One moment you were stirring your Amortentia antidote—counterclockwise, seven times, just like the instructions said. The next, Neville was stumbling past you, his elbow catching the edge of your table. Your cauldron lurched. Mooncalf bone dust rained down like poisoned snow.

Then silence.

Then screaming.

The potion didn't just boil over—it exploded. A plume of shimmering, silver-white smoke erupted upward, slamming into the dungeon ceiling and cascading back down in a cascade of glittering fallout. Heat washed over you, sharp and chemical, forcing the air from your lungs.

You blinked.

The world came back in fragments.

Because something was wrong.

Your ears felt... different. Heavier. Like someone had clamped earmuffs over them, except they moved when you tried to shake the ringing loose. And your spine—there was a pulling sensation low at the base of it, achingly unfamiliar, like muscles you'd never used were suddenly waking up.

You raised a hand to your head.

Fur. Soft, short, and unmistakably not human hair.

A tail twitched behind you, swishing through the air with a mind of its own.

The room went very, very quiet.

Pansy was already moving toward you, hand outstretched, eyes glittering with something between fascination and barely restrained delight.