The first day of school dawned, and Icharus was a phantom in the yellow-tinged gloom of the Hufflepuff dormitory. He moved with a predator's quiet efficiency, freshening up before gently rousing his roommates. "We wouldn't want to be late on the first day, would we?" he murmured, his voice the picture of friendly concern. In his mind, the day's timetable was already etched: Transfiguration, a test of will; Potions, a gauntlet run by the formidable Snape. Every class was a battlefield, every professor a gatekeeper to be charmed or conquered.
His first strategic move was deliberate. He stopped by another dormitory, finding Rolf Scamander wrestling with a disobedient, brightly-feathered bird. "Good morning," Icharus said, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm heading to breakfast. Would you care to join me when you're ready?"
Rolf, flustered and grateful, asked for twenty minutes. Icharus simply smiled. "Of course. I'll wait for you." The hook was set; the Beast-Speaker was now on a leash, however long and invisible.
In the common room, he turned his charm on his own roommates. Ernie Macmillan was already holding forth. "—and our greenhouses supply ingredients to the most esteemed apothecaries in Diagon Alley," he boasted.
"Really?" Icharus replied, his eyes wide with feigned admiration. "You must have an incredible innate talent for Herbology and Potions. It must be in your blood." He then let his shoulders slump, his voice dropping to a pitiful whisper. "I've heard Professor Snape can be brutal. Do you think... we could be partners?"
Ernie swelled under the flattery. "I suppose I could guide you, Rodrigus. It's the duty of those with breeding to assist."
Simultaneously, Icharus engaged Justin Finch-Fletchley. He praised football, expressed awe at Justin's Eton acceptance, and remarked, "Someone with your mind could have given any Ravenclaw a run for their money."
The effect was masterful. Both Justin and Ernie, who had privately feared their sorting into Hufflepuff was a mark of mediocrity, now felt seen and valued.
"Thank you, Icharus," Justin said sincerely.
"Any time you need help, old boy," Ernie added pompously.
Icharus offered them a warm, grateful smile. "That means more than you know." Internally, his mind was a fortress of cold calculation. The foundations are laid. The lamb trusts the butcher. All is proceeding.
When Rolf joined them, the four boys set out, only to find themselves at the mercy of Hogwarts's enchanted staircases. For thirty frustrating minutes, they were led in circles.
"This is a menace!" Ernie huffed, just as they spotted Cedric Diggory calmly guiding a group of lost first-years.
Icharus immediately crafted his face into a mask of desperate relief. "Senior! Please, can you take us to the Great Hall? We're trapped in this maze."
Cedric smiled. "Happens to everyone at first. Follow me."
As they walked, Icharus's eyes traced the lines of Cedric's body beneath his robes. A raw, hungry fantasy flashed in his mind. He forced the primal urge down, cooling it with glacial strategy. Not yet. Wait for the Siren's Theft Ritual. Then I'll draw more than just pleasure from him.
He kept up a stream of grateful conversation until they reached the bustling Great Hall. Over breakfast, he willed the System interface to life. A new task glowed before him.
[New Task: Scholarly Acclaim]
Objective: Impress at least 3 professors in class, earning their positive opinion.
Duration: 1 week.
Reward: 50 System Points, System Backpack (3-item capacity).
Finally, a path to the Market, he thought, and accepted.
Closing the interface, he turned to Rolf. "Speaking of fantastic creatures, what can you tell me about Demiguises? I've read they're incredibly peaceful."
Rolf's face lit up. "Oh, they're wonderful! But my grandfather has a whole colony—ten of them! If you're really interested, you could come see them at our home during the Christmas holidays!"
Icharus's eyes widened with perfectly feigned excitement. The path to the Demiguise's blood had just been laid out before him.
After breakfast, they navigated to the Transfiguration classroom. A tabby cat was perched sternly on the teacher's desk. While others chattered, Icharus settled in the last row and opened his textbook.
The moment the class was due to start, the cat flowed into the formidable form of Professor McGonagall. She began with a stern warning, demonstrated by turning a desk into a pig, and then launched into the theory. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. It is governed by Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. While the full law has five principal exceptions, the part relevant to you today is that you cannot create something from nothing. You are not creating a needle; you are altering the matchstick's physical properties—its shape, its material essence."
She paced before them. "Success hinges on three pillars: a clear mental image, precise wand movement, and most importantly, the magical will to enforce your desire upon reality. You must not just want the change; you must command it. Visualize the needle's sharp point, its metallic coldness, its purpose. Your will is the bridge between image and reality."
Then, she handed out matchsticks. "Your task is to transform this into a needle. Do not expect success today."
The room filled with frustrated whispers. Then, from the Ravenclaw side, a matchstick on Padma Patil's desk shimmered and transformed into a blunt, metallic needle. It was clumsy, but unmistakably a needle.
"Well done, Miss Patil! Ten points to Ravenclaw!" Professor McGonagall announced. "Note the clear change in material, though the form lacks sharpness. The will was present but could be refined."
A moment later, Terry Boot managed a similar feat, his needle also lacking a point but holding its shape. "Another ten points to Ravenclaw! The foundation is there."
Icharus watched, his competitive ire rising. He closed his eyes, recalling her instructions. He formed a crystal-clear image of a thin, sharp, cold iron needle, focusing on the fine point. He channeled his magic, and with a faint shimmer, the matchstick transformed. For a single, glorious second, it was a perfect, sharply-pointed needle. Then, it reverted with a soft puff.
It was enough. Professor McGonagall's sharp eyes had caught the fleeting, superior transformation. She glided to his desk. "Again, Mr. Rodrigus."
He repeated the process, his brow furrowed. The needle appeared, its point keen for a heartbeat, then collapsed back into wood.
"The transfiguration is conceptually sound," she stated. "Your visualization is excellent—the sharpness proves it. But it lacks the sustained will to make it permanent. Your will must be an iron clamp. You must command the change."
Internally, Icharus cursed. He glanced at his mental panel. Will: 3. So that was the bottleneck.
For the remainder of the class, as others gave up, he tirelessly tried again and again, each attempt lasting a fraction of a second longer. He wasn't just practicing; he was fighting his own stat sheet.
As the bell rang, Professor McGonagall gave a rare, approving nod. "And ten points to Hufflepuff for Mr. Rodrigus's commendable persistence and a promising, sharp start. A lesson for you all: talent is nothing without dedication."
The points were irrelevant. The approval, however, was the first step. One professor down, two more to go. The System Backpack was within reach, and he had proven, if only for a second, that his potential outstripped even the brightest Ravens.