A table over, Verity was also taking refuge in study. Since she, Percy and that Hermione girl had come up with all the ideas about the stupid virus and how it was messing with people's heads, she'd been... anxious. Her magic, which had always been iffy, was even worse, and she wasn't feeling the patience for Padma's carefully laid schedule lately, especially now that she couldn't even go visiting.
Transfiguring paper wasn't all that distracting, but maybe she could make more jewelry, like the little vial she'd made Ginny. Maybe something a little fancier, but still practical.
The trick to working with glass, she'd decided, was to picture it like ice, melting and reforming a little at a time.
She ignored the tickle in her throat. It would pass.
Except it didn't. Verity coughed, her wand slipping, her eyes closing, her focus momentarily derailed.
With the bang of splintering, the half-formed glass exploded.