In that History of Magic lesson, the Slytherins’ sharp minds might as well have been Ravenclaws. The entire class turned into a showcase for Hermione and Erwin, as the two of them racked up fifty points for their houses in a single session. Even Professor Cuthbert Binns, the ghostly instructor, cracked a rare smile. After all, every teacher appreciates standout students.
After class, on the way to the Great Hall, Hermione walked alongside Erwin, buzzing with excitent. "Erwin! Thank you so much! Ravenclaw feels perfect for . The older students—they’ve shown the pure joy of learning. I love this atmosphere!"
Erwin chuckled. "What suits you best is what matters. Congratulations, Hermione—you’ve found the house that’s truly yours."
She nodded eagerly. "Oh, right! I borrowed a book from one of the seniors. It’s packed with insights on the wizarding world. Want to read it? It’s too heavy for to lug around, so it’s in the common room. You can borrow it once I’m done."
Erwin pictured the doorstopper tos Hermione usually devoured—thicker than any dictionary. He waved her off. "No thanks. Enjoy it yourself."
"Oh," she said, sounding a touch deflated. Sharing knowledge was her favorite pasti, after all.
Erwin’s lips twitched in amusent. Top students were top students, no matter the house. Their enthusiasm could border on overwhelming, like trying to drag you into a marathon study session.
After a quick bite in the Great Hall, Erwin skipped heading back to the Slytherin common room with the others. Instead, he made for Professor McGonagall’s office.
"Professor McGonagall? It’s Erwin."
The door creaked open. Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, round spectacles perched on her nose, scribbling away. She gestured him in. "Erwin, take a seat. I’m just finishing tomorrow’s lesson materials. We’ll chat in a mont."
He nodded and glanced around the cozy office, bathed in warm orange light from a cluster of lamps. Shelves lined the walls, groaning under stacks of books, their spines worn from frequent use. No wonder Hermione idolized her—they shared that relentless drive and attention to detail. McGonagall’s desk was buried under even more volus, obscuring her entirely from Erwin’s view.
Half an hour ticked by before she straightened, rolling her shoulders with a sigh. "I’m really getting on in years."
"Professor," Erwin offered, "would you like a shoulder massage? It’s a Muggle technique—great for easing fatigue."
She blinked in surprise. "Such a thing exists?"
He smiled and stepped behind her, pressing gently into her tense muscles. McGonagall’s eyes fluttered shut. "My word, that’s remarkable. I feel refreshed already."
"You spend hours hunched over a desk," Erwin explained. "It strains your neck and shoulders—sothing magic can’t quite fix on its own."
She nodded appreciatively. "Fascinating. The Muggle world moves so quickly. Without magic, they’ve invented clever ways to fill the gap."
"Exactly. You should explore it more soti." He stepped back. "Feeling better? We can talk now."
As Erwin settled into his chair, McGonagall dove in. "I’ve looked into your idea about Transfiguration having inherent spells and counter-spells. Your hunch seems spot on, but for thoroughness, I’ll run a few more tests. That said, I doubt we’ll be far off. Start drafting a paper—I can submit it to so journals under your na. Once the Transfiguration Society verifies it, believe , you’ll make waves."
"Yes, Professor," Erwin replied, beaming. "I’ll get on it."
She inclined her head. "And if you hit any snags, co to . I’ll guide you through."
He laughed. "Thank you! Truth be told, I’m no expert in Transfiguration—it was just a stray thought. If I had to tackle this alone, I’d be a bundle of nerves."
"You’ve got real talent," she said firmly. "I can tell. If you’re keen on the subject, I could teach you personally. That is, if you’d like."
Erwin rose at once. "I’d be honored!"
McGonagall unlocked a drawer and withdrew a worn notebook. "These are my old school notes—updated over the years as my knowledge grew. They’ve got my personal insights on Transfiguration, from the basics to the advanced. Take a look."
He accepted it reverently, like a sacred text. In the wizarding world, few matched Dumbledore or McGonagall in Transfiguration mastery. Erwin had never seen anyone else transform a table into a snorting pig on a whim.
"You’re the most promising young wizard I’ve encountered," she continued. "Truly exceptional. With dedication, you could excel in this field."
Erwin bowed slightly. "Thank you, Professor. I won’t disappoint you."
"Good. Now off you go—it’s getting late. If sothing puzzles you, my door’s open. But don’t experint beyond your limits. Bring any trials to first."
"Yes, Professor. Rest well."
Outside, Erwin flipped open the notebook, his excitent mounting. This was a Transfiguration bible in miniature—Professor McGonagall’s profound understandings laid bare, a direct path to mastery. He tucked it away carefully and headed straight for Snape’s office.
At the door, he paused, taking two steadying breaths. Facing Snape always set his nerves on edge. The man was Hogwarts’ infamous black bat, after all—who wouldn’t feel a chill?
"Dragon Blood," Erwin murmured.
The door swung inward. The office was deathly still, almost oppressive, a stark contrast to McGonagall’s welcoming warmth. A draft whispered across his skin, raising goosebumps.
Reviews
All reviews (0)