Punishment

Harry saw this and shifted his seat away from Ron without a sound, as if trying to distance himself from the association.

Tom sat in front, his shoulders shaking as he stifled a laugh. As expected, he mused, people with loose tongues always find a way to sabotage themselves.

"Transfiguration is complex and dangerous, and you will have no shortage of opportunities to use it in the future," Professor McGonagall stated, standing at the podium with a face as stiff as a board, devoid of any humor. "Keep your wits about you and take this seriously. If anyone dares to mess around in my class, whether you are from Slytherin or Gryffindor, you will be kicked out immediately."

This show of authority was effective; the young wizards sat up straight at once, even holding their breath.

Professor McGonagall's expression softened slightly. She tapped her wand lightly against the desk, and the square wooden surface transformed with a swish into a plump, white pig. Its round body wiggled and its short legs kicked, drawing stifled gasps of amazement from the students below.

But that wasn't all. The pig had barely wobbled twice before it turned into a lion, its roar causing the classroom windows to rattle. A second later, it morphed into a giant python, its scales gleaming with a chilling light and its forked tongue flicking in and out. The students in the front row turned pale with fright, scrambling backward in a panic.

Even the Slytherin students struggled to remain composed—it was true that their house was represented by a snake, but no one could handle a python capable of swallowing a person whole.

Tom glanced at Professor McGonagall from the corner of his eye and caught a hint of mischief in her gaze. Good grief, he thought, this stern-looking professor is actually a bit of a trickster. Using a giant python to scare children—that's quite devious.

With a sharp crack, the python vanished, and the desk returned to its original state. The commotion in the classroom gradually subsided.

"This is the magic of Transfiguration; you can use it to change everything before your eyes," Professor McGonagall said, returning to her usual tone. "However, transforming large animals is a subject for the higher years. For now, we shall start with the basics."

She handed each student a toothpick and announced the task: turn the toothpick into a silver needle. "When casting, you must clearly visualize the image of a silver needle in your mind. Clear your thoughts, believe firmly that what you hold is a needle, and force your intent to align with reality."

After explaining the essentials, she allowed everyone to practice on their own.

For a time, the classroom was filled with the sound of overlapping incantations, but no matter how hard the students tried, their toothpicks remained motionless, showing not even a slight bend.

Only Tom sat there in a daze, as system notifications popped up in his mind one after another: [Received insights on Transfiguration from the professor, Credits +5] [Received insights on Transfiguration from the professor, Credits +5].

He had earned ten credits in ten minutes. Tom's eyes lit up; he had finally found a new path. It turned out that listening to the professor's lectures could yield credits—this was a massive gain.

Transforming a toothpick into a needle was child's play; he had practiced it until he could do it in his sleep during the summer. He hadn't expected Professor McGonagall's explanation to provide him with new insights, let alone extra bonuses.

Just as he was secretly gloating, an even bigger surprise followed.

Professor McGonagall walked around the classroom, inspecting everyone's progress.

Most of the students' toothpicks remained unchanged, but she wasn't angry. She knew perfectly well that turning a toothpick into a silver needle was not a basic task. It required not just a change in shape, but a transmutation of wood into metal, which was well beyond the curriculum for first-years just beginning their magical education.

She had chosen this task specifically to weed out the talented ones.

A challenge that was difficult but not impossible was the best way to identify potential for future cultivation.

Professor McGonagall shook her head as she walked through half the classroom, finding no student who could catch her eye, until she reached Tom.

Tom picked up his wand, drew a circle, and tapped it lightly against the toothpick. With a flash of silver light, the toothpick instantly transformed into a needle, gleaming brilliantly.

What surprised Professor McGonagall even more was that the needle was engraved with intricate patterns, delicate enough to be kept as an ornament.

"Outstanding!" Professor McGonagall's voice rose, audible to the entire room. "Mr. Riddle has succeeded on his first attempt and even added decorative engravings. Five points to Slytherin!"

The Gryffindor students didn't react much; as new arrivals, they didn't yet understand the long-standing feud between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

But the Slytherin side went deathly silent. Malfoy frowned, glaring at Tom with disgust. He, a pure-blood aristocrat, hadn't succeeded, so why should a Muggle-born wizard be the one to show off?

Tom hadn't cared much about house points, but when the system notification exploded, he perked up: [Host has gained the recognition of the professor, Credits +5, Achievement Point +1]

[System has unlocked a long-term mission—'The Most Outstanding Student in Hogwarts History'. House points convert to credits at a 1:1 ratio, and to achievement points at a 5:1 ratio. Leading the house to win the House Cup grants additional rewards.]

House points didn't matter, but credits and achievement points were valuable.

Tom instantly regretted his choice so much he wanted to slap his thigh: if he had known, he would have gone to Gryffindor. Wouldn't he have been able to coast to victory in the House Cup for the next few years?

Now, if he wanted to win the House Cup, he would likely have to go head-to-head with old Dumbledore!

He knew clearly that the House Cup for these years was essentially rigged.

On one hand, it was to boost Harry's reputation; on the other, it was, frankly, psychological manipulation.

Dumbledore wanted to mold Harry into the type of person who would rush headlong into danger, so that he would have the courage to confront Voldemort and face the prophecy later on.

Previously, Tom had no interest in Dumbledore's "savior" plan. In his view, there were only two ways Voldemort could die: either follow the original plot and be killed by Harry, or wait until he grew strong enough to crush him himself.

But now, to compete for the House Cup and grab credits, he had to push forward, and doing so would inevitably offend that old fox, Dumbledore.

Tom stroked his chin with a wicked grin: Old Dumbledore, you can't blame me for this. You'll understand, right?

Professor McGonagall had no idea that the smug-looking freshman before her was already plotting how to snatch the cup from her house.

She praised Tom a few more times, warned him not to be arrogant, and continued to check on the other students.

In truth, she felt a bit unsettled. Reason told her that the Tom before her and the Tom from years ago only shared a name, but emotionally, the more outstanding this child was, the more she was reminded of the other.

It was truly bizarre. Could it be that this name was genuinely favored by Merlin?

Once Professor McGonagall walked away, Hermione leaned in, her tone tinged with sour frustration: "How on earth did you do that?"

Her toothpick remained unchanged. In the past, when she competed with Tom, even if she lost, the gap was small—both were near-perfect. But in the magical world, the distance between them had widened instantly; she was still struggling at the starting line, while Tom was already nearing the next station.