Faction Choice

The outcome of Potions Class was beyond doubt.

When Professor Slughorn announced that time was up and told all the students to bottle and submit their potions, Regulus's finished product looked utterly out of place on the desk.

The liquids in the other bottles were either the wrong color or cloudy with impurities. Some were even giving off suspicious bubbles.

Only Regulus's potion was a clear pale green, glowing with a healthy sheen inside the glass bottle, without the slightest sediment when left standing.

Professor Slughorn picked up the bottle and held it to the light for a long while, undisguised delight spreading across his plump face.

"Exemplary!" he announced loudly, his voice echoing through the Underground Classroom. "Mr. Black, the quality of this potion has reached an outstanding standard. Tell me, did you use any special technique?"

"I simply handled the ingredients strictly according to their properties, Professor," Regulus answered calmly.

"Snake fang powder needs to be fully dissolved. The tips of porcupine quills contain the most concentrated Magic Power, and the neutralizing effect of Flowing Grass requires precise timing."

Professor Slughorn's eyes lit up. "You mentioned the most concentrated Magic Power. Did you observe that yourself?"

"Yes, Professor. By sensing the faint Magic Power emitted by the ingredients."

His words prompted a ripple of whispers. Sensing the Magic Power of ingredients?

Was that a skill first-years were supposed to have mastered?

Professor Slughorn gave Regulus an approving look and did not press further, merely nodding. "Come to my office after class, Mr. Black."

After class, Regulus spent ten minutes in Professor Slughorn's office.

The plump professor enthusiastically introduced the rare ingredients in his collection, hinted at the existence of the Slug Club, and gave him a small bottle of Felix Felicis as encouragement.

Though it was diluted, it was still an astonishing gift for a first-year.

"Keep up this talent, child." As Professor Slughorn saw him out, he patted him on the shoulder. "Potions requires more than nimble hands—it also requires keen perception. You have that gift."

Regulus nodded his thanks. As he left the office, he slipped the bottle of diluted Felix Felicis into the inner pocket of his robes. Used well, it could save a life. Used badly, it would be trouble.

Transfiguration Class was held in a bright classroom on the second floor. Its broad windows let in ample sunlight, and the air carried a faint scent of wood and parchment.

Professor McGonagall was already waiting at the front of the classroom. She wore dark green robes, her hair drawn into a severe bun at the back of her head, her expression stern.

"Transfiguration," she began after all the students had taken their seats, "is the most complex, most dangerous, and most elegant discipline in magic.

"It demands precise incantations, clear intent, and an understanding of matter."

She raised her wand and gave it a light tap. A matchstick on the desk turned into a silver needle.

"Today, we will begin with the most basic exercise: Match-to-Needle."

The matchsticks were handed out, and the students began to try.

The classroom was soon filled with muddled incantations and the swishing of wands. Most students' matchsticks merely warped and twisted into strange objects somewhere between a match and a needle.

Regulus picked up the matchstick on his desk and studied it closely.

This matchstick was a stable material structure: the arrangement of its wood fibers, the composition of its sulfur head, its overall shape and density.

Transfiguration could alter that complete structure.

The wood fibers had to be rearranged into a metallic crystalline structure, the sulfur transformed into a silver needlepoint, while maintaining the object's continuity and integrity.

He raised his wand and softly spoke the incantation. "Vera Verto."

The tip of his Wand gave only the gentlest tap.

The matchstick trembled on the desk, then began to transform gradually.

The wooden portion shifted from brown to silvery white. Its grain vanished, and its surface became smooth.

The sulfur head shrank and reshaped itself into a sharp needlepoint.

The whole process lasted three seconds. When it ended, a perfect silver needle lay on the desk, its eye clearly visible and its shaft perfectly straight.

Professor McGonagall happened to be making her rounds past his desk.

She stopped, lowered her gaze to the needle, then picked it up and inspected it against the light.

"A perfect transformation." There was a hint of surprise in her voice. "Formed in a single attempt, without repeated trials or any material residue. Mr. Black, have you practiced this spell before?"

"I practiced the principle, Professor," Regulus replied. "But today was my first time using it for Match-to-Needle."

"The principle?"

"The stability of material structures and the efficiency of transformation." Regulus took the opportunity to raise a question. "I have been considering something, Professor. May I ask?"

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow slightly. "Go on."

"The purpose of Transfiguration is to change an object." Regulus picked up the silver needle. "To turn a matchstick into a needle. But during that process, what exactly are we changing?

"Are we changing the object's essential properties, or merely its outward form? If it is the former, has the matchstick truly become a needle? If it is the latter, then how is it different from an illusion?"

The classroom fell silent. Several students still struggling with their matchsticks also looked up.

Professor McGonagall's expression grew more intent. She stared at Regulus for several seconds before speaking slowly. "That is a question an upper-year student would consider, Mr. Black."

"But I would very much like to know the answer, Professor."

Professor McGonagall set down the silver needle, walked to the front of the classroom, and faced the entire class.

"Mr. Black has raised a profound question. The fundamental difference between Transfiguration and illusions lies in material continuity.

"Illusions are false images created from nothing, with no material basis. Transfiguration, however, guides existing matter to reorganize along a path prescribed by magic."

She picked up another match and tapped it with her wand, turning it into a feather.

"This feather," she said, holding it up, "was once a match. Its material basis has not vanished; it has merely been rearranged. That is why true Transfiguration requires an understanding of the nature of matter.

"You need to understand how wood can become the structure of a feather. You must guide that transformation process, rather than merely changing its appearance."

She looked at Regulus. "Are you satisfied with that answer?"

"Partially, Professor." Regulus inclined slightly in his seat. "But it raises another question. If Transfiguration is merely the reorganization of matter, then what about the Banishing Charm?

"The Banishing Charm makes an object vanish completely. Where does its matter go? Or is the Banishing Charm an extreme form of Transfiguration, transforming an object into nothing?"

This time, even Professor McGonagall fell silent.

The classroom was utterly silent. Everyone looked at the professor. They did not understand the significance of the question; they were simply waiting for her answer.

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. "The Banishing Charm is part of the NEWT exam curriculum. It involves the conversion of matter and energy, as well as cross-dimensional magical theory."

"Focus on the exercise at hand, Mr. Black. A perfect Match-to-Needle is very good. Five points to Slytherin."

She returned to the podium and continued guiding the other students.

Over the next half of the lesson, Regulus could feel Professor McGonagall's gaze landing on him from time to time.

Regulus remained silent for the rest of the class. He knew the answer to that question, but he had also discerned that Professor McGonagall's attitude toward him differed from Slughorn's.

A choice of sides.

After Transfiguration Class ended, Regulus had barely stepped out of the classroom when someone stopped him.

Narcissa Black stood at the corner of the corridor, her long golden hair seeming to glow in the sunlight.

Already in her seventh year, she possessed a mature elegance. Her dark green school robes were impeccably pressed, and the silver Slytherin badge at her collar gleamed brightly.

"Regulus."

"Cousin Narcissa."

"A word."

She turned and headed down a secluded side corridor. Regulus followed. It was far from the Main Corridor, with light filtering in only through several tall windows.

Narcissa stopped and turned to face him.

"I've already heard about what happened in the common room last night." She went straight to the point. "You made that boy from the Travers family humiliate himself in public."

"He brought it on himself."

"I know." There was a trace of approval in Narcissa's tone. "Alger Travers is an idiot. His father got his position at the Ministry of Magic through marriage alliances, not actual ability. But that isn't the issue."

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "The issue is that you showed too much, Regulus.

"On your first day, on your first night, you displayed that level of ability in front of all Slytherin. Do you know what that means?"

Regulus looked at her calmly. "It means I'm not easy to bully."

"It means you've entered certain people's sights," Narcissa corrected. "Much earlier than you expected."

She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby before continuing. "At breakfast, Rababstan Lestrange—you know him, Rodolphus's younger brother.

"He asked a great many questions about you. What sort of training you received at home, how strong your magical power is, what you think about certain matters."

"What matters?"

"You know exactly which ones." Narcissa fixed her eyes on him. "The Dark Lord is watching talented young wizards, especially those from Pureblood families.

"Your brother's betrayal lowered the Black family's standing in the Dark Lord's eyes. But now you have appeared—a younger, more talented Black who seems far more in line with his expectations."