The next morning, Kyle entered the Great Hall with a yawn, faint dark circles shadowing his eyes. In his daze, he even headed toward the Slytherin table and almost took a seat there. Luckily, his friend Mikel stopped him just in time.
"Kyle, what’s up with you?" Cedric asked, handing him a glass of milk. "Didn’t sleep well last night?"
Kyle sighed. He hadn’t just not slept well; he hadn’t slept at all. He’d spent the entire night in the Restricted Section and hadn’t even come close to finding Secrets of the Darkest Art. Not a single mention of “Horcrux” had appeared in any of the texts he scanned.
The closest he’d come was a vague line in a book titled Stir the Soul's Depths:
"Find a vessel that carries your soul, and you will grasp the key to immortality."
Other than that, it was a dead end. Some “restricted” section, he thought with annoyance. False advertising!
Though he hadn’t had enough time to search the entire section in one night, Kyle was already discouraged. It was clear that Dumbledore must have removed anything too telling about Horcruxes, leaving only scraps too vague to be of any use.
Looking up, he saw the concern on his friends’ faces. Forcing a smile, he shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just had some weird dreams last night. Guess I’m just not used to them yet.”
"Weird dreams?" Cedric’s brow furrowed. "Hufflepuff has Divination today, doesn’t it? Want me to ask Professor Trelawney?"
Cedric had also opted to take Divination, thanks to some nudging from Fred and George.
"No," Kyle said with another yawn. "I was just reading all night in my dream. I think it’s just the start-of-term excitement. I’ll probably be fine tomorrow."
The others glanced at each other before awkwardly turning away. Reading all night, even in his dreams? This was a level of dedication they couldn’t quite relate to.
Even Cedric couldn’t help a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth but chose not to say anything further.
“Hey, let me tell you something interesting,” Mikel chimed in, leaning closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Last night, I heard from some first-years that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley from Gryffindor actually tried to feed Professor McGonagall dried fish during Transfiguration class.”
“Feed Professor McGonagall?” Cedric repeated, intrigued and clearly amused. “Seriously?”
He knew that Professor McGonagall liked to demonstrate her Animagus form in the first class of the year, but he never imagined someone would be bold enough to provoke her. In Cedric’s mind, it had to be deliberate. After all, who would just bring dried fish to class for no reason? They must have known in advance about her transformation into a cat.
“Yes, really!” Mikel said, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s all over the school by now. That first-year, Justin Finch-Fletchley, said they were practically chucking dried fish across the room like they were feeding strays. Professor McGonagall’s face went green, and she made them… pfft… stand and listen to the whole lecture as punishment.”
Mikel finally lost control, bursting into laughter until he was nearly doubled over, clutching his stomach. Cedric also couldn’t resist laughing, though not quite as uproariously as Mikel.
Kyle, curious, glanced over at the Gryffindor table. There, Harry and Ron sat huddled in the corner, looking embarrassed, while Fred and George stood beside them, laughing heartily and clapping them on the shoulders. They seemed to view the incident as a legendary prank, one worthy of admiration.
“These new first-years sure have some nerve,” Kyle remarked, turning back to his breakfast. He picked up a piece of toast, layered it with fried egg and ham, and took a bite.
When he’d finished eating, he tapped his fingers on the table and said softly, “Could I have a cup of black tea?”
As he finished speaking, a steaming cup of black tea appeared in front of him, accompanied by a small jar of sugar. Kyle lifted the cup, tested its temperature, and found it just right before taking a long drink.
“Please, another cup.”
After downing two cups of black tea in a row, Kyle finally started to shake off his drowsiness. Just to be safe, though, he ordered a third cup. Today was the first Transfiguration class of the term, and he knew that if he dozed off, his fate might be even worse than Harry’s.
After leaving the Great Hall, the group bid farewell to Cedric and made their way to the Transfiguration classroom on the fourth floor. Kyle couldn’t help but notice that Professor McGonagall seemed even stricter than usual—maybe because of what happened yesterday.
Unlike Professor Flitwick, McGonagall didn’t allow time for students to review last year’s spells. She dove straight into the new lesson: transforming a beetle into a button. This spell was more challenging than anything they’d done last year. Not only was it a detailed transformation, but the beetles themselves were constantly on the move—and not slowly, either.
Mikel gave it a go, waving his wand carefully, but after several attempts, all he managed to accomplish was making his beetle move around a bit more.
Ryan, however, thought he’d found a shortcut and pinched his beetle between his fingers to keep it still. But just as he raised his wand, Professor McGonagall appeared beside him, her voice stern. “I already told you—didn’t you hear me? You are not allowed to touch the beetle with your bare hands. Or are you looking to lose a few fingers?”
The beetle, so small between his fingertips, would be easy to miss with the spell, and misfires could end poorly. Last year, a similar mistake had left one unfortunate student with fused fingers, resulting in a two-day stay in the Hospital Wing.
Ryan winced, muttering, “Professor McGonagall, I... I forgot.”
“Three points from Hufflepuff,” she replied with a disapproving look before moving on.
After witnessing that exchange, the others quickly abandoned any “creative” ideas, sticking to simply chasing their beetles around the table. They weren’t having much luck, though.
The beetles were far more nimble than expected, and as the students grew increasingly frustrated, their wand movements became sharper and more forceful. The classroom filled with the sounds of crackling spells and occasional misfires, and sparks shot off in all directions as impatience took hold.
One by one, the beetles met unfortunate ends. Some were flattened by overly aggressive wand taps, while others were blasted into bits. Professor McGonagall’s expression grew darker with every casualty, her displeasure palpable as the “beetle casualties” continued to mount.