[Note: Read up to Chapter - 103 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]
.
.
.
.
"Mr Shafiq, is there something you don't understand?"
Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to lose her temper—but when she saw Aris's hand raised, she bit it back, her tone frosty but composed.
"If… and I mean if… a young wizard's already mastered all the material from the first-year Transfiguration syllabus," Aris began, "could they be granted certain privileges?"
"For instance… permission to skip class and study independently in the library?"
"Mr Shafiq," McGonagall said sharply, her gaze narrowing.
"I take it the young wizard you're referring to is yourself?"
"Correct," Aris replied calmly.
He wasn't trying to be cheeky—he simply didn't want to spend time sitting through lessons that no longer challenged him. Might as well get straight to the point and try to secure the Transfiguration exemption.
"If you can successfully transform the matchstick in front of you into a needle…"
McGonagall's tone grew even more serious, and the weight of her words quickly settled over the classroom.
Even the other students could feel the shift in atmosphere—tension thick in the air.
"Professor… truth is, I already can," Aris said evenly before she could finish.
The classroom erupted in hushed whispers.
Most of the students already knew about Aris's spell work talent from the previous class, and were still in awe.
But this was Transfiguration—an entirely different branch of magic.
"Do you think he's really got it in him? My dad always said Transfiguration's dead tricky—dangerous, even. Takes ages to get the hang of it…"
"I reckon Shafiq is just desperate to get out of McGonagall's class after she docked him points. Can't really blame him for trying his luck…"
"I admire his confidence and all, but challenging Professor McGonagall head-on like that? He's pushing it…"
"Wish him luck! If he really manages to turn that match into a needle, maybe Professor McGonagall will go a bit easy on him…"
Whispers like these echoed around the room, loud enough for Aris to hear—but he paid them no mind.
He understood one thing clearly: Professor McGonagall wasn't unreasonable.
"You'd best get on with it," she said curtly, her lips pressed into a firm line as she stared him down.
Aris gave a small, resigned sigh, but didn't hesitate.
He pulled out his wand and, without uttering a single word, aimed it directly at the match resting on his desk.
There was no chant—no dramatic flourish—just the quiet surge of magic rippling from his wand like an unseen breeze.
All eyes watched as the matchstick began to shimmer faintly.
The wooden surface gleamed, the dull texture smoothing into a polished shine. Fine lines appeared, curling into elegant patterns. The charred end reshaped itself, elongating into a fine point with a tiny hole at the top.
And right there, etched with precision, was the elegant curve of an eagle's beak—the emblem of Ravenclaw House.
In the blink of an eye, the matchstick had transformed into a flawless embroidery needle—subtle, detailed, and undeniably impressive.
"Blimey, he actually did it!"
"Look at that! The needle's even got Ravenclaw's logo on it!"
"That's mental… When am I ever gonna manage a transformation like that?"
"No wonder he asked to be excused from class. If I could do that, I'd be off to the library too!"
The moment Aris lifted his wand, the room had gone dead silent.
But now? The classroom buzzed with chatter—half awestruck admiration, half barely concealed envy.
Up at the front, Professor McGonagall approached Aris's desk briskly, her eyes fixed on the transformed needle.
She picked it up, inspecting it with great care. Her expression shifted—first surprise, then something unreadable, until at last, a mix of disbelief and quiet astonishment settled in.
"You've really done it," she said at last, turning to Aris with a tone laced with both shock and admiration. "You actually managed it."
"Professor, this is probably nothing for Aris…"
A timid voice chimed in from the Hufflepuff section. One of the students raised her hand cautiously and added, "I heard he turned a mouse into a goblet… on the train!"
That caught both Aris and Professor McGonagall off-guard.
"Hannah," Aris blinked, turning to the girl with mild surprise, "how on earth did you find that out?"
Professor McGonagall didn't interrupt. In fact, she seemed just as curious.
The little Hufflepuff—Hannah, evidently—looked a tad flustered. She fidgeted, then whispered, "Well… I sort of traded a slice of ham with a Gryffindor boy. He was being all mysterious about it, and I thought it might be some juicy gossip."
She scratched her cheek sheepishly. "When he told me, I thought he was just having a laugh. But after seeing that spell just now… I think he might've been telling the truth."
As her words settled over the room, the other students fell quiet once more.
Even McGonagall was momentarily stunned.
Because if anyone understood just how advanced a mouse-to-goblet transfiguration was—especially for a first-year—it was her.
"That's true, isn't it?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked to Aris.
Aris gave a helpless shrug and smiled. "I suppose… she's not wrong."
He hadn't expected turning a match into a needle to be enough to earn him any special privileges from the famously strict professor.
But now? Well, let's just say things were looking up.
What Aris hadn't expected was that the tale of him turning Scabbers into a goblet on the train had already made its way quietly around the school.
It took Professor McGonagall a moment to collect herself. She glanced once more at the needle in her hand—complete with its intricate design and Ravenclaw emblem—before her expression hardened slightly.
She turned on her heel, marched back to the front of the classroom, and, after a quick glance at Aris's hopeful face, spoke in a firm tone:
"No matter what, Mr Shafiq, you're not leaving my class today."
And with that, she turned away and resumed chalking the unfinished section of Gamp's Law on the blackboard, continuing the lesson as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
At that, several of the younger students shot Aris sympathetic looks.
To them, it was obvious: the professor must be fuming. Any teacher would be, after being shown up by a first-year in front of the whole class.
Clearly, Professor McGonagall was simply bottling up her frustration, and any moment now, it was going to come bursting out.
But Aris didn't say another word. Instead, he calmly reached into his bag and pulled out a different book—not the standard first-year Transfiguration text, but one he'd bought from Flourish and Blotts titled Transfiguration and Invisibility.
Surprisingly, Professor McGonagall didn't scold him for it. She didn't so much as glance his way.
That, more than anything, put Aris at ease. He could more or less guess what was going through the professor's mind.
After all, she wasn't just any teacher—she was the stern but respected Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House. Letting him walk out of the classroom mid-lesson would've undermined her authority in front of the other students.
But still, Aris could tell.
She'd acknowledged his talent.
And that alone meant half the battle was already won.
As for the other half of the plan—well, that'd have to wait until after class, when Aris could drop by the office and see how the negotiation played out.
"Wand, wand, turn this bloody match into a needle!"
Time ticked on, and the young witches and wizards had already started attempting to transfigure the matches on their desks into needles, just as Professor McGonagall had instructed.
Aris couldn't help but chuckle when he heard Terry beside him muttering some garbled version of the spell, clearly on the verge of giving up.
It seemed the Transfiguration homework was driving the lot of them up the wall.
"Aris, mate, could you show me how to turn this damned match into a needle already?" Terry eventually asked, sounding thoroughly defeated.
Aris thought for a moment before replying, "Do you know what a needle's made of?"
Terry furrowed his brow, then hesitantly said, "Er... iron?"
"Spot on," Aris nodded.
"Well, everyone knows that," Terry sighed, relieved he hadn't missed something obvious.
"But do you know what elements make up iron?" Aris asked again, his tone calm.
"This... erm..." Terry trailed off, clearly stumped. After a long pause, he still didn't have an answer.
"You see," Aris continued, "when you study closely what a needle's made of—its exact materials, its structure, every little detail of its appearance..."
"If you've properly prepared and visualised it all, you'll find the spell comes much easier."
Terry blinked a few times, clearly turning the explanation over in his head, then sank into his chair, lost in thought.
Seeing this, Aris left him to it.
Up front, Professor McGonagall had been watching the exchange. A flicker of light passed through her eyes, but she said nothing. Instead, she carried on pacing between the rows of desks, offering guidance to the struggling students as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Half an hour later, the Transfiguration class came to an end.
Professor McGonagall swept out of the room the moment it was dismissed, and even when Aris called after her, she didn't so much as glance back.
That reaction took Aris by surprise, and a slight frown creased his brow.
"What's that supposed to mean, Professor?" he muttered to himself, brow furrowed.
He ran back through everything that had happened in class.
"Are you actually angry and just can't be bothered to speak to me?"
"Or is it that what I said about the nature of magic rubbed you up the wrong way?"
After giving it some thought, he still couldn't figure it out.
So, with a shrug, he set the matter aside and headed off to the Great Hall for lunch.
Best get some proper food in—he'd need the energy for the afternoon classes.
Now, what was on after lunch again?
Potions... and Defence Against the Dark Arts? Two lessons, back-to-back.
He groaned inwardly.
And still no sign of Divination on the timetable.
That was a bit of a pain.
Ever since merging with Merlin's talent card, he'd gained a knack for fortune-telling—well, supposedly.
But he hadn't had a chance to properly explore that talent, let alone practise it.
Not that he even knew where to begin.
—
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office
Not long after class ended, Professor McGonagall arrived in a flurry, clearly in a bit of a mood.
She muttered the password, stepped onto the moving staircase, and made her way up into the office.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, you really must do something about Mr Shafiq!" she declared the moment she stepped through the door, storming up to his desk, looking like she meant business.
Dumbledore, ever calm and collected, looked up from the parchments on his desk.
"What's happened, Minerva?" he asked gently, as if half-expecting the conversation already.
"That little rascal caused a stir in my class today," she huffed, folding her arms.
"He had the nerve to ask me for permission to skip lessons. Can you believe it?"
Her eyes flashed with irritation.
"Yes, he did manage to transfigure a match into a needle—beautifully, I'll admit—but still! That's hardly the attitude a first-year should be showing."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.
"So, the boy's shown talent in Transfiguration as well, has he?"
"What exactly are you getting at?" McGonagall frowned.
"Filius was here earlier," Dumbledore said with a faint, knowing smile. "I rather think you'll be interested in what he had to say…"
"He's been here too?" McGonagall blinked, surprised.
"Indeed. He believes young Mr. Shafiq has quite the gift for charms—extraordinary, in fact. And surely that's something to celebrate, wouldn't you say?"
The old headmaster leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful.
"He's suggested that we draw up a special curriculum for the boy, to match his self-study progress—and perhaps assign him some personal guidance."
He paused, then asked mildly, "What are your thoughts on the matter, Minerva?"
McGonagall fell silent for a moment, clearly weighing her response. After a brief sigh, she replied:
"It might not be such a bad idea after all… Otherwise, that boy's bound to cause disruption in my classroom on a daily basis!"
Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "Since you're open to it, why not consider how best to support this gifted child? I imagine he could benefit greatly from your expertise."
"But this sort of thing doesn't exactly fit into the school's standard curriculum," she muttered, though her expression had softened.
Still, it was clear from the look in her eyes that she wasn't truly opposed—more resigned than anything else.
"Brilliant minds are often a step ahead," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "It's up to us to give them the space to grow, don't you think?"
McGonagall sighed again, though this time with a faint smile of her own.
"I suppose we've no choice, then."
Truth be told, McGonagall hadn't come just to complain about Aris's so-called misconduct. If that were the case, she wouldn't have led with the fact that he'd successfully completed the fire transformation.
Her real goal, much like Professor Flitwick's, was to secure a special privilege for Aris.
The problem was, nearly half of Hogwarts' academic framework had been shaped by this strict yet endearing professor. For her to publicly bend the very rules she'd spent years upholding—just for a first-year student—would risk undermining her authority across the board.
So, she opted for a classic tactic: retreat in order to advance. Come to Dumbledore looking flustered and frustrated, and let him be the one to "suggest" the exception.
Naturally, Dumbledore saw straight through it.
"By the way, Minerva," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "any fresh breakthroughs in your research on the nature of magic?"
The mention of it clearly touched a nerve. McGonagall's expression darkened with irritation.
"Thanks to that boy," she huffed, "I broke my personal vow never to be late to class!"
"So? What do you make of that, then?"
She didn't answer—just turned and marched off, robes swishing behind her.
Dumbledore chuckled softly, watching her retreat. But then, a thoughtful expression crossed his face.
"Aris Shafiq…" he murmured to himself.
"You really are beginning to resemble him."
"No… in sheer magical talent, you might've even surpassed that old rascal."
He paused, smiling faintly to himself.
"Surpassed me, too."
.
.
.
.
Drop power Powerstonessssssssss!
[Note: Read up to Chapter - 103 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]