Professor McGonagall drew her wand and pointed it at the desk. After a ripple of twisting change, the teacher's desk turned into a plump, rosy pink pig.
The pig looked adorable, like someone's pampered house pet. Its skin was spotless, not a speck of dirt on it, and there was no doubt it would taste delicious if roasted.
The students were completely captivated by her Transfiguration, desperate to learn how to do it themselves.
Harry was excited too. He couldn't manage Transfiguration at this level yet.
At best he could turn a stool into a cup—anything bigger than that was still beyond him.
But he had his own advantage: he could make his transformations permanent. And once he got back to Kamar-Taj, the amount of controllable magic in his body would multiply several times over. By then, he might be able to perform Transfiguration on McGonagall's level with ease.
Professor McGonagall was quite pleased with the effect. She had the whole class in the palm of her hand now; even the worst troublemakers were sure to behave themselves for a while.
She picked up the textbook and began the lesson.
Harry had to admit, she really was a true master of Transfiguration. Even with his self-study already at a fourth- or fifth-year level, he still found plenty of insight in her explanations.
Before long, after they had taken down pages of notes, Professor McGonagall handed each of them a matchstick and told them to try turning it into a needle.
Harry pointed his wand at his matchstick, and it quickly became a needle.
The tip was sharp, the body a smooth cylinder, with an eye at the end for thread—a perfect needle.
Seeing it, Professor McGonagall was overjoyed. Harry's talent was excellent—far better than merely "good". Even she hadn't managed it that well on her own first try.
Without a doubt, Harry would grow into a Transfiguration master greater than herself.
Beaming, she awarded points to her House.
"Marvelous Transfiguration, Mr Potter. Five points to Gryffindor!"
The students broke into applause, celebrating the first points of the new term.
Aside from Harry, only Hermione managed to make her matchstick change shape at all, but with Harry's flawless example right there, Hermione's effort didn't shine quite as brightly.
Even so, Professor McGonagall gave her a rare smile and awarded Gryffindor another point.
A small number, perhaps—but a point is still a point, isn't it?
Because Harry finished his transformation so quickly, the rest of the class soon turned to him for help.
Harry answered their questions one by one.
All of a sudden, the chaos magic in his body gave a tiny tremor—a warning of danger.
Harry didn't hesitate. He flung his hand toward the source of the threat and cast:
"No—wait!"
His telekinesis smacked Seamus's matchstick out of his hand. It smashed through a window, and a deafening explosion went off outside.
The students were terrified, everyone staring at Seamus in shock.
"No way—that was just Transfiguration! How did it explode?!"
"That was awful. If it had gone off next to us, we'd be in pieces!"
They all started scolding Seamus, but Harry was staring at him instead, eyes shining.
Holy crap—what kind of golden child was this? Even Harry didn't have an innate explosion trait like that.
If he could lend Seamus enough magic and study the structure of that power, he might be able to analyse its nature and develop an insanely powerful explosion spell.
There was no way he was letting this borrower get away.
Professor McGonagall was badly shaken by what had just happened. She docked ten points from Seamus but gave ten points to Harry in compensation.
She gazed into Harry's bright green eyes, liking him more with every passing second. Inwardly, she thought:
"This child is like me—clever and steady. Perhaps I should consider encouraging him to stay on at Hogwarts one day."
A talent like this would be wasted anywhere else.
...
After Transfiguration came Herbology, taught by Professor Pomona Sprout.
She was short and stocky, with a mane of flyaway grey hair, a patched hat, and earth smeared all over her clothes. She was cheerful and full of compassion.
This subject might not do much for Harry's combat ability, but he found it fascinating all the same.
Whether it was shrieking Mandrakes, light-shy Devil's Snare, or biting cabbages that tried to chomp on anything in reach, all these magical plants he'd never seen before brought him a different kind of joy.
They reminded him of his first journey through the multiverse with the Sorcerer Supreme.
After Herbology came History of Magic, taught by a ghost.
The story went that Professor Binns had once fallen asleep in front of the staff-room fireplace; the next morning, he'd gone straight to class and simply forgotten to bring his body with him. Ever since then, he'd carried on teaching History of Magic as a ghost.
His voice was so flat and monotonous that even Harry—who actually wanted to learn more about the wizarding world through History of Magic—found himself nodding off.
Charms was taught by Professor Filius Flitwick, who had a trace of goblin blood.
He was remarkably tiny; in order to reach the top of the desk, he had to stand on a stack of books.
Harry solved the problem by shrinking the desk with Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick looked as though a whole new world had opened up to him. He grabbed Harry's hand and shook it fervently in thanks.
When he began roll call and came to Harry's name, some thought flashed through his mind and he promptly toppled off the stack of books, burying himself in the pile.
He was a very entertaining teacher.
Astronomy was taught at night by Professor Aurora Sinistra.
That class mainly involved observing the stars and learning the patterns of the sky. It was very similar to its Muggle counterpart and didn't warrant much comment.
The subject everyone was looking forward to most was Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Every young witch and wizard had heard of the Dark Lord; they all wanted to learn how to defend themselves against black magic.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was also meant to be the most varied subject. Sometimes the professor would even pretend to be a dark wizard and duel with the students.
For that reason, Defence Against the Dark Arts was supposed to be freer, looser, and more exciting than other classes—the one every student eagerly anticipated.
But disappointment came quickly. In Quirrell's hands, the whole subject felt like a joke.
He reeked of garlic so strongly that the smell filled the entire classroom.
All he did was drone straight from the textbook. Apart from bragging about himself now and then, there was nothing of value in his lessons.
With teaching like this, how had Quirrell ever become a Hogwarts professor?
Even the driest teacher of all, Professor Binns, was still an incredibly learned ghost.
During class, Harry also noticed that Quirrell kept glancing in his direction. That alone wouldn't have been strange—plenty of teachers paid extra attention to him.
But Quirrell's eyes held a thin, hidden thread of malice. He concealed it well, but Harry's senses were keen enough to pick it up.
There was no doubt Quirrell was hiding something. The odds were high that he was not a good man—and possibly a dark wizard.
Harry didn't know why Dumbledore had allowed such a person to teach, but he himself had already lost interest.
The Sorcerer Supreme had never had much interest in the living dead; once he found a suitably dark and windy night, one stroke of his blade would be enough, and Hogwarts could welcome a far more competent Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in his place.
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