CH89 - Pet the Porcupine

Whispering and cooing softly, Edmund scratched the snout of the baby porcupine on the desk in front of him. Simultaneously, his left hand reached under his right, stroking the creature's thin, wispy fur on its underside. Slowly, the tiny critter's squeals and whimpers quieted, giving way to satisfied snuffles and sighs.

"There we go," he hushed. "That's better. I promise this won't hurt one bit. You won't even be able to tell what happened. Besides, I'll tell you a secret... I'm pretty good at this spell, so you're in safe hands."

"Mr. Cole!" McGonagall's voice rang out irritatedly. "Stop petting the porcupine and get on with it."

Chuckles broke out across the classroom, but Edmund paid them no mind.

"I'm just trying to build a trusting relationship, Professor," he answered politely, gesturing to a poster hanging below one of the windows.

It read, in bold letters: 'Transfiguration is always easier to practice on a willing target.'

"I believe you've spent more than enough time on that stage," McGonagall replied with an exasperated tone.

Edmund looked up at the clock and winced. Half past nine. 'She's probably right.'

He retrieved his wand from the holster tucked into his sleeve as nonthreateningly as possible. Pointing it at the confused porcupette, he muttered, "Hystrifors."

The baby porcupine's fleshy body morphed into a pillow, its four paws retracting into itself seamlessly. Its protruding face shrank back, being absorbed into its frame in the same instant. Where before, there were hundreds of quills poking out of its rounded back, now stood tacks with various colours on the ends, each slightly different from the rest.

From porcupine to pincushion.

Inanimate to inanimate transformation had already been covered in the previous year. The second year of Transfiguration was instead an introduction to transforming animate objects into inanimate ones. The focus was on suppressing the will of a living being without harming it, learning how to manipulate something of a more delicate nature.

To that end, the Hystrifors spell was a perfect opener.

Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, which McGonagall had ensured was drilled into his head by now, was very simple to understand at its root. It was a fundamental property of magic, essentially stating that one could not create something from nothing.

Extrapolating upon this, it became clear that transfiguring something into another item was easiest when the desired outcome was similar to the original. There was no better example of this than a porcupine and a pincushion.

Lifting the end result, Edmund examined it from every angle, confirming that none of the features of the porcupine had remained. He was unsurprised to see that was not the case. Hystrifors was something McGonagall had taught him over ten months ago. He could complete the transformation blindfolded, with nary an incantation.

Transfiguration would never become boring for him, but following the pace of the rest of the class was unstimulating, to put it lightly. That was why Edmund had turned to creating his own challenges and putting restrictions on himself to make the tasks assigned more difficult.

In this instance, the cushion he transfigured had been designed to imitate a pumpkin, complete with a yellowy-orange colour, a ribbed rind, and a green stem. Its pins were also Halloween themed, etched with engravings of spiders, skulls, and bats on the sides of them.

A few months ago, he would have been wary of submitting an assignment of such a high quality to McGonagall, fearing her reaction. However, after their talk at the end of the school year, he had decided to put his doubts aside.

What she had said was true. Attending extra lessons with her was useless if she never knew the limits of what he was capable of. He would only get the most benefits from her teaching if he maintained a somewhat transparent relationship with her.

That was not to say that he had laid all his secrets bare. Although McGonagall had a better idea about his power and control, she still had no clue of his proficiency in using transfiguration during battle, which was ultimately his true trump card.

Edmund shook his head. 'Some things are better left secret.'

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- (Scene Break) -

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The second-year Hufflepuff contingent arrived in the Great Hall for lunch, only to find themselves in the middle of a commotion.

"Maybe we'll actually get to learn something now that—"

"—Just vanished!"

"He seemed fine in June, though, didn't he? I wonder when—"

"—Get a new teacher? That was the one class I could sleep in—"

Edmund gestured for the others to follow him, taking a seat near the end of the table where Cedric and Cho were deep in conversation.

"Is it true?" Jeremy butt in. "Old Binns is gone?"

"No one knows," Cho shrugged. "You know Binns; he likes to swoop through the blackboard on the first day to scare everyone. We sat there, waiting, for fifteen minutes, maybe, before someone decided to check his office. Empty."

"I was in DADA," Cedric picked up. "We were almost done with the lesson—fantastic, by the way, you'll love Moody—when Dumbledore came into the room and pulled Mad-Eye to the side."

"He's been on the warpath," Cho continued. "I've heard he's been interrogating the staff and the house ghosts to try and figure out who saw him last and when."

"Good luck with that," Cecilia scoffed. "I've never seen Binns interact with anyone. That would require him to leave his room for once. He could be gone since the day after school ended in June, and no one would know."

"No," Edmund countered knowingly. "It hasn't been that long. Binns doesn't do much, but Professor McGonagall tells me he at least shows up to the staff meetings occasionally. The fact that Dumbledore only found out today means that whatever happened, happened recently."

Dipping out of the conversation, Edmund whispered, seemingly to himself. "Have they got anything to go on?"

"No," an equally silent voice murmured back from within his robes. "I saw them cast tens of spells. No results as far as I could tell."

Discreetly sneaking a glance at the high table, Edmund grinned.

Dumbledore sat with his fingers crossed, his chin resting upon his hands. His face was neutral, giving away none of his emotions.

But Edmund knew better...

Activating the seldom-used secondary ability of his mind-sense, he did his best not to flinch. A bright red aura exuded from the headmaster in waves, permeating the air around him. Faint crackles and pops flared in the area frequently, emphasizing the intensity of the older man's palpable fury.

Dumbledore was no fool.

Thanks primarily in part to his latest ritual, Edmund had left no traces of his presence behind at the site. However, erasing the lingering remnants of the spiritual magic he had used was beyond his means. Dumbledore may not know of his involvement in what had occurred, but he would know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Binns' passing had not been natural.

Of course, in the absence of further information, only one man could be to blame. Indirectly though it may be, Voldemort was behind this, and Dumbledore knew it.

This latest action had only stoked the flames of the animosity between the two titans, and Edmund knew it would not be long before a retaliation of some sort followed.

He could hardly wait.