I am sorry to all the readers for the late updatemy. my work and laziness has almost consumed me in past few days I hope you all will forgive me and keep reading this.
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Chapter 23: The First Class of Transfiguration
The first official class on the schedule was Transfiguration, taught by none other than the strict but brilliant Professor Minerva McGonagall. For generations, students had whispered about her stern demeanor, unmatched skill, and the awe-inspiring magic she wielded in the classroom. Ashton, however, was not nervous. Rather, he felt a growing excitement to finally learn magic formally—not from books, but directly from one of the greatest witches alive.
As Ashton entered the classroom, his eyes were immediately drawn to a small tabby cat perched neatly on top of the professor's desk. To most of the students filing in, the cat looked entirely ordinary—its fur patterned with dark stripes, tail curled gracefully around its paws. However, Ashton noticed something peculiar. Around its eyes was a faint marking, almost like a pair of spectacles.
Ashton's eyes narrowed. He activated his unique magical sight, and instantly, the truth became obvious. The cat's magical signature radiated strongly, undeniably identical to that of Professor McGonagall. He had read about Animagi before—witches and wizards who could transform into animals at will—but to see it in person was far more fascinating.
Suppressing a smile, Ashton quietly made his way to an empty seat near the middle of the classroom. He had no intention of provoking the Animagus professor by staring too much. Instead, he sat down calmly, placing his wand neatly on the desk and folding his hands.
As more students trickled into the classroom, Ashton allowed his gaze to wander. Most of his classmates were already seated, whispering excitedly among themselves. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Yet, two very important seats remained empty—Harry Potter's and Ron Weasley's.
Five minutes passed. Just as the students began exchanging impatient glances, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. The classroom door burst open, and Harry and Ron stumbled in, clearly out of breath from running. Ron, red-faced, muttered in a panicked voice, "Blimey, if she were here, she'd have our heads!"
A few students chuckled, but before anyone could reply, the tabby cat leapt gracefully off the desk. The class gasped in unison as the animal twisted in mid-air and landed—not as a cat—but as Professor McGonagall herself. Tall, stern, and robed in deep emerald green, she adjusted her square spectacles, her lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line.
Harry and Ron froze, horror etched across their faces.
"I see," she said sharply, her Scottish accent crisp as a blade. "Well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, it seems punctuality is not your strongest quality." She allowed the silence to stretch, making them squirm before adding with a tone as cold as steel, "That will cost Gryffindor five points each. And I do hope you will not waste any more of my valuable teaching time."
Across the room, Draco Malfoy and his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle snickered loudly, their smug grins spreading like wildfire. The Gryffindor duo slunk to their seats in embarrassed silence, earning sympathetic looks from their housemates.
Ashton, meanwhile, watched the whole exchange with quiet amusement. Harry and Ron glanced in his direction as they passed, perhaps hoping for some sign of camaraderie, but Ashton merely raised an eyebrow and offered the faintest of smirks before returning his attention to the professor.
Once order was restored, Professor McGonagall wasted no time diving straight into the lesson. With a flick of her wand, she transformed her desk into a magnificent pig. then into a large silver goblet, and finally back into its original form. The transformations were seamless, perfect in execution, and breathtaking to behold.
A collective murmur of awe swept through the classroom. Even the lazier students who had been uninterested earlier sat up straighter, their eyes glued to the professor. Transfiguration was clearly not for the faint of heart.
"Transfiguration," McGonagall began, pacing the room with authority, "is among the most complex and dangerous branches of magic you will study at Hogwarts. Those who take it lightly will quickly find themselves in trouble. Mastery requires precision, concentration, and—above all—discipline. I expect nothing less than your full commitment."
Her sharp gaze swept across the class, daring anyone to look away. Even Malfoy straightened in his chair under that piercing stare.
"Now," she continued, "before we begin practical work, you must understand the basic principles. Transfiguration does not create something from nothing. That is impossible. Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration makes this clear. There are five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law, which we shall study thoroughly in time. For now, you need only remember that Transfiguration alters form, not essence."
She conjured a box of matchsticks with another precise flick of her wand. The sticks levitated through the air, distributing themselves to each student's desk.
"Your task," McGonagall instructed, "is to transform your matchstick into a needle. The wand movements are simple, but the concentration required is not. Begin."
The classroom filled with the sound of muttered incantations and the swishing of wands. Sparks flew here and there, and several students groaned in frustration as their matchsticks stubbornly refused to change. A few managed partial transformations—rounded ends, faint metallic gleams—but none produced a complete needle.
Ashton, however, approached the task differently. He picked up the matchstick, turning it over in his fingers, studying its grain and texture with his magical sight. He closed his eyes for a moment and envisioned the perfect needle in his mind—not just a simple sliver of metal, but a beautiful golden needle, engraved with intricate designs and his name etched onto its surface.
Without anyone noticing, he summoned his wand silently into his hand. Taking a deep breath, he whispered the incantation softly and swished his wand over the matchstick. But in that instant, something happened that even Ashton hadn't intended—his Phoenix Force surged forth, blending instinctively with the spell.
The matchstick shimmered, twisted, and reshaped itself with dazzling brilliance. When the glow faded, lying before him was not an ordinary needle, but a magnificent golden one. Elegant patterns adorned its surface, and his full name gleamed proudly along its shaft.
Ashton stared, momentarily stunned. Then he activated his magical eyes again and nearly dropped the object in shock. What he saw defied reason.
The needle's magical structure was utterly unique. In normal Transfiguration, the essence of the object remained the same. A matchstick transfigured into a needle was still, at its core, a matchstick. It required a constant supply of magic to maintain its altered form. Eventually, or if the caster's magic faded, the object would revert back.
But this—this was different. Ashton hadn't simply changed its appearance. The very essence of the matchstick had been rewritten. It was no longer wood masquerading as metal. It was pure gold, through and through. Permanent. Unalterable.
He had broken one of the foundational laws of Transfiguration.
His mind raced. This isn't supposed to be possible. Transfiguration is transformation, not creation. Have I… bypassed Gamp's Law? But how?
He stared at the golden needle, equal parts astonished and disturbed. The implications were staggering. If he could change the essence of objects, what else could he alter? Life itself? Reality?
While Ashton was lost in thought, Professor McGonagall was making her rounds, observing each student's progress. She offered firm corrections, stern encouragements, and the occasional sigh of exasperation. But when she reached Ashton's desk, she stopped abruptly.
Her sharp eyes widened slightly. "Mr. Willson," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief, "may I see your needle?"
Ashton handed it to her without hesitation. She examined it closely, turning it over in her fingers, her expression caught between amazement and suspicion. The entire class went silent, watching curiously.
Finally, McGonagall spoke, her tone firm yet unsteady. "Ten points to Slytherin," she announced. "Mr. Willson has completed the task first, and with remarkable precision. I have never seen a student perform such flawless Transfiguration on their first attempt."
The class erupted in whispers. Heads turned toward Ashton, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, admiration, and envy.
Harry stared at him in astonishment. Ron's expression was an almost comical mix of disbelief and indignation—his wide eyes practically shouted, Are you serious?! Hermione, though equally stunned, leaned forward with genuine intrigue. She had read extensively on Transfiguration, and even she had never heard of such success from a first-year.
Professor McGonagall wasn't finished. She looked directly at Ashton, her voice quieter but heavy with curiosity. "Tell me, Mr. Willson, have you practiced Transfiguration before this class?"
"yes, Professor," Ashton answered calmly. "and I've also read the entire first-year textbook thoroughly… as well as the second-year book."
A stunned silence filled the room. Even Malfoy, who had been smirking earlier, gaped slightly at the response.
McGonagall's eyes softened, but then suddenly, as she moved to return the needle, she froze. Her hand stopped mid-air. Her brows furrowed deeply, and she brought the needle closer to her face for a second, sharper inspection.
Her expression shifted—no longer merely impressed, but troubled.
(to be continued…)