Professor McGonagall's Extra Homework

Ron regretted it.

Though the other kids had already gone back to practicing Transfiguration with straight faces, his heart was still a tangled mess from that ill-advised comment just now.

Surpass Damon? Merlin's beard! What had his brain been thinking to let him say something like that? Between him and Damon stood a full four-year gap, a Slytherin senior!

Even if Damon did nothing from now on, it would take Ron at least four years just to catch up to the other's dueling level.

Luckily, what made Ron feel a bit better was that Damon didn't seem upset by his careless words at all.

In fact, to Damon, this matter truly was insignificant.

After all, that was just Ron's nature.

Sometimes perfectly normal things, when they came out of his mouth, turned into something awful.

Because of his family situation, the bloke had a sensitive and twisted personality—he habitually deflected his own embarrassment by putting others down.

It's hard for anyone to frankly accept their shortcomings at first, and as an ordinary person armed only with courage, Ron was no different.

He could sacrifice himself for the greater good during the first term's final trial, and later, after long, fruitless effort, complain endlessly to Harry under the Horcrux's influence.

He could fly into a rage over Hermione's advice, yet secretly bury a budding admiration for her deep in his heart.

But when it came to dealing with Damon, Ron hadn't shown this problem yet—or rather, he never would.

For someone like him, if you're only a little better, you can't suppress him.

But if you utterly crush him in every aspect with an almost inhuman superiority, then he'll blame everything on himself instead.

Right now, Damon had merely ignored the second half of his question and swept a glance over him, and Ron already genuinely felt he'd said something wrong.

A little farther away, Hermione also noticed the commotion, but she just gave a light snort, turned her head, and went back to wrestling with her own matchstick.

By the time class ended, Ron and Neville had managed to turn their matchsticks slightly silver, but they were still far from becoming silver needles.

Even so, that was already an excellent result—aside from their group, only Hermione in the whole classroom had succeeded in turning her matchstick silver, with the tip faintly sharp.

As for Harry, under Damon's guidance, he'd successfully produced a needle—imperfect, sure, but anyone could tell it was indeed a silver needle.

From the satisfied look on Professor McGonagall's face, it was clear they'd done quite well.

Professor McGonagall even praised them outright:

"Even among all the students I've taught, you rank among the better batch."

That comment made the young witches and wizards flush with excitement.

But Hermione, in her joy, thought back to the perfect silver needle Damon had transformed earlier, and her smile gradually faded.

When class ended, Hermione was the first out the door.

Harry watched her retreating figure, a hint of regret on his face—hadn't they shared a "great friendship" on the train? Why did Hermione always have to compete with Damon?

Meanwhile, Ron was quietly grumbling about Professor McGonagall's outrageous behavior—she'd assigned a full two feet of Transfiguration essay homework, longer than what two professors combined had given.

But he stopped mid-sentence—Professor McGonagall had come up to Damon.

Harry and the others realized at once that what had happened in Charms Class was about to repeat itself.

"Do you have a moment, Damon? I'd like to talk with you."

"Of course, Professor."

Damon said goodbye to his roommates and followed Professor McGonagall all the way to her office.

It was a small study off the second-floor corridor, with a roaring fireplace, a window overlooking the Quidditch pitch, and a hidden door leading to a bedroom with a gravel floor.

Once they sat down, Professor McGonagall brought out biscuits and gave him a cup of Lemon Tea.

Watching Damon use the Levitation Charm to eat biscuits without touching them, Professor McGonagall felt her thoughts stall—was this some new way to have tea and snacks?

After a pause, she chose her words carefully:

"Damon, from the first moment I met you, I knew you had a certain talent for Transfiguration.

I think it would be a great loss if that talent never fully developed simply because it lacked proper guidance."

"If you're willing, I'd like to assign you extra Transfiguration work after each class to help you learn better.

After all, if I taught you at the same pace as the other young witches and wizards, I'm afraid most lessons would just be a waste of your time. What do you think?"

Professor McGonagall watched Damon's expression closely, resolved that if she saw even a hint of reluctance, she'd immediately propose a backup plan—giving him special permission to skip the same Transfiguration assignments as the other students.

"I'd be happy to, Professor McGonagall."

Almost the moment she finished speaking, Damon gave her a firm yes, which lifted her spirits even more—this child she'd had her eye on truly wouldn't disappoint her.

"But I'd like to ask you to help me with a small problem, Professor."

"Go ahead." McGonagall adjusted her glasses, her manner serious, as if she would do her best to meet whatever small request Damon made.

The reason she felt that way was because she trusted Damon to have a sense of proportion—he would never ask for something that put her in a difficult spot.

And things turned out just as she imagined.

"I'd like to subscribe to the Transfiguration Today daily, but I can't find the subscription method."

Hearing Damon's request, Professor McGonagall's face showed clear delight.

"It's only been a week since school started, and you've already found out about the Transfiguration Daily? Did you see it in the library?"

The last trace of hesitation in McGonagall's heart vanished.

It seemed that, even without her invitation, Damon would continue down the path of Transfiguration—didn't this prove the correctness of her invitation?

"It's normal that you couldn't find a way to subscribe, because this is an academic journal focused on the latest developments in the field of Transfiguration.

The content published in it is far too profound for young wizards in lower grades—for that reason, and to avoid harassment from useless information, this daily is only available to those who have achieved a certain level of accomplishment or talent in Transfiguration.

For adult wizards, this is hardly a secret—you just need their subscription address, have an owl deliver a letter, and from then on, you can keep subscribing."

Professor McGonagall handed Damon the slip of paper with the address. "Continuing from where we left off, since you've accepted my proposal, starting today, I'll be assigning you extra homework."

"I'll be blunt from the start: if you're going to do this, you must follow through. If I find your attitude lacking, or if you can't meet my coursework requirements, then I'll decisively stop this instruction and never resume it."

"Understood, Professor McGonagall." Damon accepted solemnly.

Though he already had extra assignments from Professor Flitwick, adding Transfiguration was still within his limits—he believed he could handle it.

As for whether it would pile up further later on—he'd deal with that when the time came.