Chapter 6
Breakfast concluded, and the two cousins made their way to the Transfiguration classroom, the cool stone of the castle's walls seeming to whisper secrets as they passed. Professor McGonagall, a stern yet fair-minded woman with a penchant for turning misbehaving students into animals, was already there, her eyes sweeping the room as she transformed a desk into an elegant chair.
"Good morning," she said, her voice cutting through the chatter like a knife. "I trust you are all ready to begin your studies in the art of transfiguration."
The room grew quiet, all eyes on Professor McGonagall as she began her lecture. "Transfiguration is the most complex and dangerous form of magic you will learn at Hogwarts. It is the act of changing the form of an object or creature into another. It requires precision, focus, and an understanding of the very essence of the subject at hand."
Just as she was about to delve into the intricacies of the subject, the door to the classroom burst open. A flustered Ron Weasley stumbled in, his face red and sweaty, his robes askew. The room erupted into snickers and whispers, the tension palpable. Professor McGonagall's gaze sharpened, and she raised an eyebrow in silent reprimand. "Mr. Weasley, do try to be punctual."
Ron, noticing Hadrian's eyes on him, scowled and took his seat, muttering something under his breath about pure-bloods and their sense of entitlement. Harry shot him a warning look, but Hadrian simply smirked, unbothered by the jab. The Weasleys were known for their disregard for the pure-blood elitism that was the backbone of the Slytherin philosophy. It was a refreshing change from the stifling formality of the Malfoy household.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, bringing the class back to attention. She began to explain the principles of transfiguration, her words painting vivid pictures of the magical transformations they would soon learn to perform. Hadrian's mind raced as she described the subtle nuances of the craft, his excitement growing as he contemplated the endless possibilities of his wandless abilities. The challenge of mastering such a complex art was tantalizing, a puzzle he was eager to solve.
The class watched, rapt, as she demonstrated a simple transfiguration, turning a match into a needle with a flick of her wand. She then proceeded to outline the first-year curriculum, detailing the various spells and theories they would explore. Her passion for the subject was evident in the way she moved, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as she spoke. The students scribbled notes onto their parchments, eager to absorb every morsel of knowledge she offered.
Hadrian found himself drawn to the practical aspect of the lesson, his mind already racing with the ways he could manipulate the very fabric of reality without the need for a wand. As Professor McGonagall instructed them to practice the basic incantation for turning a feather into a quill, he felt a gentle nudge from his inner self, urging him to show restraint. He knew that to truly master this art, he would have to walk the fine line between his unique talents and the rules of the school.
With a flick of his wrist, the feather in his hand transformed into a sleek, gleaming quill, the ink already flowing as if it had been waiting for this very moment. The other students gasped, their wands trembling with the effort to match his skill. Draco shot him a look of begrudging admiration, while Ron's expression remained a mix of contempt and suspicion. Professor McGonagall's gaze flickered to his wandless hand before she nodded approvingly. "Very good, Mr. Black. Now, let's see if the rest of you can manage the same without resorting to... unorthodox methods."
As the lesson progressed, he began to assist his Slytherin roommates, his voice a calm and steady presence amidst the chaos. He demonstrated the intricate hand movements required, his fingers dancing through the air with a grace that belied their deadly potential. His classmates watched him in awe, their attempts growing more successful with each whispered correction. The room grew quieter, the only sound the occasional hiss of a successful transfiguration.
The first few attempts were met with failure, the feathers stubbornly refusing to cooperate. But Hadrian's patience was unyielding, his guidance precise and unwavering. One by one, the Slytherin students began to achieve the desired result, their faces lighting up with the thrill of victory. Even Draco, who had initially scoffed at the idea of needing help, found himself leaning in, his curiosity piqued by Hadrian's unorthodox methods.
The Gryffindors, ever the competitive sort, took note of their rival's success. Harry's green eyes, so like his mother's, narrowed in concentration as he tried to mimic Hadrian's movements. His feather hovered for a brief moment before dropping back to his desk with a soft thud, the transformation incomplete. Hermione, ever the academic, studied the process with a furrowed brow, her quill flying across the parchment as she took meticulous notes. Her first attempt was close, the feather's tip shimmering with an inky blackness before returning to its original state.
The tension in the room grew as the lesson drew to a close. Professor McGonagall, ever vigilant, approached the Gryffindor table. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, I see you're having some trouble." Her voice was gentle, but her eyes held a glint of challenge. Harry's cheeks flushed with determination, his wand trembling slightly in his hand.
Hermione, ever the overachiever, looked up at Hadrian with a glimmer of hope. "Could you... I mean, would you help us?"
Her voice was tentative, and he knew that asking for his assistance was not easy for her. But Hadrian had made his decision. He offered her a smile, one that was polished and practiced, a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Of course," he said, his voice light and cheerful. "After all, we are all here to learn."
He approached their table, his movements fluid and graceful despite the heaviness of his robes. The Gryffindors watched him warily, but Harry's expression remained open, curiosity outweighing his wariness.
Professor McGonagall's eyes followed him as he took his place beside Harry. She watched with a critical eye, her gaze unwavering. Hadrian knew that she was not fooled by his charm. She had seen the darkness in his lineage, the potential for greatness and the shadow of his father's legacy. Yet she had given him the points, recognizing the effort he had made to help his classmates.