Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

The next morning, the halls of Beauxbatons shimmered with dew-kissed light. Morning fog clung lazily to the edges of the garden paths, curling between the hedges like sleepy spirits reluctant to let go of the night. In the Ombrelune Dormitory, a pale-blue mist hovered near the open window of Room , where Eira White was brushing her hair in slow, sleepy strokes. The soft rustling of uniforms and murmured chatter drifted through the corridors as students prepared for their second day.

"Are you ready?" came a soft voice from the doorway.

Eira turned to see Ana was standing there looking at her as her uniform was little crooked, her hair still damp from washing, but her eyes brighter than the last night's .

"Yes," Eira said with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Ana nodded. "Better than before." She hesitated, then added quietly, "Thank you again… for yesterday."

Eira reached for her wand and tucked it into the side pocket of her robe. "Of course, Ana. That's what friends are for."

They walked together through the corridors of Ombrelune, their footsteps echoing beneath the high-arched ceilings. The corridors were quieter in the early morning, with most students still groggily finding their way through yawns and breakfast.

After having breakfast they made their way to their class.

The classroom for Metaphoresis, or Transfagration, was located in one of the oldest wings of the château—an elegant gallery of glass-paneled walls and spiraling staircases, sunlight spilling like liquid gold across the marble floor. Room 204 bore a plaque carved with delicate vines and the words:

Metaphoresis:

The Alchemy of Change, the Grace of Becoming.

Inside, the classroom was unlike any Eira had ever seen. Instead of desks, there were curved tables of silver birchwood, arranged in a gentle circle around a raised platform. Atop that platform stood a tall woman with copper-colored hair bound in a low twist, wearing robes the color of a stormy sky.

Her name, as they soon learned, was Professor Lysandra Corvielle—an Ombrelune alumna known for her fierce talent in transmutational magic and her strict elegance.

"Welcome," she said, her voice smooth as silk but cutting with precision. "Today, we begin your first lesson in Metaphoresis—or as the English call it, Transfiguration. You may be tempted to think of it as 'changing one thing into another.' That's a simplification. True Transfagration is not merely the art of altering matter—it is the mastery of essence, of transformation without destruction."

She walked slowly across the platform, her fingers trailing the edge of her desk where a white lily bloomed inside a crystal vase.

"In Metaphoresis, you do not impose your will by force. You do not 'destroy' the lily to make a rose. You speak to its essence, guide its shape, suggest a new form—and if your intention is pure, the magic listens."

With a flick of her wand, the lily shimmered.

The white petals curled inward, deepened, darkened—and within seconds, a black rose stood in its place. Its texture was richer, its form prouder, but it still held the memory of what it had once been.

Gasps rippled across the room.

"That," said Professor Corvielle, "is the kind of transformation we will begin with today. A white lily—simple, receptive—into a black rose—complex, symbolic, yet equally natural. This task will teach you both grace and control. Once you succeed in altering the flower's species, we will take it a step further: you will reshape the rose into a new configuration—any design you choose. A crown, a spiral, a serpent—whatever form you imagine. Let the flower become your voice."

She clapped once. "Stations are ready. Begin."

The students spread out, and soon every pair of hands had a lily and a wand in front of them. Eira and Ana took the station closest to the window, where the morning light made the petals of the lily glow faintly.

Ana reached for her wand with a look of focused calm. Eira glanced at her curiously. "Do you think it's really about asking the flower to change?"

Ana nodded, her black eyes thoughtful. "I think it's about respect. You don't force magic. You guide it."

Eira smiled. "You sound like the professor already."

Ana gave a tiny smile. "My mom always said magic responds best to kindness."

With that, she raised her wand and focused. Eira watched as Ana murmured the incantation Professor Corvielle had written on the board: Floris Vera Verto .

There was a shimmer—quiet, almost delicate—and then the lily before Ana folded into itself like a dream unraveling. Petals darkened from white to dusky gray to a rich, inky black. Within moments, a perfect black rose unfurled on the stem.

Eira's eyes widened. "Ana… that was incredible."

Ana's cheeks turned faintly pink. "It just… made sense. Like I could feel how it wanted to grow."

Across the room, Professor Corvielle was watching. She stepped closer, her footsteps as silent as mist.

"Miss Anastasia," she said, eyes glinting. "An excellent first demonstration. Very refined execution for a beginner, one star ⭐️ for Ombrelune ."

Ana's face lit up with a shy pride. "Thank you, Professor."

Professor Corvielle turned to Eira. "Miss White, you're next."

Eira took a deep breath. She held her wand a little tighter and tried to remember what Ana had just said: respect the magic, guide it, don't push it. She whispered the incantation under her breath, keeping her eyes on the lily.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, just when Eira began to worry she had failed, the petals began to shift. Their whiteness faded, deepening slowly, like ink spilled into water. The transformation was not as fast as Ana's, but when it finished, the result was no less beautiful: a black rose stood tall in her vase, proud and elegant.

Ana gasped softly. "Eira! You did it!"

Professor Corvielle inclined her head. "Well done, Miss White. Your control is careful—restrained. With time, that restraint will give you exceptional precision."

The professor turned back to the class. "Now… onto the next phase."

She lifted her wand again. "Metaphoresis is not limited to nature mimicking nature. Now, you will change the rose into a new form entirely—one that expresses something of yourself. The spell remains the same. But your intention must be clear. Picture it. Focus. Will it."

As she walked away, the students returned to work. Ana turned to Eira. "What are you going to make?"

Eira tilted her head. "A crescent moon.🌙 our house Ombrelune's symbol."

Ana smiled. "That's beautiful."

Eira glanced at her. "You?"

Ana looked down at her rose. She hesitated, then said, "I think… a heart. Not because I'm trying to be cheesy. But because of yesterday. Meeting you. It made me feel… less alone."

Ana's eyes sparkled .

"I'll help you if you get stuck," she said.

"Deal."

They worked side by side, murmuring encouragements, offering corrections gently when one of them mispronounced a syllable or lost focus. Occasionally, they would giggle over a mishap—like when Ana's rose turned briefly into a fish—and then reset and try again.

By the end of the lesson, Eira had sculpted a delicate black crescent moon that hovered above the vase like silver caught in shadow. Ana's rose had curled its petals inward, reshaping into a simple but honest heart. perfect, but not real.

Professor Corvielle walked past again, paused, and with the faintest smile said, "Both of you have begun to understand the language of transformation. Keep listening."

The bell rang softly.

As the students filed out, Eira and Ana lingered for a moment, admiring each other's work.

"That was actually… fun," Eira said.

Ana nodded. "It was. I like this class."

Eira looked at her. "You're really good at it."

Ana shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're good too. We'll help each other. Deal?"

Eira grinned. "Deal."

They walked back toward the hall together, their steps light as one of them finally was able to get to have a friend and the other was simply happy to be able to learn a new spell.