Toil and Trouble Chapter 15 : The many shapes of brilliance - Part 3 of 3 (A Harry Potter fanfiction)

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April 29, 1994. Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, USA

Hermione felt a sharp tug behind her navel, a sudden rush of air, and then solid ground rushed up to meet her. She lost her balance, landing hard on her hands and knees as the pull of the Portkey released her.

For a moment, the only sound she heard was her own breath.

“Hermione, are you all right?” Professor McGonagall’s voice came at once, calm, but touched with concern.

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione replied, pushing herself upright and brushing dirt from her palms. “I’m fine.”

She looked up. Before her rose Ilvermorny.

The castle stood tall and proud against the horizon, its towers and turrets reminiscent of Hogwarts, yet somehow different. The stone was lighter, the lines cleaner, the structure a touch smaller, more refined, as though shaped by a slightly gentler hand. The orange glow of the setting sun washed over its walls, giving the castle an almost ethereal appearance.

It was beautiful.

Just beyond the iron gates stood four towering statues, carved with exquisite craftsmanship. The founders of Ilvermorny - Isolt Sayre, her muggle husband, James Stewart and their two adopted sons, Chadwick and Webster Boot. Each one possessed a commanding presence, their stone eyes fixed forward as eternal guardians. The details of their robes, their staffs, their expressions had been captured with astonishing precision.

Hermione rose slowly to her feet, awe settling over her.

“It’s… incredible,” she murmured, almost to herself.

McGonagall allowed a rare hint of a smile.
“Yes. Ilvermorny has always taken great pride in its heritage. Come along, Miss Granger. They will be expecting us.”

Hermione followed Professor McGonagall through the tall, carved wooden doors of Ilvermorny Castle. The entrance hall was warm with golden lantern light, its stone floors traced with knotwork patterns she had never seen before. Snow fluttered quietly outside the enormous windows, but the castle itself felt alive with a soft, welcoming hum.

A woman stood waiting at the foot of the staircase. She was tall, elegant, dressed in deep blue robes embroidered with silver constellations. Her hair, moon-white, was coiled neatly at her nape, and her gaze was both kind and commanding. She looked about the same age as Professor McGonagall.

“Professor McGonagall. Miss Granger.”
Her voice carried through the hall like velvet over stone. “Welcome to Ilvermorny.”

Minerva inclined her head.

“Headmistress Thorne. Thank you for hosting the Tournament this year.”

“The honour is ours,” Seraphina Thorne said, before turning to the other arriving delegations.

“Welcome, all of you. Your talents precede you. Ilvermorny is delighted to have such young brilliance within its halls.”

Hermione felt a flutter of nerves, but also excitement. Fleur lifted her chin confidently; Austėja stood with quiet poise; Luca flashed a charming smile at the room; Nikos observed with a warrior’s seriousness; Aput looked calm and quietly curious; Katarina appeared unimpressed by the grandeur.

Headmistress Thorne gestured gracefully toward a set of open doors.

“Please... allow me to escort you to our Dining Hall. You and your professors will take your places at the Guest Table.”

Hermione and the others followed her into a magnificent chamber lined with banners of the four Ilvermorny Houses. Charms twinkled above the ceiling like drifting fireflies, illuminating long tables filled with Ilvermorny students who watched the visiting champions with open eagerness.

The seven visiting students were asked to stand at the dias facing the long tables, not unlike the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

“Students of Ilvermorny,” said the Headmistress, her voice ringing clear.
“Tonight, we welcome our guests from across the Wizarding Europe and Wizarding Canada. Their skill in the art of Transfiguration has earned them a place in the Inter-School Transfiguration Tournament. They are... Miss Hermione Granger, representing Hogwarts in Britain. Miss Fleur Delacour representing Beauxbatons in France. Mr Luca Alessandri representing Collegium Arcanum Florentiae in Italy. Miss Katarina Volkov representing Durmstrang in Northern Europe. Mr Aput Nungak from Northern Star Academy in Canada. Miss Austeja Vetra representing Zvaigzdziu Mokykla in Lithuania. Mr. Nikos Kallistratos representing Akademia Hekatombēs in Greece."

Soft applause rose from the student body.

"I ask all Ilvermorny students to make our guests feel welcome,” the Headmistress continued. “There is much we may learn from one another.”

The Guest Table was positioned prominently at the front - a place of honour. The students and their accompanying professors took their seats.

Hermione sat beside Professor McGonagall, across from Fleur and Luca. While Katarina looked unimpressed by the grandeur, Aput sat quietly at the far end, observing everything with bright, reflective eyes. They all ate dinner, while making polite small talk. Hermione remained calm, though her heart was positively racing in anticipation.

The moment dinner ended, the visiting students were gathered in the entrance hall, where a trio of Ilvermorny prefects waited to escort them. Professor McGonagall laid a hand briefly on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Get a proper night’s sleep, Miss Granger,” she said softly. “Tomorrow will be demanding.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

McGonagall gave her the faintest smile before following one of the Ilvermorny professors towards the staff wing.

The prefects led the seven visiting students up a wide staircase, down a corridor lined with portraits that whispered curiously, and finally to two large doors.

The boys were led through the door on the left.

The girls were ushered through the door on the right.

Inside was a huge chamber. It was airy, warm, and softly lit, with tall windows draped in deep blue velvet. A dozen beautifully carved four-poster beds were arranged around the room, each with its own chest and nightstand.

Fleur Delacour stepped inside and let out a sigh. The disappointed kind.

“The guest rooms at Beauxbatons are far more refined,” she murmured in her lilting accent, drawing her fingers over a carved wooden bed post. “We give each visiting student an individual suite. But… one cannot expect French etiquette from everyone.”

Hermione felt irritation prick at the back of her neck. Did this girl really have to sound superior? She reminded her of the snooty older Slytherin girls back at Hogwarts.

And yet, even as irritation simmered, Hermione couldn’t help noticing the girl’s glossy blonde hair shimmering under the enchanted lamps. It looked like it had never seen a frizzy day in its life. Hermione’s own curls suddenly felt twice as unruly.

Austeja Vetra set her trunk down at the foot of a bed near the window.

“It isn’t all bad,” she said calmly, beginning to unpack with deft, practiced movements.
“The beds are comfortable. And the view is lovely.”

Hermione turned to look. The window indeed overlooked a picturesque forest glowing silver beneath the moon.

Katarina Volkov said nothing at all. She strode to the bed farthest from the door, yanked the curtains shut with a decisive pull, and a moment later, the faint glow of Lumos lit her silhouette. She had already begun reading.

Hermione exhaled, some of her tension easing. Fine. If everyone was settling, she should do the same.

She changed into her nightclothes, drew her own bed curtains, and murmured “Lumos” just long enough to read a few parchments of her Transfiguration notes.

Soon, her eyes grew heavy.

The day’s travel, the excitement, and the remnants of fear from the greenhouse all folded into exhaustion. She extinguished the wandlight, curled beneath the Ilvermorny quilts, and let sleep take her.

---

April 30, 1994. Atrium, Ilvermorny Castle

The Ilvermorny Atrium looked magnificent. Sunlight poured in through enchanted glass panels, scattering motes of gold and silver light across the polished marble floor. A ring of professors, judges, and students crowded the balconies above, murmuring with excitement. Even some members of the American Wizarding press were there. The banners of eight participating schools hung from the pillars : Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Collegium Arcanum, Akademia Hekatombes, Zvaigzdzių Mokykla, Northern Star Academy, and Ilvermorny.

Hermione stood with the other seven contestants around a circular platform of pale stone, their breaths fogging faintly in the cooled air of the Atrium. Her palms were a little damp, but her chin stayed high. She was well aware that she was the youngest participant in this tournament. All the others, third and fourth years, had at least two to three years of experience on her. Her mind kept going back to her notes, trying to think of something she may have overlooked in her painstaking preparation. But it was obviously too late to worry now. She tried to calm her nerves, reminding herself that she'd beaten older students at Hogwarts in order to qualify. She was good at Transfiguration, she'd be OK. She was ready.

From the far end of the hall, the Ilvermorny Headmistress rose from her seat.

“Welcome,” said Headmistress Seraphina Thorne, her voice carrying with regal ease. “The Quarter-finals will test your speed, precision, and creativity in transfiguration. Each match is timed. Each spell must be stable."

Hermione’s heart thudded. She could feel McGonagall’s sharp, approving gaze from the guest seats.

The judges revealed the day’s challenge with a wave of their wands.

A wooden crate appeared. Inside were dozens of small, squirming objects. Hopping, squeaking Puff-pods - harmless Ilvermorny creatures that resembled spiky puffballs with legs. For a second, Hermione thought of how innocent they looked. Before she remembered that the creatures weren't real. They'd been conjured. They would not actually feel the effects of transfiguration.

“Your task,” the Headmistress declared, “is to transform a Puff-pod into a functional creature suited for a specific environment. Each duel pair will be assigned the environment at the moment of their match.”

The Atrium hummed with tension as the tournament began.

MATCH 1: Hermione Granger (Hogwarts) vs. Luca Alessandri (Collegium Arcanum Florentiae)

Hermione stepped on to the platform opposite Luca, who offered her a courteous nod, which she politely returned. He was taller, confident, and clearly skilled.

A judge lifted a gold card.

“Aquatic environment. Your creature must be able to survive underwater.”, she said.

The bell chimed.

Hermione raised her wand at once. “Mutatio Formae!”

Her Puff-pod elongated, sprouting smooth scales, then delicate fins. She coaxed the transformation gently, guiding the magic along the creature’s spine. The Atrium watched as its legs fused neatly into a graceful tail.

Luca worked quickly. His Puff-pod was becoming a stocky, armoured crab like creature.

Hermione deepened her breathing, shaping gills, adjusting fin structure, calibrating density. Her creature lifted its head, shimmering with a bright turquoise sheen, and gave a soft trill.

A judge lowered a conjured bowl of water.

Hermione’s creature slipped in with effortless fluidity, darting around the bowl like a tiny tropical fish.

Luca’s creature also survived, but barely. It sunk heavily before scuttling awkwardly.

The judges whispered.

Hermione stepped back, pulse racing, but unable to hide her small, proud smile.

MATCH 2: Fleur Delacour (Beauxbatons) vs. Nikos Kallistratos (Akademia Hekatombes)

The Puff-pods were dropped onto the ground again, hopping madly.

The judges raised the next card.

“Arctic environment.”

Fleur flicked her wand with effortless grace, her pale hair catching the light. The Puff-pod transformed rapidly into a sleek white fox, fur thick and luxurious, tail curled elegantly. The creature even pawed the air with delicate curiosity.

Nikos frowned in concentration. His own Puff-pod morphed into a squat penguin-like creature, slightly lopsided, then regained its shape with force.

Fleur whispered a refining charm, smoothing her fox’s fur and strengthening its musculature. The audience murmured appreciatively.

Even Hermione felt a pinch of admiration. Fleur Delacour was very, very good.

A few snowflakes were conjured. Fleur’s fox sat calmly, unbothered by the cold. Nikos’s creature shivered.

Judges scribbled notes.

MATCH 3: Austėja Vētra (Lithuania) vs. Katarina Volkov (Durmstrang)

Austėja gave Hermione a quick smile before stepping into the ring.

Katarina didn’t smile at all — she simply rolled her shoulders, wand ready.

The environment was announced.

“Desert.”

The moment the bell sounded, Katarina transformed her Puff-pod with a harsh, sharp gesture. It became a sinewy desert snake, scales a burnished bronze, forked tongue flicking.

Austeja took a bit longer, molding her Puff-pod carefully. She crafted a desert fennec fox. It was long-eared, small, and nimble. Its sandy coloured fur gleamed.

Hermione saw the judges watching for practical adaptation : heat tolerance, hydration efficiency, form stability.

Austeja added small, clever details: heat-reflective fur, wide paws for sand, narrowed pupils.

Katarina’s snake whipped its tail impatiently, but its body was rigid. It was over transfigured.

Austeja’s fox hopped lightly, movements organic.

The judges’ quills scratched.

MATCH 4: Aput Nungak (Canada) vs. Thomas Blackwell (Ilvermorny)

This match brought the loudest cheers, as Thomas was Ilvermorny’s own.

“Rainforest.”

Aput transformed his Puff-pod into a small, agile tree frog with startling speed. It chirped and leapt onto a conjured vine.

Thomas, with easy confidence, conjured a vividly feathered bird. Its wings fluttered rapidly, testing stability.

The judges conjured rainfall overhead.

Thomas’s bird flapped upward, unfazed by moisture.

Aput’s frog clung to a leaf, singing brightly.

Both creatures responded beautifully. Stable, balanced, animated.

Hermione found herself watching with fascination, wondering which of the two boys would proceed to the semis.

After a short break, the contestants were back in the Atrium for the Semi-finals. The four who had made it were Hermione Granger, Fleur Delacour, Austeja Vetra and Aput Nungak.

The Ilvermorny Headmistress lifted her wand and out of the eight banners representing the participating schools, only four remained.

“Semi-final Match One", announced one if the judges, "Hermione Granger of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry versus Aput Nungak of Northern Star Academy."

"This will be", he read from a glowing golden card that appeared before him, "A Duel of Symbol and Shape. Begin.”

Hermione and Aput faced each other. He gave her a respectful nod, which she reciprocated.

Aput moved first. Not with force, but with a sculptor’s deliberation.

He pointed his wand toward the stone beneath them. The surface rippled gently, as if water had brushed over it, and began rising in elegant curves. In seconds, a tall, glacial structure formed. It was translucent, luminous, shaped like an Inuit inuksuk. Light refracted inside it like frozen dawn.

Hermione felt a wash of admiration. She responded with equal grace.

She drew a slow circle with her wand. The lanterns surrounding the arena brightened , then each released a glowing thread of light that drifted toward the inuksuk. Hermione guided them gently, weaving them into a constellation around the structure.

Aput smiled faintly, genuinely appreciating the creativity.

He flicked his wand upward. The inuksuk dissolved into snow, but not cold, stinging snow. Rather, it was soft, drifting flakes of shimmering silver that filled the air with a quiet beauty.

Hermione extended her wand with a whisper of intent.

The snowflakes slowed their descent, stilled…and then each flake unfolded into a tiny, crystal-winged bird. Dozens of them. They fluttered in a rising spiral, delicate as glass.

A collective gasp swept the stands.

Aput stood beneath the ascending birds, eyes glowing with respect. He lifted his wand in acknowledgement, and then gently lowered it, signalling his surrender.

The voice of one of the judges rang through the Atrium, "The winner.... Miss Hermione Granger.”

Aput bowed to Hermione, a meaningful, graceful tilt of the head.

“You shape magic like storytelling,” he said. "Truly impressive".

Hermione flushed, touched.
“So do you. Thank you for the duel.”

The birds dissolved into harmless motes of light around them.

The second match was between Fleur Delacour and Austeja Vetra.

"A Duel of Light and Wind", came the announcement.

Fleur stepped forward like a figure carved from moonlight, Austeja moved with the composed, grounded elegance of someone shaped by old forests and northern winds.

When the Headmistress signaled the start, Austeja began by tapping the stone floor. A ring of tiny stones rose, and as she guided them upward, they blossomed into little sculptures. Miniature trees, each carved from minerals of different colours. Jade, amethyst, onyx, quartz. Together they formed a quiet, living forest around her, leaves rustling with gentle enchantment.

Fleur regarded the creation with genuine appreciation before lifting her wand.

A single breath of magic left her.

A wind, soft, warm, and scented with hints of wildflowers swept through Austeja’s mineral forest. The trees did not crumble or fall. Instead, under Fleur’s influence, their branches thinned, stretched, and grew translucent like stained glass. Each leaf caught the light and shimmered in iridescent colours.

The atrium filled with jeweled colours dancing across the floor and walls.

Austeja inhaled deeply. Her expression softened, admiration replacing competitiveness.

She raised her wand and transformed the glass trees into floating shards of refracted colour. They looked just like tiny northern lights suspended in the air.

Fleur extended a hand, and with a flourish, gathered all those drifting colours into a single, swirling orb above her head. It formed what looked like a miniature aurora borealis, swirling and rippling in shades of blues, pinks, greens and golds.

The audience stared, amazed.

Austeja let her wand fall to her side.
A smile touched her lips.

“I concede,” she said warmly. “Yours is the kind of magic people remember.”

Fleur smiled sweetly as they shook hands.

The aurora faded gently into sparkles that rained down like soft summer rain.

“The Winner... Miss Fleur Delacour.", a judge announced.

And then, the two finalists, Hermione and Fleur were called to the center of the arena.

“Finalists,” said Headmistress Thorne, “your challenge is Transfiguration as pure art.
No shields. No strikes. No destruction.
What you make must stand as beauty.
Transformations may touch the environment but must not harm your opponent.
The victor shall be the witch whose artistry speaks most deeply to the magic watching.”

A single crystal bell rang. The final round began.

Fleur’s opening was a ballet of Mirrors. She circled her wand in a slow spiral, and the marble beneath her softened like water. From it rose a pair of swan shaped figures, carved of animated frost. Their wings shimmered with opalescent hues - pale blues, soft roses, moonlit silvers.

The two frost-swans swept into the air, leaving trails of glittering cold that dissolved into sparkles. They circled her head like celestial guardians.

Another wand movement, and the air around Fleur thickened into crystalline mirrors, as delicate as soap bubbles. Each reflected a different version of the swans. Some were
enormous, some tiny, some spinning like dancers. Fleur guided them into a complex aerial waltz, her expression serene, as though she too were part of the choreography.

The audience applauded.

It was breathtaking, elegant, controlled and luminous.

Hermione watched, genuinely impressed. Fleur’s artistry was a song of winter and moonlight.

Then Hermione lifted her wand. She'd decided she'd create a living tapestry.

She tapped the marble with her wand, while muttering an incantation.

The faint silver veins running through it began to glow, then pull upward, thread by thread, as though being drawn from the stone itself. The threads twisted into a loom of floating light, and from it, Hermione began weaving. Her spellwork was quiet, precise and humming with intention.

The threads wove into a tapestry made of magic itself. Shifting patterns of vines, stars, ancient runes, and feather-soft clouds of colour bagan to come alive. As she moved her wand, the tapestry unfolded into the air, becoming a three-dimensional garden suspended above the platform.

The trees grew, transparent and shimmering, each leaf a tiny rune. Flowers bloomed in striking. Fireflies made of gold arithmetic symbols drifted between the branches.

The tapestry garden then extended outward. It was gentle, inviting, pulsating with warmth.

The audience was silent, almost entranced.

Even Fleur stared. Hermione’s creation felt like stepping into a dream, one woven by a mind that loved both beauty and knowledge.

Fleur answered.

With a swirl of her wand, she sent her frost-swans gliding into Hermione’s garden. Instead of disrupting it, they wove through it, leaving trails of snow-dust that the garden transformed into flowering frost-lilies.

Hermione responded in kind.

She guided a ribbon of golden runes around Fleur’s mirrors. The mirrors absorbed them and began to change, reflecting not the swans but miniscule flames.

The crowd gasped softly. It wasn’t competition. It was harmony.

The two young witches built a shared work, fleeting, ephemeral, impossibly beautiful.

Their magic resonated like two instruments playing a duet.

Fleur lifted both hands, her wand held skyward. She drew from deep within herself, and the frost-swans dissolved into a storm of sparkling feathers. The feathers whirled, then reassembled into a single, luminous creature. A phoenix sculpted of morning light.

Its body was pure radiance. Its wings unfurled with elegance so soft the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Hermione closed her eyes. Her tapestry shifted.

The garden sank and reshaped. Threads forming, looping, gathering. When she opened her eyes again, the floating tapestry birthed its own creature.

A dragon made of glowing runes.

Not menacing. But an expression of quiet strength.

From a distance, its scales looked like nebulae. It's eyes looked like flames. It flew gracefully between trees of woven light.

Hermione moved her wand and spoke an incantation, and her Dragon opened it's mouth and breathed out bluebell flames. It was fire that could warm and illuminate, but not burn.

A collective gasp could be heard from the audience.

Fleur, after recovering from her shock, gently dispelled her phoenix. It folded into a flower of pure light and winked out.

For a moment, there was silence, followed by deafening applause. And then, the platform itself glowed.

Ilvermorny’s magic spoke through shifting light that formed a single word above them :

HERMIONE GRANGER

Fleur smiled softly, without resentment, and bowed to Hermione with genuine grace.

Hermione bowed back, deeply moved. Then the two witches shook hands.

"You are truly extraordinary Hermione Granger.", said Fleur.

"As are you, Fleur. A formidable opponent.", said Hermione, beaming.

It was now time to award the trophy.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Headmistress Thorne began, “what we witnessed today was not simply skill. It was art.”

She turned to Hermione.

“Miss Hermione Granger of Hogwarts… your magic today transcended competition. Your creativity, your control, your restraint, and above all your sheer brilliance, demonstrate a mastery I have never before witnessed in a first-year student. For that, it is my honour to name you...”

She lifted the gorgeous crystal trophy.

“Junior Level Transfiguration Champion of the International Invitational Tournament.”

Hermione inhaled sharply as she accepted the trophy with both hands. It was warm and pulsing faintly with stored magic. For a moment she stared at it, almost disbelieving.

The applause grew louder, echoing off the high glass ceiling. But Hermione didn’t bask in it.

Her eyes found Professor McGonagall.

Minerva stood near the foot of the platform, back straight, face composed as ever, yet her eyes softened with unmistakable pride, as she applauded.

Hermione crossed the platform and hurried down the steps, trophy clutched against her.

McGonagall leaned in just slightly, never one for dramatic displays, and whispered, “Well done, my girl.”

As she spoke, she placed one firm arm around Hermione’s shoulders, drawing her into a warm, steady side embrace. Just enough to say I’m proud of you, more than words allow.

Hermione’s throat tightened. She leaned into the hug, resting her head lightly against Minerva’s shoulder for a brief, unguarded second.

The applause still echoed.

And Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, outsider, unexpected prodigy, stood in the heart of Ilvermorny, wrapped in quiet pride and the gentle weight of a mentor’s affection.