The next morning, the bell on the clock tower rang punctually as usual.
After entrusting the dragon to Hagrid yesterday, Baelon finally felt the burden lift from his heart, no longer needing to worry about the secret of raising a dragon being discovered.
He got up and went to the Ravenclaw common room, glancing at the course schedule the Prefect had just posted yesterday.
Hogwarts’ course schedule was arranged quite reasonably; to give the four houses more opportunities for mutual contact, the houses were intentionally rotated for classes.
It was only the conflict between Slytherin and Gryffindor that failed this arrangement.
Today’s schedule featured Transfiguration in the morning.
The first period was Ravenclaw with Slytherin, and the second was Hufflepuff with Gryffindor.
For the evening Astronomy Class, the first period was Hufflepuff with Slytherin, and only the second period was Ravenclaw with Gryffindor.
After memorizing the course schedule, Baelon saw it was still early and went to the Great Hall for breakfast before heading to the Transfiguration classroom on the third floor.
Sunlight streamed through the stained glass of the corridor, painting the ancient stone hallway in a kaleidoscope of colors.
The school bell echoed slowly through the corridors of the Castle, bringing a sense of quiet and solemn order.
Before class, students from Ravenclaw and Slytherin entered the classroom one after another, preparing for their first Transfiguration Class.
The Transfiguration classroom on the third floor soon fell silent.
It was spacious and bright, with rows of wooden desks polished clean and tidy, and moving portraits of deceased Transfiguration Professors hanging on the walls.
They either nodded to each other or spoke in low voices, a faint fragrance lingering in the air.
The podium was empty, save for a silver tabby cat with sharp eyes and a calm temperament perched quietly in the center.
The markings around its eyes resembled a pair of thin-framed glasses, carrying a natural aura of dignity and authority.
In an instant, with a flicker of silver light, the cat transformed into a Witch dressed in deep green robes, looking rigorous and dignified.
An uncontrollable wave of low gasps immediately rippled through the classroom.
“I am Minerva McGonagall; you may call me Professor McGonagall.” Her voice was steady and powerful, her gaze calm yet majestic as it slowly swept across the room.
“What you just saw is not the subject of this class; that is an Animagus—an ancient, dangerous form of magic that must be strictly registered with the Ministry of Magic.”
Professor McGonagall paused, her tone carrying an unquestionable gravity.
“This skill is never allowed to be practiced privately without a Professor’s supervision; it is very dangerous.”
The atmosphere in the classroom quietly grew a bit more solemn.
“Before we begin transformation practice, you must firmly remember Gamp’s Fundamental Laws of Elemental Transfiguration.
Transfiguration can only change the appearance of an object; it can never truly rewrite the essence of things.
Even if you turn a piece of wood into bread that looks perfectly realistic, once the magic fades, it will still return to its original form.
If someone is foolish enough to swallow it, the restored wood would be enough to cause fatal injury.”
As she finished speaking, Professor McGonagall lightly raised her wand and pointed it at an empty wooden table beside the podium.
“Transformation Spell.”
The heavy wooden table shrank, twisted, and rounded in an instant, turning into a plump, pink little pig that gave a soft grunt on the podium.
The whole class let out another small gasp of surprise.
Tapping it with her wand, she said, “Reparo.”
The little pig instantly turned back into that undamaged wooden table, clean and neat, without a trace.
“Today, we will begin practicing with the most basic and safest transformations.”
Professor McGonagall waved her wand lightly, and a small match landed in front of everyone.
“This is your target for practice: turn it into a needle.”
“Keep your incantations clear, your wands steady, and your concentration focused.
Now, in pairs, begin practicing.”
Everyone was practicing very hard; the classroom was filled with focused figures.
But very few could actually make the match undergo a noticeable change, let alone a successful transformation.
Holding a firm belief, Baelon clearly visualized the match as a needle in his mind.
He concentrated, fully focused, and with a light flick of his wand, he said in a steady tone: “Transformation Spell.”
In an instant, the match transformed into a straight, shiny, and perfectly shaped needle, its form precise—even cleaner and more efficient than Professor McGonagall’s demonstration just now.
Professor McGonagall happened to be patrolling nearby, and a clearly visible look of approval crossed her stern face.
“Excellent, Targaryen.
Clean, stable, and precise—this is exactly how Transfiguration should be.
Five points to Ravenclaw.”
Gazes from all around turned toward him, and several Slytherin students also quietly took note of this exceptionally talented Ravenclaw freshman.
Beside him, Terry tried several times without success and couldn’t help but whisper to Baelon for help:
“Baelon, can you teach me?
I just can’t seem to get the hang of it.”
Baelon tilted his head slightly and lowered his voice to offer some serious advice:
“Transfiguration requires a strong, firm belief.
Visualize it clearly as a needle in your mind.
You must be focused and determined, and then coordinate that with your magic.
When you cast the spell, you must have enough resolve.”
Under his guidance, the match in Terry’s hand finally thinned slightly, and a look of pleasant surprise immediately appeared on the boy’s face.
As soon as the Transfiguration Class ended, students began packing their things and leaving the classroom.
Professor McGonagall called out to Baelon as he was about to get up.
“Mr.
Targaryen, a moment, please.”
Her tone was much gentler than during class.
“How are you settling in?
Has everything been going smoothly since the start of term?”
“Everything is fine, Professor.
I’m adjusting well here,” Baelon replied respectfully.
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly and chatted with him for a few more moments, giving him some advice on things to watch out for and patiently answering a few of his questions about Transfiguration before letting him go.
Baelon bowed slightly: “Thank you, Professor.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the classroom.
Just as he reached the corner to head downstairs, he ran straight into Draco Malfoy and his two cronies.
Malfoy was in his neat school robes, his blond hair combed meticulously, his face wearing an innate arrogance and scrutiny.
“Targaryen,” he spoke first, his tone dismissive, his gaze carrying an unabashed appraisal.
“You were quite the standout in Transfiguration Class just now.”
Baelon nodded calmly: “I only completed the exercise as required.”
Malfoy took half a step forward, his tone seemingly casual, but every word was a probe:
“I’ve never heard of the Targaryen family…
You must be a pure-blood Wizard too, right?”
He tilted his chin up slightly, his voice carrying the sense of superiority that came with his bloodline:
“At Hogwarts, some things are determined from birth.”
Baelon’s expression remained indifferent, neither servile nor overbearing: “I am a Wizard; that is enough.”
Malfoy was slightly taken aback.
The other boy neither tried to curry favor nor avoided him in a panic, making it impossible for him to gauge his background for a moment.
He let out a light snort, stopped his direct probing, and maintained his arrogant posture.
“Is that so?
Then we’ll have plenty of opportunities to get to know each other in the future.”
With that, Malfoy turned and walked away with his cronies, head held high.
Taking advantage of his free time, Baelon went to the library to read for a while.
By the time the morning classes were all over, it was lunchtime.
Baelon arrived at the Great Hall with Michael and Terry.
The long tables were laden with a feast, the hall was filled with warm sunlight, and the atmosphere was relaxed and lively.
Just as he sat down, a snowy owl landed gracefully in front of him, dropping an envelope stamped with the Hogwarts crest.
On the envelope was Albus Dumbledore’s elegant and powerful handwriting.
Baelon opened the letter; the Principal’s tone was gentle yet solemn.
The letter briefly informed him that he had applied for and completed all legal procedures for Baelon’s little dragon with the Ministry of Magic, ensuring that the little dragon could remain undisturbed.
Attached to the letter was an official Ministry of Magic Dragon-Keeping License.
In the bottom right corner of the document, the personal signature of Minister of magic Cornelius Fudge and the official Ministry of Magic wax seal were clearly stamped.
Baelon tucked the license away carefully, the last trace of hidden worry in his heart completely dissipating.
From now on, raising a dragon was no longer a secret but a legal act fully recognized by the Ministry of Magic.
After lunch, the afternoon was free and leisurely.
Baelon took Michael and Terry to Hagrid’s hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
First, they went inside to spend some time with the young golden dragon, and afterward, they practiced magic in the open space beside the hut.
Michael was steady and meticulous, quietly observing and carefully considering every spell and gesture; Terry, on the other hand, was lively and active, always unable to resist trying a few more times, full of enthusiasm.
The three focused on their practice and exchanged ideas, the atmosphere peaceful and grounded.
The sun slowly sank in the west, gilding the spires and walls of Hogwarts in a gentle, warm gold.
As night approached, Baelon headed to the towering Astronomy Tower to attend the evening Astronomy Class.
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