A sock

Luna sniggers to herself as the idea unfolds in her mind. She creeps over to Hermione’s side, and gently presses her wand into the small of the girl’s back, “Mutus Soccus!”

There’s a puff of acrid smoke, and where Hermione once slept there now lies a plain brown sock, completely unassuming and entirely unrecognizable as the witty young Gryffindor. Luna plucks her transfigured friend off the sheets, “Good morning Hermione!” She whispers, “How do you like the new you?”

Hermione, having been sharply awoken by her entire body warping and morphing into this new form, cannot reply. She still retains all her senses somehow, but as an inanimate object she is unable to communicate her confusion and fear, or so anything about it. Luna giggles, knowing that Hermione most likely has hundreds of panicked questions on her mind, but cannot even cry out in her mouthless shape.