The Transfiguration classroom smelled faintly of chalk and old parchment, with the sharp tang of polished wood cutting through the air. Sunlight spilled in from the tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced lazily in the beams. The usual chatter of students filled the space as everyone filtered in, claiming desks and pulling out their wands.
Hermione slid into her seat near the front, as always, quill and parchment already lined up neatly in preparation. But her mind wasn't on the lesson. It was on Inosuke, who had lumbered in behind her, his boar mask tilting in every direction as though sizing up the room like prey. Normally, he would have shoved someone aside or made a loud declaration of how he would "beat" magic into submission.
But today—after she whispered those strange syllables in the corridor—he simply sat down. No fuss. No posturing. Just… sat.
Hermione wasn't sure if she should be proud, alarmed, or both.
Professor McGonagall swept into the room with her usual authority, robes snapping behind her as though they carried a will of their own. She set her books down sharply on the desk, and the classroom fell silent.
"Last week," she began crisply, "we discussed the principles of basic transformation and the importance of precise willpower when reshaping matter. Many of you succeeded in altering your matchsticks in some way—some partial, some quite promising." Her sharp eyes flicked briefly toward Hermione, who flushed with pride at the small nod.
Her gaze then lingered, just a second too long, on Inosuke.
"This week, we will continue the exercise. The goal remains to transform your matchstick into a needle. But I will expect greater refinement this time—accuracy of shape, of size, of material." She flicked her wand and a neat pile of matchsticks appeared at every desk with a sharp crack.
"You will focus carefully," McGonagall continued, her tone brooking no argument. "Wand movement precise, incantation clear, intent unwavering. Magic responds to discipline."
She looked directly at Inosuke for that last sentence. Hermione suppressed a nervous sigh.
Around the room, students eagerly pulled out their wands, the air buzzing with nervous energy.
"Begin," McGonagall ordered.
Hermione straightened, heart pounding. She whispered the incantation carefully, wand flicking with perfect precision. Her matchstick quivered, shimmered, and began to lengthen. Silver gleamed along its surface, though it stubbornly remained too thick and clumsy. She bit her lip and tried again.
To her right, Inosuke didn't move at first. He just sat, head tilted toward the matchstick, turning it between his fingers like he was weighing prey. His mask's snout caught the light as his body tensed with a strange, feral focus.
Hermione glanced at him. "Are you going to try?" she hissed under her breath.
He didn't answer. He tapped the matchstick on the desk once, twice, as though testing its sturdiness. Then, gripping his wand not like a tool but like a weapon, he slammed it downward in a decisive motion.
The air rippled.
Hermione gasped as the matchstick shimmered violently and reshaped itself in an instant.
Not into an ordinary needle.
Into a perfect, gleaming silver needle topped with a carved boar's head, tusks curling outward, fur detailed in delicate etchings. Its eyes seemed to gleam with feral life, as though the object had absorbed part of his will.
The room went utterly still.
Every student froze, heads turning toward the spectacle. Even those who had been mid-incantation faltered, their spells fizzling out as they gawked at the gleaming object.
Professor McGonagall's breath caught audibly. She swept forward with uncharacteristic haste, heels striking the floor like hammer blows. For a rare moment, her controlled mask slipped, and she looked genuinely startled.
"Inosuke," she said, her voice unusually measured. She leaned closer, examining the object. "Did you—create this?"
He tapped the needle with one finger. "Told it what to be. It listened."
Hermione's mouth fell open. That wasn't how Transfiguration worked. You couldn't just tell an object what to become. You had to focus on the structure, balance its essence, shape it with theory and precision. And yet… here it was, real and solid, as though his brute force of will had bent the laws themselves.
It wasn't refined. It wasn't logical. But it was undeniably effective.
McGonagall picked up the needle delicately, turning it in her fingers. The craftsmanship was undeniable—the boar's head detail not an accident but a deliberate shaping, as though the transformation had been sculpted.
"Incredible…" she muttered before catching herself. Straightening, she set the needle back down with brisk finality. "It appears Mr. Hashibira has… found his own method of success."
The class erupted into whispers.
"He didn't even say the spell!"
"Is that allowed?"
"How did he do that?"
Hermione leaned toward him, voice hushed but sharp. "That's not possible! You didn't even—"
"Didn't need to," he interrupted flatly. "If it's gonna change, it should change strong. Weak sticks are useless. This one's better."
Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead, torn between frustration and awe. He had bypassed every fundamental step she had studied, ignored every lecture—and still outdone nearly everyone. It was infuriating. It was… remarkable.
McGonagall returned to the front of the room, regaining her composure, though her eyes strayed toward Inosuke more often than not. "Class," she declared, voice sharp again, "observe carefully. While Mr. Hashibira's… approach is unconventional, it demonstrates that strength of will is as vital as proper wandwork. That said—do not attempt to copy him. We learn rules before we break them."
Hermione bit her tongue. She wanted to point out that he hadn't learned any rules at all.
The rest of the lesson limped along in comparison. Students managed partial changes, some improved from the previous week, but the shining boar-headed needle on Inosuke's desk stole every furtive glance. Even the most diligent workers grew distracted, murmuring about his feat.
When the bell finally rang, Hermione gathered her things, still buzzing with restless energy. Inosuke pocketed the needle without hesitation, claiming it like a hunter taking a trophy.
"That was… amazing," Hermione admitted reluctantly as they walked out. "But also completely illogical! You can't just brute-force magic into working like that—it doesn't make sense!"
Inosuke snorted. "Don't care. Worked. That's what matters."
Hermione spluttered, ready to argue, then stopped. She couldn't deny it. He had succeeded in a way no one else had.
Behind them, Professor McGonagall lingered at her desk, her expression unreadable. She was strict, yes. Demanding, absolutely. But she knew talent when she saw it—even if it came wrapped in chaos.
And Inosuke Hashibira was nothing if not chaos.
She made a mental note then and there: this boy would require even more close watching. His potential was immense—but so too was the danger of leaving such raw, untamed power unchecked.