always remain the same no matter what the other variables are."
McGonagall turned, eyes sharp. "I trust I needn't explain what Body Weight represents. And before those more learned about the natural sciences among you raise a hand, yes - I mean weight, not mass. The force of gravity plays a key role in Transfiguration, though why this is so remains uncertain. Perhaps one of you will answer that mystery someday."
A few quills scratched eagerly across parchment.
"Finally," McGonagall continued, "we come to Visciousness. It is the measure of how much the target resists transfiguration, whether passively or actively. Factors include the magic invested in it, its alchemical value, magical resistance- " she paused, glancing momentarily at Gabriel, "- and its strength of will."
She flicked her wand, and glowing numbers shimmered in the air.
"A common rock might have a Visciousness of zero. The same rock charmed to float - one. If charmed to sing whenever someone with red hair touches it - five. Now, should that same rock be made of pure silver, its values would increase to roughly three, eight, and fifteen, respectively. Gold, meanwhile, might rate at ten, seventeen, and thirty."
A murmur ran through the class.
"These numbers assume the materials are pure and alchemically active," McGonagall added. "Otherwise, the values vary by composition and source. And, of course, transfiguring a living being is often far more difficult than any inanimate object. The rats you turned into snuffboxes last year had a Visciousness near thirty - though the ones you used were, in truth, stones transfigured into rats, which reduced the difficulty to about five or six."
Gasps rippled through the room. McGonagall's mouth quirked upward ever so slightly.
"Keep that in mind: when you transfigure an inanimate object into a living creature, it will always gain a measure of Visciousness - because of the magic used, and the false-mind you create for it. But it will never, ever, be the same as the real thing."
Her wand flicked again. A wooden box floated from beneath her desk and landed gently upon it. Inside, dozens of glossy beetles lay in magically induced stillness.
"For today's lesson, you will learn to deal with true Visciousness. Your task: turn one of these beetles into a button. The incantation is Botofors."
A beetle floated to each desk. Students leaned forward, poking at them nervously. From the Gryffindor side, a faint pop and puff of smoke signaled Ron Weasley's attempt. His wand sputtered like a dying candle, then belched a spark. Startled, he flailed - and crushed his beetle with an elbow.
Hermione, naturally, had already succeeded, though she frowned critically at the nearly perfect brass button she'd produced before reversing it to try again.
Gabriel studied his own beetle, its iridescent carapace gleaming green in the sunlight, its beady black eyes reflecting his face. For a heartbeat, he wondered what it would feel like to be it - helpless in the hand of something godlike, its form twisted and reshaped by a will it couldn't comprehend.
"Fucking Lovecraft," he muttered under his breath. "Fucking Harlan Ellison. Botofors."
His wand swept downward in a clean arc.
The beetle's shell shimmered, its edges warping like metal under heat. Its legs folded inward, wings melting into a smooth surface. A soft click sounded as the transformation completed - leaving, in Gabriel's palm, a round bronze button etched with neat, raised letters.
He squinted, then grinned.
"Hey, Mione," he said, holding it up. "Check this out."
"Don't call me-" she began automatically, but stopped as she caught sight of it.
The button read: "Certified Troll Slayer."
Hermione snorted despite herself, shaking her head as a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "You're ridiculous."