After History of Magic, George was no longer alone. A crowd of young wizards now surrounded him.
"Did you really memorize all those books?"
"Yes, I have a fairly good memory."
"They say you're going to win the House Cup for Slytherin?"
"Naturally."
On the way back, George handled the barrage of questions from his fellow Slytherins with ease—confident but never arrogant. Soon, he had blended right in.
Even his three roommates, whom he'd beaten up earlier, now looked at him with newfound respect.
That was Slytherin for you. If you were one of them, if you were exceptional, if you could bring them honor and advantage, they would instinctively rally around you.
As a first-year, George had single-handedly secured an outrageous fifty points for Slytherin in his very first class. For the entire first-year cohort, this was a shared triumph.
Of course, if George truly wanted to become Slytherin's leader, this alone wouldn't be enough.
But it was a start.
News of his fifty-point feat spread like wildfire, reaching most of the school's students and faculty by evening. Normally, gossip didn't travel that fast, but Professor Binns was infamous for never awarding points. Combined with the lingering buzz from George's bold declaration that morning, the story exploded.
The upside? That night, as George sat reading in the Slytherin common room, older students began approaching him to introduce themselves. Even when Malfoy tried to cause trouble, the prefects intervened.
The next morning, double Transfiguration with Hufflepuff's first-years.
The moment George stepped into the classroom, every Hufflepuff eye turned toward him. Clearly, they'd heard about the fifty-point miracle.
But they didn't challenge him. Hufflepuffs were generally good-natured—just curious.
"Meow."
Just before class began, a tabby cat strolled in. Amid gasps, it transformed into Professor McGonagall, clad in deep green robes.
"Animagus transformation."
George's eyes gleamed as he watched the shift.
This was advanced Transfiguration—the ability to take a single animal form (non-magical, and fixed once chosen). Incredibly useful.
No matter the creature, as long as it wasn't too conspicuous, it was perfect for disguise. Ideal for espionage, evasion, or tracking.
Imagine being hunted by agents, surveilled by satellites, sniper scopes trained on you from all directions—nowhere to run.
But with Animagus abilities? Step into any building, transform into something innocuous, and slip away. A cat might raise eyebrows, but a fly, mosquito, or ladybug? Untraceable.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone who disrupts my class will leave and not return. Consider yourselves warned."
McGonagall's stern tone silenced the room. With a flick of her wand, she turned the desk into a pig, then back again.
The students were spellbound, itching to try.
Yet after her theoretical introduction, they realized how daunting it truly was.
"No wonder she's renowned."
George marveled inwardly.
Transfiguration's status as a standalone subject spoke to its complexity. He'd studied it himself—even memorized the textbook (unlike History, which relied on his computer cheat sheet). But many concepts still eluded him.
Even Tonks' explanations hadn't fully clarified things.
It was like memorizing an advanced calculus textbook—knowing every word didn't guarantee understanding.
But McGonagall, a master with decades of teaching experience, made breakthroughs possible in a single lecture.
"Five points to Slytherin!"
As expected, the lesson ended with a Q&A. George claimed those points effortlessly.
With his enhanced memory (and real-time computer notes), he could recite not just the material but even McGonagall's reprimands verbatim.
Unlike Snape, McGonagall prized fairness. She wouldn't withhold points just because George was a Slytherin.
In fact, his flawless answers—and his unique insights into Transfiguration—earned a rare twitch of approval at the corner of her lips.
The second session was practical.
McGonagall distributed matchsticks, tasking them with transforming these into needles.
For most, this proved grueling. Incantations were chanted, wands waved, yet matches remained matches. A few showed slight changes, but none came close to a proper needle.
"Persist. Recall the key points—incantation rhythm, wand movement, and most crucially, conviction. You must believe the match can become a needle."
McGonagall paced the room, correcting errors.
Then she reached George's desk—and paused.
"Another five points to Slytherin."
Before him lay a perfect needle—sharp tip, even the threading hole immaculate.
At her announcement, the class turned. Envious and awed stares followed.
George merely smiled, resisting the urge to show off further.
After that first lecture, he'd grasped a core principle of Transfiguration—or perhaps all magic:
The power of belief.
Spells and wands were tools. True mastery lay in the mind—hence why wandless, wordless magic existed.
Willpower shaped magic's precision.
No wonder Potterverse magic seemed so psychic.
And here, George had an edge: beyond wizardry, he possessed mutant telepathy.
So once McGonagall demystified the theory, success came swiftly.
Not that he could transfigure a desk into a pig yet—but something fist-sized?
That might already be within reach.
===
Give me all your power stones
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