The Slytherins shared their Transfiguration class with the Gryffindors, but the lion cubs were running late. When Erwin stepped into the classroom, his eyes immediately fell on a gray tabby cat with distinctive black stripes lounging on the professor's desk. Square markings around its eyes mimicked the frames of eyeglasses.
Erwin resisted the impulse to stroke its fur. He wasn't about to admit that fear held him back. Instead, he approached the desk and gave a slight bow to the cat—Professor McGonagall in her Animagus form—before retreating to his seat.
Time ticked on, and the Gryffindors finally trickled in. Erwin marveled at the plot's unyielding pull, much like in the books. He'd spotted Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at breakfast in the Great Hall that very morning. So why the delay now?
He watched as the pair, spotting the empty desk and assuming the professor absent, tried to slink to their seats unnoticed. Erwin shook his head. Predictably, Professor McGonagall sprang her trap.
In a fluid leap from the desk, the tabby transformed mid-air into the stern witch herself, her robes settling neatly around her. The class gaped in astonishment.
Ron blurted out, "That was brilliant!"
Professor McGonagall's voice was ice: "Thank you for that keen observation, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps I should transfigure you into a clock to instill some punctuality."
Harry jumped in hastily. "We got lost, Professor. The stairs—they kept changing—"
She cut him off. "Then maybe one of you needs to become a map. Or a compass."
She showed no favoritism, not even to the famous Harry Potter. Erwin found her impartiality downright intimidating—no one escaped her sharp judgment unscathed.
Chastened, Harry and Ron hurried to their seats. Professor McGonagall turned her gaze to Erwin. "Mr. Cavendish, how did you recognize me so quickly?"
Erwin rose smoothly. "As Head of Gryffindor and a legendary Hogwarts professor, your reputation precedes you. Your Animagus registration is public record in the faculty files, which I've reviewed as a student. And those markings around your eyes? They match the frames of your square spectacles perfectly."
She allowed a rare smile. "Excellent observation. Slytherin earns five points—for your knowledge and your flattery."
"Thank you, Professor," Erwin replied with another bow, resuming his seat.
A chime echoed in his mind: [Congratulations, host. Slytherin has gained five points, converted to fifty wizarding acclaim!]
Erwin blinked, then grinned inwardly. A breakthrough—this house points system could be gamed. One point equaled ten acclaim? If true, the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts were in for a show. Behold the top scholar, forged in Muggle academic training!
Professor McGonagall ascended the podium, wand in hand. "Before we dive in, a warning: Transfiguration is among the most complex and dangerous subjects you'll face here. Anyone who disrupts my class will regret it—I trust you know the penalties."
She tapped the desk. In an instant, it became a pig with enormous, flapping ears, rooting curiously at the floor. The class fell silent, mesmerized. Erwin's interest piqued; he'd always pondered the mechanics behind such feats—turning the lifeless into the living, complete with natural instincts. The last wizard he'd read about with such finesse? Merlin himself.
Satisfied with their awe, Professor McGonagall flicked her wand again. "Finite Incantatem." The pig reverted to the desk.
"Right, that's your demonstration. Now, the incantation: Transfigure! Counter-spells can wait. Your task: turn the match before you into a silver needle. Questions?"
The students buzzed with anticipation, but Erwin raised his hand. Professor McGonagall nodded. "Yes, Mr. Cavendish?"
"Professor," he began, "I've been mulling this since poring over my textbooks over the summer. Just now, you transfigured the desk into a pig—a masterful switch. But what if someone cast Transfiguration on that pig, reverting it to a desk? Would it be doubly transfigured, or effectively counter-spelled?"
The class leaned in, intrigued. Professor McGonagall paused, clearly caught off guard by the layered query. It bordered on theoretical magic.
After a moment, she replied, "Transfiguration theory prohibits layering spells on the same object without consequence."
Erwin shook his head. "With respect, Professor, that doesn't hold. Observe." He drew his wand and aimed at his match. "Transfigure!"
The wood shimmered, morphing into a crude metal needle—close, but not quite silver.
Her eyes gleamed with approval. "Impressive, if unpolished. Slytherin, another five points."
Erwin inclined his head. "Thank you. But my point stands: I've transfigured it once, yet it's imperfect. Surely I can cast again to refine it? Without counter-spells at our disposal, trial and error is the only path to perfection."