At exactly 7:00 PM, Daimon stood outside Professor McGonagall’s office door.
Today was his first detention.
Of course, while it was called a detention, it was actually Professor McGonagall giving him private tutoring.
He gave three measured knocks on the door.
“Come in.” He pushed the door open and entered.
The office was lit by a few candles, and the fireplace crackled with a roaring fire.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, a stack of parchment spread out before her.
“You are very punctual, Mr.
Ignis.
Please, sit.” Daimon sat across from her.
“Time is precious, and the chance to get one-on-one lessons from a Transfiguration master doesn’t come often.” “It is rare to see a little lion so eager to learn.
Your thirst for magical knowledge makes you look more like a Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor,” Professor McGonagall’s lips curled into a slight smile, clearly pleased by Daimon’s compliment.
“Before we begin, I need to gauge your actual level of Transfiguration.” Professor McGonagall pulled a small jar from her drawer, inside of which was a beetle.
“Try turning this into a button.” Daimon pulled out his wand, tipped the beetle out of the jar, gave his wrist a light flick, and muttered the incantation.
Before the beetle could even attempt to run, it was transformed into a brand-new, polished button.
McGonagall picked up the button, turned it over to inspect it closely, and set it back down.
“Perfect,” she evaluated simply, then took a teacup from her drawer.
“Now try turning this into a tortoise.” Daimon complied.
The teacup sprouted four legs and a tail, its body reshaping into a shell while its rim shrank into a head.
A moment later, a hand-sized tortoise began slowly crawling across the desk.
McGonagall took a quiet breath, stood up, walked to a cabinet in the corner, unlocked it, and brought out a lively, kicking rabbit.
She placed the rabbit on the desk.
Its hind legs kicked twice, and its ears pricked up as it looked at Daimon warily.
“Can you turn this rabbit into a goblet?” Highly difficult animate-to-inanimate transfiguration—a fourth-year topic.
Daimon gripped his wand and pointed it at the rabbit.
The rabbit’s body began to shrink, its fur vanished, and its ears and limbs melted into silver metal.
Ultimately, it reshaped into an exquisite goblet, save for a few stray rabbit hairs clinging to the stem.
Not perfect, but incredibly impressive.
After all, Daimon had only been at Hogwarts for a few weeks.
If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Professor McGonagall would never have believed a first-year wizard could achieve this—unless he was Merlin reincarnated.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, pulled out a thick book, opened it to a page, and slid it toward Daimon.
“The final test.” It was a complex Transfiguration diagram, marked with dozens of arrows and annotations.
“The complete theoretical framework of cross-species transfiguration, a fifth-year topic.
I’ve read this book, Professor,” Daimon said, picking up a quill and starting to write on a blank sheet of parchment before McGonagall could even speak.
He wrote without pause, listing formulas, principles, and limitations line by line.
McGonagall stood behind him, watching him write.
Her expression shifted from calm to surprised, and then from surprised to solemn.
“That is enough,” she said, gently placing her hand over Daimon’s.
Daimon obediently put down his quill.
McGonagall picked up the parchment, read it from top to bottom, then set it down and clasped her hands on the desk, staring at him.
“Mr.
Ignis, where did you learn Transfiguration prior to this?” “The library,” Daimon replied, dropping a bombshell.
“*Intermediate Transfiguration*, *A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration*, *The Theories and Practice of Cross-Species Transfiguration*, *The Limits of Transfiguration*, and quite a few others.” He answered truthfully.
Ever since arriving at Hogwarts, he had focused most of his energy on studying Transfiguration, particularly the branch involving living organisms.
Because this directly affected whether he could reform his demon body.
“You’ve read all of them?” Professor McGonagall looked incredulous.
“Yes.” “And you understood them?” “Most of it.” McGonagall remained silent for a few seconds.
“Your current level of Transfiguration has already reached the standard of a fourth-year, and some of your theory even surpasses that of a fifth-year,” she said after a pause.
“It seems my previous assessment was correct, perhaps even a bit conservative.
At your current level, staying in class to learn things you already know is a waste of time.
Since you have such talent, it is my responsibility to help you realize it.” She sat back down.
“Starting today, I will assign you extra Transfiguration projects.” “Projects?” “Lesson preparation for the upper years,” McGonagall said, adjusting her spectacles.
“I will give you next week’s lesson material in advance.
You will study it yourself and write an essay for me.
If it is good enough, I will use your approach in my lessons.” Daimon blinked.
“I’m helping you prepare lessons?” “It is a form of learning.
Though of course, only for you,” McGonagall said evenly.
She opened the thick book, pointing to a page with a complex diagram.
“Your essay topic: Control Methods for Energy Loss in Cross-Species Transfiguration.
Twelve inches of parchment, due Monday evening.
Can you do that?” “No problem.” “Also,” McGonagall said, “I promised you that if you joined the Quidditch team, I would put you in touch with Professor Flitwick.
He has agreed.
You may go to his office for Charms lessons every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday at eight in the evening.” Daimon looked up at her.
“Thank you, Professor.” “You are welcome.” McGonagall picked up her quill.
“Though it may be redundant to say this to you, I must—study hard.
Professor Flitwick is very fond of eager, hard-working young wizards.” *** Time flew when one was studying hard.
In her office, after seeing Daimon out, McGonagall stood up, took her cloak from the stand, and draped it over her shoulders.
She stepped out and walked down the corridor toward the Headmaster’s office.
The stone gargoyle stood at the spiral staircase, letting out a yawn.
“Fizzing Whizbees,” McGonagall said the password.
The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the moving spiral staircase.
McGonagall stepped onto it and pushed open the door at the top.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, as if he had long known she would come.
“Minerva, sit.” McGonagall sat opposite him.
“How did he perform?” Dumbledore asked.
“His Transfiguration skills are far beyond his peers,” McGonagall said.
“His spellcasting is at an ‘Outstanding’ fourth-year level, and his theoretical mastery is easily fifth-year.” “All through self-study in the library,” she emphasized.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes catching the candlelight.
“Remarkable talent!” he murmured.
“You are right.
To be precise, the child’s talent is mind-bogglingly high,” McGonagall said.
“Which is why we must guide him—guide him toward the right path.
The wizarding world cannot afford another Dark Lord, let alone a more terrifying one,” Dumbledore said, his gaze sharp.
McGonagall countered, “He is only eleven, a first-year.
Aren’t you worrying a bit too early?” Dumbledore did not answer directly.
Instead, he leaned back, his eyes distant as if lost in memory.
“Yesterday, Hagrid reported to me that an Acromantula was killed in the Forbidden Forest.
It was burned to death by a type of fire magic I have never seen before,” he said slowly.
“You mean…
it was that boy?” McGonagall could hardly believe that a first-year student could kill an adult Acromantula.
“Damon Ignis possesses an innate form of fire magic.
Powerful, dangerous, and mysterious.
I have searched the Hogwarts library, and I found no record of such magic.” “Extraordinary talent, a brilliant mind, a thirst for magic.
I worry his pursuit of power will lead him astray.
I worry that in his quest for the ultimate heights of magic, he will forget why he started,” Dumbledore said.
“Then why do you still allow him to…” McGonagall asked.
“Because simply being suspicious is useless, and pushing him away would only be more dangerous.” Dumbledore thought back to his former student, pausing before continuing, “Besides, we are teachers of Hogwarts, not officials of the Ministry of Magic.
Educating our students is our duty, is it not?” “So keep a close eye on him, Minerva.” McGonagall looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.
“I will.”