Hall smiled to himself as he left Transfiguration.
He'd deliberately stirred things up during the cat revelation — knowing exactly what McGonagall was, he'd positioned himself to collect all the data about her form that he could. It was useful information. Animagus forms were rare and powerful.
As a cat, she has access to places humans can't reach. Could be useful someday.
He left Transfiguration with quiet satisfaction.
The rest of his morning classes went smoothly. His hypothesis held true: increased Comprehension genuinely improved his ability to grasp magical concepts. It wasn't just theoretical — he could feel the difference in how he understood spells and their mechanics.
Self-study would be too slow, though. Better to earn more Galleons and directly purchase new talents.
Professor McGonagall's assignment was simple: turn matches into needles. Hall exceeded it immediately. Matches became needles, then rulers, then origami cranes, then bicycles. He eventually transformed his match into a tiny metal dragon with articulated joints, capable of performing a series of preprogrammed movements.
Even with the side experiments, he finished first: one minute and thirty-eight seconds (the last minute spent polishing his wand for appearance).
"William, excellent work. Slytherin, ten points." McGonagall paused at his desk, studying his creation. "I haven't seen Transfiguration mastery like that in quite some time."
She glanced across the room at Harry, and something flickered in her expression — something that might have been regret.
Hall left his dragon on the desk and experimented with transforming it into other shapes while he waited for the class to end. A miniature dragon that breathed tiny flames. A dancing rabbit. A spinning top.
Then Zabini and Malfoy crowded around his desk, eyes gleaming.
"How did you do that?" Malfoy's voice was almost reverent.
Hall transformed the dragon one more time — this time into a detailed mechanical rabbit performing ballet.
"Teach me! Teach me! Please!" Malfoy's excitement was genuine. The other boys around him shared the same hunger in their eyes.
Hall shrugged casually. "I can teach you."
He paused for effect.
"But it'll cost extra."
Within seconds, roughly 100 Galleons appeared on his desk.
"You'll get the full technique," he promised. "Unless you're too dim to follow instructions."
By evening, he checked his finances.
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By evening, Hall checked his finances.
Available Galleons: 1,078 Galleons, 6 Sickles, 23 Knuts
He made a decision. "Upgrade Potion Making talent to B-Rank. Learn Complexion-Cleansing Draught and Squib Restoration Potion."
[Ding]
[Squib Restoration Potion is a research-tier potion. Development cost: 50 Galleons. Proceed?]
"Yes."
[Ding — Panel Update]
B-Rank Ability: Potion Making (Complexion-Cleansing Draught, Squib Restoration Potion)
Available Galleons: 928 Galleons, 6 Sickles, 23 Knuts
Potions, he reminded himself, worked differently from spells.
Potions were different from spells. Even Muggles could use them — they didn't require magical ability to consume, only skill to create. For someone with limited magical reserves, potions were practical, efficient, and didn't drain magic in the same way spell-casting did.
They were essential.
And Hall had a personal reason.
He remembered the ten years he'd spent as a Squib. His family had been kind, but every time he went out, people's eyes would linger. Pity. Disappointment. The word "Squib" had gradually replaced his actual name in people's mouths.
"Look, there's the Weasley Squib."
Even as an outsider, he'd felt the weight of that. For actual Squibs — children from magical families who'd developed no magical ability — the isolation and shame must have been crushing.
So when Hall saw the system offered a Squib Restoration Potion, he'd bought it immediately.
As for potions — if he could master them, he had options beyond what traditional magic offered.
The Potions classroom was dim and damp.
The Potions classroom was dimly lit and damp, smelling of strange ingredients and simmering cauldrons. When Professor Snape entered, his black robes seemed to billow like wings.
He stopped in front of the class and turned. His dark eyes swept across the students, lingering on Harry Potter with an expression that could only be described as cold.
"You have come to learn the art and exact science of potion-making," Snape said, his voice pitched low but carrying to every corner of the room. "Since there are no foolish wand-waving theatrics here, many of you will fail to see the magic in it."
"I do not expect you to truly understand the beauty of a cauldron simmering over a gentle flame, the delicate white steam rising, the fragrant aroma filling the air. I do not expect you to comprehend the wondrous potency of the liquid that flows through veins — the captivating, mesmerising force that grants power."
"I can teach you how to increase your status, brew glory, even hold back death itself — but only if you are not fools. And I encounter many fools."
The classroom fell into absolute silence.
Snape turned his gaze to Harry. "Mr. Potter. Why are you here?"
Harry stammered something incoherent.
"One point from Gryffindor," Snape said coldly. "Now. Begin."
Hall didn't care about the power dynamics playing out between Snape and Harry. He was interested in the potions themselves. The moment Snape gave permission, Hall headed to the ingredient storage.
His new B-Rank potion-making ability came with something unexpected: as he examined each ingredient, detailed information appeared in his mind.
Porcupine Quill. Source: African porcupine. Properties: lowers blood pressure, promotes urination, alleviates pain. Quality: Flawed — damaged, potency reduced by half.
He set it down and picked up another.
Porcupine Quill. Source: Asian porcupine. Properties: same. Quality: Perfect.
Only the perfect one went into his bag.
He continued through the ingredients, his new ability sorting quality from mediocre with perfect clarity. By the time he returned to his workstation, he had premium materials.
Malfoy was already waiting, having claimed them as partners for the practical.
Snape paced the classroom, his attention fixed on Hall's workstation. The boy clearly knew how to assess material quality — not something you'd expect from an eleven-year-old. Interesting.
Snape's gaze drifted back repeatedly toward William's group, calculating.
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