Not only Ian, but all the young wizards in the classroom were at a total loss. None could understand why Professor McGonagall had suddenly become so furious—surely all Ian had done was produce a puff of green-tinged smoke.
"Before class, I recall reminding you all that caution is the top priority when learning Transfiguration,"
Professor McGonagall snapped, glaring at Ian with eyes that almost spat fire.
"But clearly, Mr. Prince, you've failed to take that to heart."
Her stern face radiated such formidable authority that Ian instinctively shrank back.
"I'm sorry, Professor. It was just a sudden idea—I wanted to see if I could try something."
Ian believed he'd been fairly cautious. After all, he'd only intended to turn a matchstick into a vaporous Rejuvenation Water, stifling his wilder impulse to make a gaseous Amortentia. Was that not careful enough?
Besides, the attempt hadn't even worked. He could tell that, though the smoke matched the color of so-called "Rejuvenation Water," it lacked any of a true potion's distinct properties.
Perhaps his Transfiguration skill remained insufficiently high?
[Transfiguration (Level3)6/800]
[Transfiguration (Level 3) 6/800]
Thanks to Professor McGonagall's instruction and his own new insights, Ian's Transfiguration had leapt ahead to Level 3—which was why he could manage something like producing smoke in the first place.
Even so, Level 3 Transfiguration evidently couldn't fulfill his more ambitious imaginings. Possibly, anything imbued with magical traits was still off-limits. He wasn't yet certain whether "extraordinary" or "legendary" traits might compensate for that shortfall later on.
"Have you thought about what might happen if someone else inadvertently inhaled that smoke?"
McGonagall's expression mellowed only slightly after hearing Ian's apology. She still looked extremely grave.
"They could be hurt…assuming it went out of control."
Ian replied succinctly, well aware that Transfiguration smoke posed dangers—but he'd never planned to experiment on his classmates.
In truth, Ian could sense that if he didn't voluntarily withdraw his influence, that altered state could have lasted for…a very long time, potentially outliving many ordinary witches and wizards.
"If you understand this, then why attempt something so risky?"
she pressed, her gaze piercing, tinged with a hint of worry—
could Hogwarts be faced with yet another brilliantly talented delinquent?
"At the time, I just wasn't thinking about those consequences. I was absorbed in pondering Transfiguration's mysteries—wondering if I could transform something into a gas or liquid."
Ian realized this was no moment to appear obstinate. He spoke the partial truth—some of it, anyway.
Hearing this,
McGonagall paused,
her eyes and expression softening somewhat.
"I see. Mr. Prince, this outcome clearly reflects an oversight on my part,"
she murmured in a vexed tone.
"I never anticipated any first-year could delve so deeply right on the first lesson. I'd planned to cover certain matters in later classes."
"But now it's obvious, if I want to prevent similar occurrences, I must adjust my teaching approach."
Casting a glance around the baffled students, she went on:
"In Transfiguration, there are important issues—like Gamp's Law, which you'll eventually study, and also some advanced cautions. What Mr. Prince did just now is a perfect illustration of something you must beware of—changing objects into gases or liquids is exceedingly dangerous."
She shot Ian another, more complicated look,
then continued:
"Take that green smoke, for example. If someone breathed it in, and if the spell failed or became unstable, countless fragments of wood would appear in the victim's bloodstream and lungs."
Her calm yet heavy tone bore the weight of dire warning. At that moment, in the hushed classroom—
"Wouldn't that be…really powerful?"
someone muttered quietly.
Ian whipped his head around, spotting that sweet-faced little Hufflepuff girl who wanted to turn her brother into a rainbow pony.
He double-checked the schedule:
Yes, they really were sharing a class with Hufflepuff.
"In one sense, Miss Laura, you're not wrong. How ever…"
McGonagall's face turned solemn.
"That would be murder, plain and simple. Unless the victim were at St. Mungo's at that exact moment, they'd never survive—and I absolutely forbid anyone to consider such a method. Anyone who trifles with this will face a punishment far worse than simple expulsion."
She emphasized every syllable, her words brimming with severity. The entire classroom fell silent, intimidated by their professor's fierce presence.
Ian, too, lowered his head and didn't dare object.
"Mr. Prince, you accomplished something that would challenge many older students—surpassing all expectations. So, I must stress caution even more. Keep it foremost in mind."
Finally, her tone lost some of its earlier harshness. She glanced at the clock on the classroom wall and announced the end of the lesson.
Freed from the stifling atmosphere, the young wizards made a swift exit. McGonagall lingered at her lectern to tidy up, watching Ian, William, and Michael depart. She opened her mouth, but then closed it again without speaking.
****
"Ian, teach me how you did that!"
"Merlin's pants, McGonagall was scary! I declare her the scariest professor we have!"
William and Michael chattered, insisting they needed to eat more to "recover" from the intense class.
Since term had only just begun, the timetable was not particularly packed. After the morning's Transfiguration, their next lesson wouldn't be until the afternoon—Potions, a class that haunted many Hogwarts students' nightmares.
"I need to send a letter; you two go on without me,"
Ian said, patting the parchment stashed in his robes. He recalled the Owlery was located at the top of the West Tower—presumably not too far.
Parting ways with his roommates, he asked an older "senior sister" for directions. The older girl was quite helpful, even offering to lead him on a nocturnal tour to acquaint him with the castle's layout.
The more Ian listened, the more suspicious it sounded:
Why would a night tour require chocolate sauce and new clothes…?
"I'm only eleven! Doesn't Hogwarts have a minor protection law?"
he thought in alarm. Hastily thanking her, he fled to the Owlery.
****
The Owlery was set on the West Tower's highest level, reached by climbing a cramped spiral staircase. The circular, stone-walled chamber had a quaint, rustic design. On the floor lay scattered straw, owl droppings, and regurgitated bones.
Hundreds of owls perched on the rafters overhead—of every conceivable breed. Ian couldn't imagine why so many wizards bothered purchasing owls of their own.
"Send this letter to Wu's Orphanage,"
he said, approaching a petite, white-faced scops owl. He offered it some freeze-dried treat that smelled only slightly off, which he himself had tried just last week.
"Hoo-hoo?"
The owl accepted the job but declined Ian's snack. As he prepared to leave, Ian noticed a corner with scattered straw and what looked like the Owlery's "backup supply" mouse quivering in fear.
Several owls hovered around it with interest, but none pounced.
"Poor little thing,"
he murmured on a whim, drawing his wand.
"Vera Verto!"
Under the force of his magic, a portion of the straw turned into yellow-orange gas, drifting silently toward the trembling mouse. Guided by Ian's will and influence, the gas floated into the rodent's nostrils as if it were nothing but air.
The mouse showed no sign of noticing.
Then—
"Vera Verto!"
Sensing his link to the transformed substance, Ian cast a secondary Transfiguration. Instantly, razor-sharp steel needles burst out from the mouse's body.
Flesh tore—
blood splattered—
the hapless rodent never had a chance to squeak. Startled by the mouse's ghastly "mutation," the surrounding owls flapped away, screeching in alarm.
"Plenty of room for improvement. Let's call it the Prince Killing Curse,"
Ian mused, his heart pounding. He'd been inspired by Professor McGonagall's words to try something new. Indeed, all of her warnings were absolutely correct—especially the part about caution.
Still, he reasoned that in crafting a new offensive spell, he'd also "carefully" solved the problem that inhalers in St. Mungo's might theoretically survive.
"Having a professional mentor truly helps!"
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