"What gives you the confidence to improve Animagus Transfiguration?"
Professor McGonagall folded her arms.
Although she was almost certain Liam was overestimating himself, she still asked.
After all, simply forbidding a gifted child from doing something rarely worked.
Convincing them was usually more effective.
Liam nodded.
"That's fair."
"If I want your cooperation, I should prove I'm qualified."
A moment later, frost gathered in his palm.
An ice blade formed.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow.
"Wandless magic is impressive."
"But it isn't enough."
As one of the greatest Transfiguration professors alive, she could perform simple wandless magic herself.
It was difficult.
Less efficient.
But hardly impossible.
Liam smiled.
"You misunderstood."
"This isn't what I wanted to show you."
Before McGonagall could react, he dragged the ice blade across the back of his hand.
A sharp cut appeared.
Blood immediately flowed.
"What are you doing?!"
McGonagall nearly shouted.
For a moment she genuinely thought the boy had lost his mind.
Then something impossible happened.
The wound began closing.
Rapidly.
The torn flesh reconnected.
The blood vanished.
Within seconds, only smooth skin remained.
Not even a scar.
McGonagall froze.
Her eyes widened.
"...What?"
Liam held up his hand.
The injury was completely gone.
"Impossible."
McGonagall stepped closer.
Healing magic existed.
Medical spells existed.
Potions existed.
But this?
This was something entirely different.
Healing charms generally treated injuries indirectly.
They reduced pain.
Prevented infection.
Accelerated natural recovery.
Yet Liam's spell had directly reversed physical damage.
The implications were enormous.
"Professor?"
Liam smiled politely.
"Are you alright?"
McGonagall ignored the question.
"How?"
Her voice was unusually sharp.
"How did you do that?"
"This is a derivative spell."
Liam casually dismissed the ice blade.
"I created it by modifying the Repairing Charm."
"That is impossible!"
McGonagall immediately rejected the statement.
"The Repairing Charm works only on inanimate objects!"
"Attempting to use it on living creatures causes severe magical instability!"
"Everyone knows that!"
"Yes."
Liam nodded.
"Which is why I improved it."
McGonagall stared.
For several seconds, she said absolutely nothing.
Improving a spell was often harder than creating a new one.
To alter an existing spell successfully required understanding it more deeply than the wizard who originally developed it.
That was not something children did.
That was not something most adults could do.
Yet the evidence stood directly in front of her.
A healed wound.
No scars.
No potion.
No external assistance.
Just magic.
Liam spread his hands.
"Am I qualified now?"
Professor McGonagall slowly sat down.
"Qualified?"
She laughed once.
A short, disbelieving laugh.
"Yes."
"You are qualified."
Then her eyes suddenly brightened.
"Can this spell be shared?"
Liam tilted his head.
"Shared?"
"This could revolutionize magical medicine."
McGonagall leaned forward.
"Do you understand how valuable this is?"
"Of course."
Liam smiled.
"Which is why I should probably be compensated."
McGonagall blinked.
Then she laughed again.
A little louder this time.
"You certainly are a Slytherin."
"Research materials aren't cheap."
Liam shrugged.
"I spent years experimenting."
"A lot of failures."
"A lot of damaged guinea pigs."
"That sounds expensive."
"It was."
McGonagall considered the matter.
Then she nodded.
"If this spell works consistently, I believe the Ministry would reward you handsomely."
"A substantial grant."
"A substantial amount sounds nice."
Liam looked satisfied.
"Then I'll write down the complete spell theory later."
"Good."
McGonagall nodded firmly.
Then she made a decision.
"If you're serious about researching Animagus theory, you may come to me whenever you have questions."
Liam's eyes brightened slightly.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I won't teach you anything dangerous beyond your level."
"However, if you've already mastered the fundamentals, I won't stop you from studying more advanced material."
A gifted student like this could not be educated through ordinary methods.
Trying to force him into a standard curriculum would only waste his talent.
If gold was buried underground, it could never shine.
McGonagall had no intention of making that mistake.
"Thank you, Professor."
For perhaps the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Liam bowed with genuine sincerity.
He liked this place.
The professors were completely different from Death Eaters.
They encouraged learning.
Questions weren't punished.
Curiosity wasn't beaten out of children.
For Liam, Hogwarts already felt better than anywhere he had lived before.
...
Soon other students began arriving.
Gryffindors.
Slytherins.
The classroom gradually filled with noise.
Professor McGonagall returned to the front of the room.
By the time the bell rang, everyone had arrived.
Almost everyone.
A minute later the door burst open.
Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley rushed inside, both breathing heavily.
"We're sorry, Professor!"
"We got lost!"
Ordinarily McGonagall would have erupted.
Instead she merely frowned.
"Take your seats."
Harry looked shocked.
Ron looked even more shocked.
The two hurried to empty desks.
Professor McGonagall's mood remained unusually good.
After all, she had just discovered what might be the most talented young magical researcher of the century.
A pair of late students barely registered.
The lesson began.
...
Liam listened attentively throughout the entire class.
Everything he knew had come from self-study.
Books.
Observation.
Experimentation.
While that foundation was valuable, systematic education filled countless gaps.
McGonagall's explanations connected concepts he had previously understood only partially.
Several times Liam found himself taking notes faster than anyone else.
Watching from the front of the room, McGonagall couldn't help feeling slightly regretful.
Such a student.
Such a brilliant student.
And he belonged to Slytherin.
A terrible waste.
...
After class ended, Cassandra immediately appeared beside him.
"Next is Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"With Hufflepuff."
"Come on."
"Alright."
Liam packed his books.
As they walked through the corridors, Cassandra suddenly asked:
"Your Defence Against the Dark Arts must be incredible, right?"
"It's alright."
"Nothing special."
Cassandra snorted.
"I don't believe that."
Then she grinned.
"I want to duel you."
Liam immediately looked troubled.
"Why?"
"Because it'll be fun."
"After classes start, student duels are allowed."
Her eyes sparkled.
"Let's fight."
"I'd rather not."
"Why?"
Liam sighed.
Because if he stopped holding back, people tended to die.
Obviously he couldn't say that aloud.
"We're friends."
"That seems like a poor reason to attack each other."
"Wrong."
Cassandra pointed at him.
"Friends improve each other."
"Friends argue."
"Friends compete."
"And then they become stronger."
Her confidence was absolute.
"If you hold back, I'll be angry."
Liam looked exhausted already.
"Fine."
"Yes!"
Cassandra pumped her fist triumphantly.
Then she grabbed his wrist.
"Come on."
"The classroom's this way."
...
The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom sat on the second floor.
Compared to McGonagall's bright classroom, this room felt gloomy.
Dark.
Oppressive.
Almost uncomfortable.
Standing at the front was a thin man wearing a large purple turban.
His nervous expression made him look permanently frightened.
"G-good morning, c-class."
"I-I am P-Professor Quirrell."
Every sentence emerged in a stutter.
Cassandra looked unimpressed.
"Hmph."
She tugged Liam toward the front row.
"Let's sit."
Liam allowed himself to be dragged forward.
Unlike Cassandra, however, he found Quirrell extremely interesting.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
The moment class started, he intended to activate Magical Sight.
Because whatever secret Quirrell was hiding—
Liam wanted to see it.
....
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