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It was not just Ian.
All the young witches and wizards in the classroom were equally bewildered by these words, unable to comprehend why Professor McGonagall had suddenly beco so furious. Surely, it was just a puff of green smoke?
"Before class, I distinctly rember emphasizing that caution is the foremost rule in learning Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall stated, her sharp gaze piercing Ian like a well-aid hex.
"But clearly, Mr. Prince, you failed to take that lesson to heart," She added, her stern expression making Ian instinctively shrink into himself.
"Sorry, Professor, I just had a sudden thought and wanted to test it out," Ian admitted, feeling that he had, in fact, been quite careful. He had rely attempted to transfigure the matchstick into a misty rejuvenation potion.
At least he had resisted the temptation to try turning it into a love potion.
Surely that counted as caution?
Besides.
The attempt hadn't even worked. While the smoke had taken on the rejuvenation potion's distinctive color, Ian could tell it lacked any actual magical properties.
Perhaps his current level of Transfiguration wasn't sufficient?
[Transfiguration (Level 3) 6/800]
After Professor McGonagall's lesson and his own insights, Ian's grasp of Transfiguration had made remarkable progress, enabling him to achieve more intricate transformations.
However.
Level 3 Transfiguration clearly wasn't enough to bring his more ambitious ideas to life. It seed that shaping substances with inherent magical qualities required an even greater level of mastery— perhaps even a touch of legendary talent.
"Have you considered the consequences if another student had accidentally inhaled that smoke?" Professor McGonagall's stern expression softened slightly at Ian's apology, but her voice remained firm.
"They could have been hard… if the magic beca unstable," Ian admitted succinctly. He was well aware of the dangers of uncontrolled Transfiguration and had no intention of using his classmates as test subjects.
In fact.
Ian could feel that as long as he didn't actively cancel the transformation, its effects might last for… a very, very long ti.
Perhaps even longer than so wizards' lifespans.
"If you knew that, then why proceed with such a reckless experint?" Professor McGonagall's gaze lingered on Ian, a trace of concern hidden within her stern deanor.
Was Hogwarts about to see the rise of another exceptionally talented troublemaker?
"I wasn't thinking that far ahead. I was simply trying to understand the principles of Transfiguration— whether it was possible to turn solid objects into gas or liquid."
Ian knew this wasn't the ti to argue, so he skillfully employed the art of diplomacy— offering just enough truth to be convincing.
At this.
Professor McGonagall hesitated for a mont.
Then, her expression softened ever so slightly.
"Very well, Mr. Prince, it seems I too bear so responsibility in this matter," The elder witch sighed, her tone tinged with reflection.
"I hadn't anticipated a student reaching such an advanced stage of transformation in their very first lesson. I had planned to address these concerns later in the term."
"However, given the circumstances, it's clear I must adjust my teaching approach to prevent similar incidents in the future," Professor McGonagall said, her gaze sweeping over the classroom.
"There are crucial aspects of Transfiguration that extend beyond what we have covered today. In addition to Gamp's Law of Elental Transfiguration, which you will study later, there are also serious risks involved when attempting advanced Transfiguration."
At this point.
Professor McGonagall shot Ian another look of quiet astonishnt.
Then she continued, "What Mr. Prince just demonstrated is sothing you must all approach with extre caution. Transforming objects into gas or liquid is exceptionally dangerous."
"Take that smoke just now— if inhaled, and if the spell were to fail or break, those transfigured particles could revert to their original solid form inside the inhaler's body, causing catastrophic damage to their lungs and bloodstream."
Her voice rang with authority, her words carrying an unmistakable weight.
And at that mont.
"Isn't that incredible?"
A hushed murmur broke the silence of the classroom.
Ian turned his head, only to find that the speaker was none other than the bright-eyed young witch who had once declared her wish to transfigure her younger brother into a rainbow-colored pony.
He couldn't help but glance at the schedule again.
Yes, today's lesson was indeed with Hufflepuff.
"Of course, Miss Laura, it is impressive… but—"
Professor McGonagall's expression turned deadly serious.
"It would also constitute attempted murder. And unless the victim was fortunate enough to be treated at St. Mungo's imdiately, the consequences would be fatal. I will not tolerate reckless behavior when it cos to Transfiguration."
"Anyone foolish enough to experint on others will find that expulsion is far from the worst consequence they might face."
Professor McGonagall's warning carried an unmistakable finality. The room fell into a heavy silence, the young students clearly unnerved by the gravity of her words.
Even Ian lowered his head slightly, wisely choosing not to interject.
"Mr. Prince, you have accomplished sothing that even many advanced students struggle with. Your progress has exceeded all my expectations. But I urge you to take the principles of caution and responsibility even more seriously."
Professor McGonagall concluded her lecture with a asured but firm tone. Then, after a glance at the classroom clock, she finally announced the end of the lesson.
The mont they were released from the weighty atmosphere, the students hurried to pack their things and leave. Professor McGonagall remained at her desk, tidying up her notes, her eyes flickering toward Ian, William, and Michael as they exited.
She parted her lips slightly.
But in the end, she hesitated and said nothing.
"Ian, you have to teach that!"
"rlin's beard, Professor McGonagall was absolutely terrifying! I declare her the most terrifying professor at Hogwarts!"
His two roommates chattered animatedly.
Then, as if by unanimous agreent, they decided they needed a hearty al to recover from the experience.
Since it was still early in the term.
The class schedule wasn't yet overwhelming. After their morning Transfiguration lesson, their next class wouldn't be until the afternoon— a nightmare for many Hogwarts students.
Potions class.
Ian tucked the neatly folded letter into his robes and glanced towards the West Tower, where the Hogwarts Owlery was located.
"I still need to send a letter. You two go ahead," he told his roommates before parting ways.
Perhaps it wasn't too far?
As he made his way through the corridors, he stopped a passing senior student to ask for directions. The older student was more than happy to help—perhaps a little too enthusiastic, in fact. He even suggested taking Ian on a night tour of the castle to help him get familiar with the layout.
The more Ian listened, the more uneasy he felt.
Why would a night tour require chocolate sauce and a change of clothes?
"I'm only eleven! Doesn't Hogwarts have underage protection laws?" Ian thought as he quickly excused himself, thanking the older student before making a swift escape towards the Owlery.
The Owlery was perched at the top of the West Tower, requiring students to climb a long, winding spiral staircase to reach it. The circular stone chamber had an ancient, almost solemn feel, though the floor was littered with straw, owl droppings, and the occasional rodent bone—remnants of previous als.
Hundreds of owls of various breeds perched in the rafters, their keen eyes watching every movent below.
Ian approached a small, white-faced owl and carefully offered it his letter.
"Please deliver this to Wool's Orphanage," He said, holding out a handful of slightly stale freeze-dried food as a reward.
The owl hooted but ignored the offering. Ian wasn't surprised—it had been ant as a treat, but he'd tasted it himself last week and wasn't particularly fond of it either.
Just as he was about to leave, sothing caught his attention. In the corner of the room, a small mouse trembled amid the straw. A few owls had gathered around it, their heads tilting curiously, but none had yet decided to make it a al.
"Poor little thing."
On a whim, Ian drew his wand.
"Vera Verto."
Magic stirred in the air as strands of straw shimred and transford into a pale yellowish-orange gas. It drifted forward, silent as a whisper, seeping into the shivering mouse's nostrils. The tiny creature remained unaware.
And then—
"Vera Verto."
A second transformation. The connection between Ian and his transfigured creation pulsed as the magic took hold. In an instant, countless razor-sharp steel needles erupted from the mouse's body.
Its skin split apart.
Blood sprayed in fine crimson arcs.
The mouse never had the chance to scream. The gathered owls let out startled hoots, flapping their wings in alarm as they hastily retreated from the now-bristling corpse.
Ian watched the result of his experint with a flicker of fascination.
"There's still room for improvent," He mused. "I'll call this the Prince Kedavra Curse."
His pulse quickened. Inspiration struck like a bolt of lightning— born from Professor McGonagall's lesson and refined by his own curiosity. Her warnings had been correct: caution was paramount.
And now, as he explored new avenues of magical attack, he had taken her words to heart.
He had, after all, ensured that there would be no survivors.
"Having a proper professor's guidance is invaluable," Ian thought, tucking his wand away as he turned to leave the Owlery.
(End of Chapter)
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