Ever since Harry had received the Invisibility Cloak for Christmas, he and Ron had become regular night-strollers around the castle.
Linus felt that if Malfoy were capable of planting a spy in their dormitory, Gryffindor’s house points hourglass would end up two bushels in debt to the school.
Harry and Ron often invited him along, but spending half the night roaming the Restricted Section to figure out who Nicolas Flamel was served no purpose other than being utterly laughable to Linus, who already knew the answer.
Thus, he decisively turned them down every time, using the excuse that he needed a full night’s sleep for the next day’s studies.
Since taking in Norbert, Linus had also come to share the headache common to every parent: the kid ate way too much.
Although Hagrid regularly provided food for Norbert, Linus had come to view Norbert as his own child somewhere along the way.
This meant he couldn’t rely entirely on Hagrid to raise her; he had to head into the Forbidden Forest late at night to search for potion ingredients to hawk to Severus Snape for extra cash.
“Mr.
Linus Sunwood.”
Professor McGonagall’s strict, authoritative voice, combined with the frantic pecking of Norbert at his fingers inside his sleeve and a gentle nudge from Hermione’s elbow beside him, jolted Linus awake from a light doze.
“Yes—yes, Professor.” Linus had no idea what had just happened and could only stall for time.
“The Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,” Hermione whispered to prompt him.
“Magic cannot produce food from nothing.
It cannot create true life or grant souls to non-living objects.
It cannot duplicate the unique properties of specific magical items.
It cannot directly impart knowledge or wisdom through magic.
And it cannot legally create magical currency,” Linus recited without missing a beat.
“Quite correct, Mr.
Sunwood,” Professor McGonagall said, her tone shifting sharply.
“However, that is no excuse for sleeping in class.
You are setting a terrible example for your fellow students.” As she spoke, she tapped her wand sharply on the desks of Harry and Ron, who were also fast asleep.
“Wh-what?
Is it time for lunch?” Startled awake, Ron wiped the drool from his chin and scrambled up, only to catch sight of McGonagall’s stern face and drop back into his seat with a stiff, guilty posture.
Harry hurriedly sat up straight as well, holding his Transfiguration textbook upside down.
“Mr.
Potter, Mr.
Weasley, Mr.
Sunwood—one point from Gryffindor for each of you,” Professor McGonagall concluded.
“You should count yourselves lucky this wasn’t Snape’s Potions class,” Hermione said indignantly to the three of them after class.
“Otherwise, he would have blasted Gryffindor’s hourglass into dust.”
“We had a perfectly good reason.
“Y-yeah, that’s right,” Harry stammered softly.
“And what are your results?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“We’re making great progress!
We’re practically on the verge of finding him.
Right, Harry?” Ron nudged Harry, shooting him a meaningful glance.
“Oh, right.
Exactly.” Unaccustomed to lying, Harry quickly turned to Linus, who was rubbing his eyes.
“What about you, Linus?
You came back even later than we did last night.”
Before Linus could open his mouth, Hermione answered for him.
“He’s spent the last few nights in the Forbidden Forest picking moonmoss and Venomous Tentacula, trying to brew Invisibility Potions on his own to sell in Knockturn Alley over the break.
All because he wants to earn money to feed Norbert.”
“The number of school rules broken in that single sentence is more than you’ve broken all year!
That’s not fair—why aren’t you nagging Linus?” Ron groaned loudly.
“Mr.
Sunwood, please stay behind for a moment,” Professor McGonagall called out from the podium, as if suddenly remembering something, stopping Linus just as he was about to step out the back door.
“Go on ahead without me,” Linus told Hermione, Harry, and Ron.
He walked quickly up to the teacher’s desk.
“I’m very sorry, Professor.
About what happened in class.”
“Oh, no, it’s not about that,” Professor McGonagall shook her head.
“Next month, Deputy Headmistress Alecto Durand from Beauxbatons will be visiting Hogwarts to exchange teaching experiences.”
“Do you have a grudge against her?” Linus caught a whiff of juicy gossip.
Professor McGonagall shot Linus a warning glance.
“She and I were classmates in the same year.
She is rather…” The professor carefully measured her words in front of a young wizard, “…rather self-confident, and at times isn’t particularly mindful of others’ feelings.”
“Ah, got it.
Arrogant and sharp-tongued,” Linus summarized accurately.
She continued, “After I mentioned to her last month that a first-year student had managed to turn a rabbit into a slipper, she insisted that my head must have been bashed by a troll.
Consequently, she decided to visit in person to witness the fruits of my teaching firsthand.”
Linus pondered for a moment.
“So, you want me to play the underdog—feign weakness at first, calculate every step, and then land a decisive comeback to claim top honors?”
Professor McGonagall lightly tapped Linus on the head.
“Don’t over-dramatize things.
I simply hope you won’t make your display too utterly overwhelming.
Give Alecto a bit of face.”
“Sounds to me like she’s the one who didn’t want to give you any face,” Linus noted curiously.
“We grew up together, studied Transfiguration together, spent hours in the library, and participated in Professor Carrow’s club together.
We built a deep bond.
Over all these years, she has always wanted to surpass me, but I have always considered her my best friend.” There was a touch of nostalgia in McGonagall’s voice.
“Sounds like the mercy of a victor,” Linus said, feeling a pinch of sympathy for Deputy Headmistress Durand.
“Speaking of advanced clubs, Linus…
you have repeatedly turned down invitations from both Professor Flitwick and me, choosing instead to spend your weekends on…
Potions and Herbology, subjects where your talents are less pronounced.” Professor McGonagall adjusted the slightly crooked collar of his robes.
“I have no intention of interfering with your personal interests; I simply feel it is a bit of a waste.”
In reality, it was because his gold talent gave him an extraordinary, crystal-clear understanding of Charms and Transfiguration—one that occasionally even diverged from the professors’ teaching methods.
He couldn’t go around telling the professors in class that their instruction was flawed; after all, spells cast using their methods did work.
But Linus seemed naturally wired to construct far simpler yet remarkably efficient magic pathways.
The trouble was, his method of casting was completely non-replicable.
The smooth, seamless spells he could perform effortlessly would, whenever he tried teaching them to Hermione, result in subtle errors at critical points due to slight fluctuations in magic output—poor Neville had spent three days in the hospital wing with a badly swollen nose because of one such attempt.
“Professor, I’m just not ready to compete alongside the older students in the club yet,” Linus offered a modest smile, using his usual excuse.
“I would think you are already qualified to take the practical portion of the O.W.L.s,” Professor McGonagall remarked, looking meaningfully at Linus’s sleeve.
Linus had to secretly use his fingers to press down on Norbert, who, thinking she was being praised, was frantically poking her head out.
Smiling sheepishly at McGonagall, he said, “I’ll be sure to handle Deputy Headmistress Durand’s pride with care.
If there’s nothing else, Professor, I’ll head down to the Great Hall for lunch.”
“Go on,” Professor McGonagall waved a hand.
“But you must promise to prioritize the safety of your schoolmates at all times.
Should any incident result in harm to a student—even a single case—Hogwarts will not tolerate it.”
“I promise, Professor,” Linus replied without turning around, raising his left hand and giving a wave as he walked away.