We filed into the Great Hall for breakfast. Erwin couldn't help but marvel at yet another Hogwarts surprise. How had this house-elf, Dobby, mastered Dan Dan Noodles? The noodles were perfectly springy, topped with a generous sprinkle of crushed peanuts. It was spot on—absolutely brilliant.
Erwin savored every bite, feeling utterly content. This was living! House-elves were a godsend. He wondered if he could persuade Hogwarts to let him take one home. Dobby's skills outshone even the Muggle chef he'd hired back at the manor, though that was partly due to the remote location making specialists hard to find.
Bellies full, Erwin led the first-year Slytherins to Transfiguration class. Malfoy had been buzzing with anticipation since dawn, his excitement impossible to contain. No, it went further—ever since breakfast, he'd been practically vibrating. The other students shot him odd looks, wondering if he'd lost his mind.
In the classroom, Erwin claimed a prime seat midway back, as suggested by the Marauder's Map. From there, he had a clear view of everyone, including Malfoy, who plonked himself front and center. The choice baffled the others. McGonagall's lessons usually sent everyone but the top students—like Erwin or Hermione—scrambling to the rear. So why was Malfoy hogging the spotlight today?
Once settled, Malfoy's eyes locked onto Harry Potter with blatant challenge. Harry blinked in confusion, rolled his eyes, and turned back to Ron, resuming their chat. A flicker of irritation crossed Malfoy's face.
Erwin stifled a grin. Jealousy? It figured—Malfoy's fixation on Harry wasn't purely rivalry. The underlying tension screamed hidden crush. Erwin could already picture the fanfiction; it was right up his alley.
Professor McGonagall swept in moments later, silencing the room. "Before we begin," she announced, "let's review your homework. I'd like to see how you've practiced the matchstick transfiguration. No one's required to complete it, but I do hope for a pleasant surprise."
Her gaze lingered on Erwin. After all, he was the only one in the room she'd seen pull off a flawless transformation.
But then, to everyone's astonishment—including McGonagall's—Malfoy's hand shot up like a rocket. His face beamed with the smugness of a conquering hero, eyes alight with eager triumph.
McGonagall eyed him warily. Was Malfoy ill? Possessed? She approached cautiously. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy? Do you need the lavatory?"
Erwin nearly choked on a laugh. McGonagall wasn't kidding; Malfoy's reputation preceded him that thoroughly.
Malfoy blinked. "What? No! I finished the homework. Aren't you checking it?"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "You finished it?"
He nodded vigorously.
"Very well. Show me."
Malfoy drew his wand, focusing intently on the matchsticks before him. He was determined to shine—to prove himself as a true Slytherin, defending the family's platinum-blond legacy, just as Erwin had urged him yesterday.
From the Gryffindor side, Ron whispered to Harry, "Watch this. The slimy Slytherins are up to their usual attention-grabbing nonsense." He'd picked up the phrase from Hermione's scolding the day before—life's funny that way, throwing in unexpected lessons.
Harry smirked. He didn't buy it either. Erwin's success? Fair enough. But Malfoy? No chance. Deep down, Harry nursed his own pride as the Boy Who Lived. If he couldn't outdo Erwin, no way would Malfoy leapfrog him. He didn't realize his talent placed him mid-pack among the first-years—solid start, middling aptitude, and effort that lagged behind the pack.
Malfoy flicked his wand and murmured the incantation. McGonagall watched, impressed despite herself. His form was textbook-perfect, no stumbles. The matchsticks shimmered, then morphed into sleek silver needles.
Malfoy's grin widened to Cheshire proportions.
McGonagall inspected them closely, her surprise evident. Flawless. Malfoy had actually done it.
Gasps rippled through the class. The Slytherins exchanged stunned glances— their resident slacker had been grinding in secret? Crabbe and Goyle looked outright betrayed.
Ron and Harry gaped. Malfoy succeeded?
Malfoy swiveled triumphantly toward them, eyes gleaming with mockery. Harry dropped his gaze, cheeks burning. Malfoy's victory tasted sweet.
"Outstanding, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall declared, setting the needles down. "Slytherin awards ten house points!"
Malfoy beamed—he'd actually contributed to the house! Erwin chuckled, pleased for the lad.
Then, a familiar chime echoed in his mind: [Malfoy has earned 10 house points under the host's guidance. The host gains 100 fame points! Keep up the excellent work!]