After breakfast, Victor and Hermione made their way through the corridors toward their first class of the day: Transfiguration.
The classroom was nearly empty when they arrived.
Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, illuminating rows of neatly arranged desks. At the front of the room stood a single table—and on it sat a cat, perfectly still, tail wrapped neatly around its paws.
Hermione slowed at once.
"Oh," she whispered, eyes lighting up. "Is that…?"
Victor glanced at the animal. "That would be the professor."
Hermione blinked. "The professor?"
"Animagus," Victor said quietly. "Professor McGonagall is famous for her mastery of Transfiguration."
Hermione stared at the cat again, astonishment plain on her face. "So that is the professor?"
"Yes," Victor replied. "Now let's go and sit."
They moved to a pair of desks near the front and took their seats.
From the table, the cat's sharp green eyes flicked toward them.
Professor Minerva McGonagall had seen many things in her years at Hogwarts—but this was a first. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin arriving together, sitting side by side, and doing so as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She watched them for a brief moment, her expression unreadable.
'Ah, it's nice to be young.'
For a fleeting second, she found the sight quietly reassuring—a Gryffindor and a Slytherin arriving together, speaking easily, sitting side by side without a trace of hostility. It was how things ought to be.
Unfortunately, experience told her better.
Slytherin and Gryffindor had never mixed easily. Too much history, too much pride. Oil and water, more often than not.
Old rivalries had a way of renewing themselves every generation, no matter how many times the staff hoped otherwise.
Still… it was pleasant to see, even briefly.
Time passed, and the classroom gradually filled with students, the last few slipping into their seats.
Victor glanced around.
Draco had arrived—sitting upright and trying very hard to look attentive, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him as usual. At least his idiot brother had managed to be punctual.
But the other two troublemakers are nowhere to be found.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were nowhere to be seen.
Victor sighed inwardly.
'Those two are already breaking rules—on the very first day, in the very first class.'
The bell rang, sharp and clear, signalling the start of the lesson.
A moment later, the classroom door burst open.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley hurried in, slightly out of breath, robes askew.
Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment and sighed, clearly unimpressed.
Ron bent over, hands on his knees. "Whew! Made it," he whispered loudly. "Can you imagine the look on McGonagall's face if we were late?"
At that exact moment, the cat at the front of the classroom leapt gracefully from the desk.
In midair, it transformed.
The landing was precise, the motion seamless—and where the cat had been now stood Minerva McGonagall, her robes settling sharply as she turned to face them.
Harry and Ron froze.
Ron's eyes widened. "That was… bloody brilliant."
"Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said coolly. "Perhaps it would be more useful if I were to transfigure Mr. Potter and yourself into a pocket watch. That way, one of you might be on time."
A few students snickered quietly.
Harry swallowed. "We got lost."
"Then perhaps a map?" Professor McGonagall replied. Her gaze was sharp as she gestured toward the empty seats. "I trust you do not need one to find your places."
Harry and Ron hurried to their desks, faces burning as they slid into their seats.
"And five points from Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall added coolly, "for each of you—for being late."
A ripple went through the room.
Ten points gone. On the very first day.
Every Gryffindor head turned at once toward Harry and Ron. Some looked stunned; others looked openly betrayed. From the Slytherins came quiet amusement—smirks exchanged, eyes gleaming at the loss of points.
Hermione stared at them in disbelief, lips pressed into a thin line.
'Those idiots,' she thought fiercely.
Professor McGonagall turned back to the front of the room as if nothing more needed to be said.
"Now," she said crisply, "open your books."
And Transfiguration officially began.
Professor McGonagall turned to face the class, her expression composed once more.
"Transfiguration," she said, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
"You will be learning how to change the form and appearance of an object," she continued. "This is not simple magic, and it is not forgiving. Precision and concentration are essential."
Hermione was already scribbling notes, her earlier irritation forgotten.
Professor McGonagall surveyed the class sharply. "We will begin with the theory. Practical work will come later—once you understand what you are doing."
By the time Transfigurationclass ended, the day felt oddly short. For first-years, there were no more classes scheduled for the day, and the afternoon stretched ahead of them with unfamiliar freedom.
Later, the four of them—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Victor—sat together at the Gryffindor table. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, and the Great Hall hummed with relaxed conversation.
Hermione, however, was not relaxed.
"Do you two have no sense at all?" she demanded, glaring at Harry and Ron. "Late on the very first day, in the very first class—and you lose house points!"
Ron shrugged. "It's not like we wanted to be late. We got lost."
"You didn't get lost," Hermione shot back. "Everyone else managed just fine."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Hermione pressed on. "You woke up late, wandered around, and walked in without thinking. And now Gryffindor's already ten points down."
Ron replied. "It's only ten points."
Hermione looked as if she might combust. "Only ten points? That's how houses lose the House Cup—carelessness!"
Victor watched the exchange quietly, amused.
"You realise," Victor said calmly, "you've made an impression already."
Ron frowned and looked directly at him. "What are you doing at the Gryffindor table?" he asked, clearly annoyed by a Slytherin speaking to him like that.
Victor didn't rise to it. "There's no rule that says a Slytherin can't sit here," he replied evenly. "It's not mealtime—we're just talking about classes."
Hermione turned sharply toward Ron. "What is your problem?"
Ron hesitated, then blurted it out. "Because he's a Malfoy. You can't trust them."
The word hung there.
Victor's expression didn't change, but he looked at Ron with mild curiosity, as if examining a flawed argument.
"So," Victor said, "you've decided that based on my surname alone."
Ron shifted uncomfortably. "My family knows about yours. Malfoys don't exactly have a good reputation."
Victor nodded once. "On that, we agree. My family doesn't exactly inspire trust."
He stood. "If my presence bothers you," he said calmly, "I can leave."
Hermione looked up at him at once. "You don't have to."
Victor gave a small shrug. "Another time, then."
He turned and walked away, leaving behind an awkward silence at the table.
Hermione immediately rounded on Ron. "That was rude."
Ron scowled. "I'm just being careful."
Harry frowned. "She's right, Ron. You were rude."
Ron looked surprised. "What?"
"He didn't do anything wrong," Harry continued. "He wasn't insulting anyone. If he were like Draco, he wouldn't have left so politely."
Ron opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Hermione crossed her arms. "Exactly. He was just talking to us like a normal student. You're the one who made it awkward."
Harry glanced in the direction Victor had gone, thoughtful.
"It's only the first day," he said quietly. "Maybe we shouldn't decide what people are like so quickly."
No one argued with that.
*****
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