Their very first class at Hogwarts was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall.
After finishing his breakfast, Daimon walked leisurely toward the classroom.
The ever-shifting staircases of Hogwarts didn’t cause him the slightest trouble.
“A first-year student figuring out the pattern of the shifting stairs so quickly?
We can’t have that!” “Let the ever-helpful Peeves add a little spice to your Hogwarts life!” A small, mischievous spirit materialized in the air, cackling incessantly.
He was Peeves, a Hogwarts poltergeist.
He could fly like a ghost, yet interact with physical objects, and could also turn himself invisible.
It was said he had existed since the founding of Hogwarts.
“Peeves, a smart spirit should know whom to mess with and whom to avoid,” Daimon said.
“Are you talking about yourself?
You arrogant first-year brat!” Peeves quickly vanished, snatched a pile of discarded rubbish from afar, and hurled it toward Daimon.
“This is going to leave a mark!” Peeves cackled.
Daimon’s senses were sharp.
He flicked his hand, sending out a burst of flame that blasted the rubbish to pieces before flying straight toward the invisible Peeves.
Boom!
The fire instantly set Peeves ablaze.
“No!
What the hell is this fire?
How can it burn me?!” Peeves materialized, frantically slapping at the flames on his body, but to no avail.
Fear gripped Peeves.
He felt that if this fire continued to burn, his soul would be completely extinguished.
“I was wrong!
I was wrong!” Peeves begged loudly for mercy.
Seeing this, Daimon made a slight beckoning gesture, and the flames on Peeves instantly vanished.
This flame was not made of pure Fire Demon Qi, of course.
It was the preliminary product of fusing Fiendfyre with his Fire Demon Qi, which he had thoroughly researched from those two Dark Magic books before entering the school.
So far, the results were promising.
“This is just a small lesson.
Understand?” Daimon said, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Next time, Peeves, I won’t be so merciful.” “Of course!
Of course!” Peeves hovered near Daimon with a sycophantic grin, rubbing his hands together.
“Peeves knows who’s boss!
Please forgive little Peevesy’s minor joke, wizard, sir!” “Beat it!” “Peeves is rolling out!” Before the words even faded, Peeves curled himself into a ball and floated away, rolling through the air.
Having dealt with Peeves, Daimon continued toward the classroom.
The portraits along the corridor whispered and offered their respect and praise.
“To think someone could make Peeves back down…
That pest is always giving us headaches.” “Aside from the Bloody Baron and Albus Dumbledore, there’s finally someone else who can keep Peeves in line.” “That scoundrel nearly threw my frame into the toilet last time.
I’ve wanted to teach him a lesson for ages.” By the time Daimon reached the Transfiguration classroom, it was already filled with Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years.
On the desk at the front sat a tabby cat.
With no teacher present, the students’ quiet behavior made the tabby cat’s true identity obvious.
“Daimon, over here!
I saved a seat for you,” Hermione called out from the front row, waving him over.
Daimon walked over and took the seat next to her.
“I thought you were going to be late.
Class starts in a few minutes,” Hermione whispered worriedly, hiding her face behind her textbook.
Daimon casually opened his book.
“I ran into Peeves on the way.
It held me up a bit.” “Peeves?
Thank goodness I got here early and didn’t run into him, otherwise it would have been a real headache.” Hermione frowned, then glanced around the room.
“But there are still four Gryffindors missing.
Oh dear, this is the first class of our first year, and it’s Professor McGonagall’s class!” “Perhaps they were too tired yesterday and overslept,” Daimon said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward slightly.
Soon, the bell rang, and a few minutes passed.
The classroom door burst open, and Harry Potter rushed in, panting heavily, followed by Ron, Neville, and Seamus.
“Thank goodness, Professor McGonagall isn’t here yet…” Ron’s sigh of relief was cut short as the tabby cat on the desk leapt down, transforming back into Professor McGonagall before they even touched the floor.
The four boys froze in shock.
“Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, Finnigan,” Professor McGonagall said, adjusting her square spectacles and glaring at them.
“I can hardly believe it.
Four Gryffindors late on the very first day.
Ten points from Gryffindor.
Do it again, and it will be detention.
Now, find your seats.” The four of them slunk off to the back.
Ron whispered, “Professor McGonagall is an Animagus!” “What’s an Animagus?” Seamus asked, always eager to learn.
“Quiet down,” Harry said, keeping his head low.
He didn’t want to get scolded by the professor again on their very first day.
“Silence!” Professor McGonagall swept her gaze across the classroom.
“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts.” “Anyone who misbehaves in my class will be asked to leave, and will never be allowed back inside.” After this stern warning, the young wizards finally understood how strict and serious Professor McGonagall was, and they sat up straight.
Professor McGonagall returned to her desk.
“Today’s task is to turn a match into a silver needle.
Please open your books to page one…” After explaining a mountain of complex and profound Transfiguration theories, the students were left completely dazed and bewildered.
“Now, we shall begin our practice.
Pay attention to the wrist movement—precise and swift.” Professor McGonagall demonstrated first, then waved her wand, conjuring a match on every desk.
“Now, it’s your turn.” The classroom quickly filled with the sounds of incantations being chanted from all sides.
After trying multiple times to no avail, many of the young wizards looked ready to make their wands catch fire from overexertion.
In the back row, Seamus Finnigan managed to set his match on fire, causing a small explosion and quite a stir.
Hermione frowned, waving her wand three times at the match.
One end of the match became slightly pointed.
She bit her lip in frustration.
“That’s already very good, compared to everyone else,” Daimon comforted her.
At least so far, Hermione was the only student in the room who had managed to make any change to her match.
Even Professor McGonagall offered her an encouraging smile.
“But it’s still far from what Professor McGonagall did,” Hermione said, refusing to get ahead of herself.
Clearly, she still remembered what Daimon had told her the previous night.
“Besides, why aren’t you trying?” Hermione noticed that Daimon hadn’t practiced at all.
“Then don’t blink,” Daimon said.
He drew his wand and gave it a gentle flick.
The match instantly transformed into a smooth, silver needle.
Its eye was perfectly distinct, and it even gleamed with a faint, metallic luster.
“Perfect,” Professor McGonagall said, walking over to examine the silver needle.
The corners of her mouth twitched upward in an irrepressible smile.
“Five points to Gryffindor!
This is the first success of today’s class, and it far exceeds the standard.” As soon as Professor McGonagall spoke, the entire classroom turned to look at the silver, shining needle on Daimon’s desk.
Ron leaned forward from the back row, his mouth hanging open in an “O” shape.
He patted Harry’s shoulder.
“Merlin’s beard…
we’ve only been in class for a few minutes!” Harry let out a sigh—his match had done nothing but emit a puff of black smoke.
Seamus was even more direct, lowering his wand and turning to Ron.
“I don’t think I need to practice anymore.
I wouldn’t be able to turn out something like that even if I practiced for a whole school year.” Ron raised an eyebrow and teased, “Maybe you should switch to Pyrotechnics instead.
Do they even have a class for that at Hogwarts?” Whispers broke out among the Slytherins.
Draco Malfoy looked rather displeased.
He muttered, “Just a stroke of luck,” in a voice only his seatmate could hear, though his eyes never left the needle.
Hermione stared wide-eyed, looking back and forth between her match and Daimon’s needle.
Biting her lip slightly, she asked in a low voice, “How did you do that?” Her tone carried both admiration and a hint of frustration.
Daimon offered some advice: “Pay attention to the grain of the wood.
Align the shape of the needle with it, and the transfiguration will be much more stable.” Hermione immediately picked up her match, examining the grain from all angles.
On her second attempt, the tip of her match finally turned a distinct silver color.
She let out a soft breath, a subtle smile creeping onto her lips.
During the rest of the class, Daimon offered her pointers from time to time.
By the time the class was nearing its end, she was finally able to turn the match into a needle, even if it wasn’t yet perfect.
“Excellent!
Let’s give Miss Granger a round of applause,” Professor McGonagall said, absolutely delighted, with a warm smile reaching her eyes.
To have two young wizards show such remarkable talent in Transfiguration on the very first day—and both being Gryffindors—filled her with immense pride.
Especially Daimon.
Not only could he perfectly transform a match into a silver needle, but he could also guide his classmates through the process.
His talent and knowledge were already far beyond what was expected of a first-year.