AN: This was written for the QFL for the Seeker's prompt for the Falmouth Falcons.
Prompt: write about a magical invention that does not work as well as expected
Wordcount: 1,072
Content Warnings: none
Mafalda stopped to wipe sweat from her forehead, that was causing her traditional Prewett-red hair to plaster in little wisps that had managed to escape her plait. She was nearly finished with her invention, the project that would act as her N.E.W.T. for her technomancy class. If she could pull this off, she would be one of the best, cementing herself as one of the bright minds of the third class to graduate after the end of the Second Wizarding War.
She looked up at the clock at the end of the room. She only had five minutes until it was time to test it for the exam inspector. They'd had a new one, after someone's final project had put the usual exams inspector in St. Mungo's Accident Ward for a good two weeks. Said inspector was prowling between workspaces in Professor Lavenza's class, craning his neck to look at everyone's projects, muttering to himself and scribbling down notes on his journal.
Mafalda frowned. Perhaps it was the cynicism from being as close to a muggle-born as you could be in Slytherin during the war, but she did not trust this man a single centimeter. There was something too snide about his voice, too arrogant a gleam in his eye for Mafalda's comfort.
She was sure she heard him mutter something about how 'it wouldn't work' when he passed her station the first time, when the exam had started nearly two hours ago.
'I'll show you,' she thought to herself as she checked each bolt and reviewed each rune she placed upon the metal and stone. 'Then we'll see what doesn't work.'
Was she getting a little too competitive, a little too petty?
Perhaps. But such things got you far in Slytherin, both before the war, when she was hiding that her father was an accountant Squib and her mother was a Muggle doctor—and after it, when Slytherin was a marked house and she had to prove that she wasn't like the people she'd assimilated with to protect herself.
It was a pity she hadn't gotten into Ravenclaw, her father had always said as much with a note of envy in his voice. After all, that was the House he had dreamed of before his eleventh birthday passed with no letter. She would have likely done just fine, with her brains and competitive academic spirit.
But she knew as soon as she heard the song of the Sorting Hat seven years ago, that Slytherin had been where she belonged. The Sorting Hat had cursorily considered Ravenclaw for her, when first plopped upon her head. But she never forgot the words it said next.
"Too much ambition, too much of a need to prove your place in this world, you are too hungry for Ravenclaw."
Well, hopefully she was too glory-hungry for the examiner to condemn her project.
It was too bad she didn't have enough time to see if it would work. But there were two minutes left on the clock, and besides, it would be more impressive this way. She saw the examiner looking at her table out of the corner of her eye.
She met his gaze. 'Checkmate.'
Mafalda looked once more to the runes—then squinted. Ancient Runes sometimes blended together, especially when paired with her rather poor art skills. Indeed, her letters in primary school had been absolutely shameful. She was always in a rush to learn more, to do more.
Had she gotten them right? There were two that looked so close together, but they meant different things—
"Stop, put your wands down on the table."
The chimes of the hour from the great clocktower rang throughout the room. Mafalda reluctantly set her wand and notebook aside, then checked the watch on her wrist. It was a muggle watch from her mum, and as a result, it was often off, due to Mafalda having to revive it with magic. There was a trick to calculating it, if she couldn't adjust it.
She supposed knowing the time didn't matter ll that much, anyway. It wasn't like she had other exams to do after this, anyway, and it would take as long as it took. As a Prewett, a 'P," she would be towards the end.
She waited as patiently as she could (which wasn't saying much when she couldn't access her books to at least read, or doodle in her journal) and tapped her foot against the stone floor, waiting for the examiner to finally come to her table.
He curled his lip when he finally approached. "And is this what I think it is, Miss Prewett?"
"It's a portal, based off of the Druidic designs but updated with the muggle technology of a GPS to better route locations and to set you down anywhere, not just with ley lines." Mafalda patted the side. "Should be a quicker and easier ride than a Portkey."
"We shall have to see about that, Miss Prewett." He took notes. "I suppose your workmanship is up to scratch. There are no obvious physical flaws that would endanger my safety."
Mafalda forced herself to smile—although it curled into a smirk without her permission— and to speak sweetly. "Would you like for my to turn it on?"
"Like is a strong word," the examiner muttered.
Mafalda turned it on—and it rattled and hummed. Mafalda frowned, her courage wavering.
'This isn't supposed to happen,' she thought.
Still, she couldn't let the examiner know that. "Everything's up to scratch. Age before beauty."
The examiner climbed through the portal, the runes lighting up as he did, and a pinkish-purple area showing up in-between. The examiner stepped through the portal. Only for the portal to then turn off.
Mafalda hit the button to turn it back on. But it didn't work.
"Uh-oh." She looked down at her notes, trying to find the key, what had gone wrong. That's when she realized her problem.
She set it up in a No-Apparition zone.
It was half an hour before the examiner returned, with a Troll grade for Mafalda. It seemed he didn't like his adventure to another realm of snow and ice and various magical creatures all that much.
On the other hand, Mafalda was certain she'd somehow made a breakthrough that the Unspeakables would be, well, unspeakably envious of. Even though it was completely on accident.