Jacob jumped off the boat as quickly as he could and ran to catch up with Scott.
"So..." he said hesitantly. "When... we get back to Hogwarts, what are we going to do?"
Scott kept walking and said with a sigh, "Oh, Jacob, I don't think you need my advice to handle things just fine."
Seeing that Scott wouldn't budge, Jacob could only say glumly, "All right. We'll deal with it when the time comes."
"By the way."
Scott suddenly stopped and turned to look down at Jacob.
"You know who started that nasty nickname of mine, don't you?" he asked.
"Nickname? Oh, yes, I've heard about that," Jacob replied. "But I only heard people talking about you."
Scott was surprised. "That damned nickname wasn't something Travers came up with to insult me?"
Jacob shook his head. "No. She only calls you that in private..."
[Mudblood.]
He mouthed the word.
Scott said coldly, "Then who came up with that damned nickname?"
"Want me to find out for you?" Jacob asked with a blink. "For a fee."
"What would I have to pay you for that?" Scott asked curiously.
Jacob blurted out his answer at once. "I want you to tutor me in Transfiguration."
Scott was about to refuse, but Jacob held up three fingers.
"Three sessions, at least two hours each," he said, setting the terms himself.
Scott took back his refusal and nodded decisively. "Looks like you know how to keep things reasonable. All right, deal."
Jacob smiled happily. "I'll find out."
Scott said with satisfaction, "I'll wait for you to bring me an answer."
Back at the castle, Scott took out his Pocket Watch to check the time. Then he parted ways with Jacob and headed alone for the Transfiguration classroom.
As he sat in the classroom and met Professor McGonagall's gaze, he suddenly realized he had forgotten her birthday present.
He quickly thought back over the date. Fortunately, it was October 1, and Professor McGonagall's birthday was still three days away.
He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Professor McGonagall naturally, making sure she didn't notice his guilty conscience.
That lesson's task was to turn a hedgehog into a pincushion.
Scott completed the transformation as quickly as he could. After earning Ravenclaw two points, he began thinking about the birthday present.
Unfortunately, he still hadn't thought of a good idea by the time class ended.
After dinner, back in his dormitory, Scott asked his three roommates to help him come up with something.
First, he explained the problem he was facing. Then he said with a troubled look, "The main thing is... I know this might sound like I'm bragging, but I have to say it: the main thing is that the birthday present I gave Professor Flitwick was too amazing."
At that, only Milton showed any agreement.
Scott didn't care what Roger and Eddie thought, though. He considered them completely lacking in artistic sensibility.
He continued, "Do you think giving Professor McGonagall a painting just like that one would seem half-hearted? If I can't give her the same kind of painting, what gift could possibly match how original that one was?"
Milton immediately nodded in sympathy after hearing Scott's concerns. "You're absolutely right."
Then he seriously set to thinking of an answer for Scott.
But Scott didn't intend to let the other two, who were clearly distracted, off the hook.
He asked them, "Roger, Eddie, do either of you have any good suggestions?"
"Maybe you could give her a ticket to a Quidditch match? As far as I know, Professor McGonagall is really into Quidditch. Oh, I heard that from a Gryffindor student."
Roger sounded unsure at first, but grew more confident as he went on.
Scott skipped over his answer without a second thought and turned to Eddie.
"Well, perhaps you could give Professor McGonagall a joke anthology to help her become a little more humorous?" Eddie said earnestly. "Or at least less serious."
"I knew you two wouldn't have any good ideas," Scott said dismissively, turning away.
Now he could only hope Milton had a suggestion.
A little while later, Milton said excitedly, "I've got it, Scott!"
"Thank you, Milton. Let's hear it," Scott said, looking eager.
"You should make the most of your artistic talent and paint Professor McGonagall's portrait!" Milton said.
"Another painting? But... a portrait?" Scott raised an eyebrow. "You mean a portrait painting?"
Milton nodded repeatedly. "Exactly. But the colors in this portrait should have the same effect as the ones in the painting you gave Professor Flitwick."
Scott understood what he meant.
"So, combine the way the previous abstract painting used color to portray magic with a portrait?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Milton said excitedly, "Exactly! I think it's a wonderful idea. If you can pull it off, Professor McGonagall will definitely love it!"
"But... I only have two days to prepare," Scott said, shaking his head. "Tomorrow and the day after are the weekend, but I'm afraid two days won't be enough to finish a painting like that."
"Oh! I don't think you have to make it so realistic. Or you could use an Impressionist style?" Milton suggested again.
Having grown up in the Wizarding World, Milton had never known what Impressionism was.
Magical painting in the Wizarding World was similar to classical oil painting in the Muggle World; both were realistic in style.
But ever since he'd seen the abstract painting Scott had given Professor Flitwick, Milton had become deeply interested in every kind of art from the Muggle World.
Scott had recently lent him quite a few books on the subject.
"Great idea!" Scott said, nodding in agreement.
Once again, he was surprised by Milton's artistic insight.
"Thank you. You've saved my reputation with Professor McGonagall, Milton!" he said gratefully.
"You're welcome, Scott."
Milton was happy he could help.
Scott was getting excited too. He couldn't wait to pick up his paintbrush and start painting.
"I can't wait to get started!"
He went over to his bed and used Transfiguration to turn the coat rack into an easel, which he set in front of the dormitory window. Then he took a fresh canvas and a box of oil paints out of his Moke Skin Pouch.
He pictured the finished painting in his mind and mixed the base colors with linseed oil.
But when the paintbrush, loaded with color, reached the canvas, his hand stopped.
"No," he said, pulling back the brush. "I shouldn't paint it this way."
He set down the brush, stood up, and began pacing around the dormitory.
"Scott?"
His roommates looked at him in confusion.
"Let me think!" Scott raised a hand to signal them to be quiet. "I just suddenly feel like this isn't the right way to paint it. There must be a better way to bring this painting to life."
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