Harry Potter : Chapter 7: Lesson Given, Lesson Learned IV

Besides, I thought by myself as I strolled across the library, picking up a tome here and there, a world-wide empire isn't going to build itself. I stopped briefly when my eyes landed on the Restricted Section, considering briefly a possible break-in before discarding the option, there would be time for that eventually.

"I'm starting to sound like a megalomaniac..." I muttered to myself once I recognized that referring to my vague plan about the future as 'the creation of a world-wide empire' didn't sound particularly sane. Nevertheless, I needed to acquire skills before setting out on my own.

...

Will I actually need 7 years of lessons here? I wondered as I picked up a thick tome about Animation. "Right after the war it's likely going to be the best time to set myself up economically." and the rhythm that the curriculum followed was extremely slow compared to what I could learn while I applied myself.

In the summer I can try out Apparition, it didn't sound like a difficult skill to learn. And that should take care of mobility.

I only need a way to build a safe shelter, which implies some sort of ward, to eat and drink, and a way to keep myself and my clothes clean. After another couple of steps, I snorted: "Like hell I'm going to shit behind a bush, so I should learn something about that too."

When I started to have difficulty balancing the pile of books, I began looking for a place to seat. Surely enough, I spotted a large table, where a lonely third-year Gryffindor was sitting alone, the casual glare she shot at me in order to keep me from sitting likely the reason for her solitude. Jackpot.

With a sharp chin and wide eyes, a 13 years old Minerva McGonagall almost bared her teeth in a silent growl when I approached despite her deterring tactics.

"Excuse me?" she snapped with a whisper accompanied by a frown when I simply sat down.

"Excused." I replied glibly as I started to peruse the contents of my selection of books, "Is it true that you're the next Merlin in Transfiguration?"

My question cut short her half-whispered rant, bringing a dusting of pink on her cheeks before she resumed what would eventually evolve in her distinctive stern expression: "I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with your silly Slytherin stupidity!"

Great alliteration. "What stupidity? You're great at Transfiguration, I'm curious about Transfiguration, sitting here seems outright wise in my opinion."

She scoffed, before narrowing her eyes and looking me over, likely seeing me for the first time instead of using her eyes as an approximation of daggers: "You're that unnaturally large first year." she accused me.

"And you're likely to be the most observant gal around, congratulations." I rolled my eyes while I fingered my wand, focusing on the intended result of my spell. Without further ado, I pointed at my quill and intoned lightly.

"Plumaverto."

The string-like filaments of both sides of the central, rigid part of the quill seemed to flow like water one over another, twirling as they assumed a metallic sheen and the object shortened, assuming the more reasonable form of a fountain pen.

I lifted my eyes from my spare parchment in time to see the Scottish witch's surprised expression.

"That's..." McGonagall's voice wavered between confusion about the whole situation, disbelief that a first-year could complete such a transfiguration just after a week of lessons, envy because of my inventive, and curiosity now that I had proved myself different from your ordinary Hogwarts student.

With practised ease and enjoying the interested gaze of the witch sitting on the other side of the table, I unscrewed the top of the pen, revealing the hollow side that I had envisioned, and slowly, I poured ink inside.

Before screwing tightly the top and writing a few squiggly lines in order to get the black liquid running before setting out to draw up a diagram of the fountain pen, that clearly had yet to appear in the Wizarding World, scribbling 'Plumaverto' on one side.

Finally, with what I hoped would be received as an amicable smile, I handed over the parchment, which was received with raised eyebrows.

"My name is Rubeus Hagrid." I introduced myself raising my hand in order to shake hers.

"Minerva McGonagall, it's a pleasure." she instinctively replyed while she shook my hand. Even then, her eyes never left the parchment, avidly devouring my design.

"It's inventive, but you could accomplish a similar result with a self-inking quill."

I stopped her tentative to demean my work with a simple observation.

"Refilling Charm. If you practice enough, I imagine you could turn the side of the pen into glass, maybe make it so that it is unstainable so that when the ink starts getting low, you can fill it with a wave of your wand."

"That's sixth-year material..." she frowned, but she stopped trying to dismiss my creation.

I shrugged, ignoring the weak objection. It has taken me ten hours of practice to turn a quill into a ball fountain pen, I'm fucking proud of it. 

"Because like the Gemino Curse it is a form of conjuration?" I tentatively proposed, neatly introducing one of the questions that had been rolling in my head for the past week.

"So," I stated now that I managed to get her attention, "I understand the whole explanation about leveraging symbolism in order to accomplish either a charm or a transfiguration." 

Even if Potter was able to learn Muffliato, Levicorpus, Sectumsempra and even the Patronus without the need to think about anything in particular. I amended the statement in my head, aware that a deep understanding of Magical Theory was actually pretty useless when one actually needed to cast magic.

"Still, I don't actually understand Gamp. The fifth exception in particular." I concluded while tapping on a page.

"It should be noted that while food cannot be outright created from nothing, it can be multiplied if one already has some food to multiply, it can be enlarged or the food can be summoned if one knows the approximate location and is fairly sure the food will still be there."

Minerva read from the page I had shoved under her nose, still somewhat frazzled about my whole performance, "In addition, while "good food" cannot be conjured, consumable things such as sauces, wine, and potable water can be, as they are not particularly nutritious substances."

"But creatures can be conjured, can't they? Such as snakes and birds, because it is admittedly easy enough to picture the Ideal Form of a living animal." I countered, and they're clearly more complex than wine.

"Leaving alone the fact that conjuring is extremely difficult," Minerva's eyes briefly found mine, still disbelieving about the surreality of the whole situation: "and that there is a reason why Duplicating and Refilling Charms are left for N.E.W.T. courses, you'd likely be best served by following the curriculum, before jumping so unbelievably far ahead."

I grimaced at her objection, I didn't want to learn how to make a teacup dance, nevermind turning a beetle into a button or a guinea pig into a fowl, it sounded like a wasteful expenditure of both time and effort.

"If I get on par with the theory, shall we be studying together?" I offered the only compromise that I was willing to give.

"You'd think yourself capable of

"It doesn't sound so complex, I've been taught how to turn a matchstick into a needle two days ago, and look what I've managed to do on the spur of the moment."

"The spur of the moment?"

"I may have spent an inordinate amount of time on the design." I conceded her point before returning to my offer.

"If I get reasonably on par with fourth-year theory of Transfiguration, will you agree to study together? I have some projects that would welcome your talented approach instead of my silly Slytherin showmanship, and I'm more than likely to prove myself an extraordinary wizard, and I'd like to eventually become friends."

She snorted at the utter lack of modesty I displayed, making me smile sardonically: "Friends?" she arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

I kind of understood her disbelief, I was eleven, she was 13 years old, at that age it sounded like an abyss, but McGonagall was going to be a monster in Transfiguration, and admittedly, the idea of remaining on my lonesome for the whole duration of my stay at Hogwarts sounded kind of... maddeningly.

Sure, Dumbledore looked like a swell guy, but I truly didn't want to risk him painting me with Tom's brush, and that was without thinking about the inherent risk of slipping up near the genius wizard.

That ruled him out as a friend until I managed to get on a somewhat equal footing.

Slughorn had an eye for talent, and he was likely to approach me if I managed to realize some of the wild projects I had for potions of various kind. But he was also the professor that saw nothing wrong with talking about Horcruxes with Tom Riddle, so while I was undoubtedly going to use him as much as he was going to use me, I wasn't eager for that.

The only remaining person that could provide something akin to an intelligent exchange, unless I wanted to waste my time by scouring the whole population of Hogwarts, was Tom Riddle. Yeah, that wasn't an option, since I still needed to kill the megalomaniac fucker.

"You'd think yourself capable of catching up..." Minerva stopped her objection when she spotted me twirling the fountain pen I created, "Very well, I agree."

...

A few hours later, I ended up checking out several books on transfiguration suggested by Minerva, who still made clear that she wasn't going to give me the time of the day unless I proved myself to be actually competent.

This wasn't the world of petty rivalry depicted in the Harry Potter books, the differences were glaringly obvious. Not only for the long-lasting effects caused by both Grindelwald and Voldemort, but very much because of the general mentality of the people. In 1940, respect for your elders and for Institutions was very much a thing.

I was about to reach the common room, where I had every intention of buckling down on Transfiguration for the rest of the day, when a muttered voice behind me gave away the presence of someone else.

A spell sizzled uselessly against my back, making me turn with a frown clearly etched on my features. Behind me, there was a pair of older Slytherin students, likely around 14 years of age, who shared an expression of amusement that quickly turned into one of disbelief when they understood that their first move had utterly failed.

Said expression turned into one of confusion when instead of recoiling in fear, I took a step forward and brandished my own wand: "Expelliarmus!"

I flicked my wrist as I had religiously practised, the image of the Disarming Charm stark clear in my head, followed by another, more subtle twitch of the wand directed at the second student. Levicorpus.

"Protego!" the instinctive answer of the first kid came in time to stop the Disarming Charm, but it did not spare his companion, which was suddenly uplifted by his ankle, causing him to let his wand fall as he instinctively tried to bring his hands to protect his face from the floor, which for an istant looked like it was going to smash him on the face.

The first student turned his flabbergasted expression towards his friend just in time to be nailed by another silent Levicorpus, that I followed up with another: "Expelliarmus!" confident of the results of my charm.

A few seconds later, I was holding the wands of two very pissed purebloods that had no idea how to free themselves, forced as they were to dangle from their calves, flashing all the corridor with their underwear.

I sighed, considering the situation. What to do, what to do? I suppose I should be grateful that the bullying of the 'clearly different' first year waited for a whole week.

"That was very well done." a calm voice that did not belong to a 13 years old kid made me turn where an amused Tom Riddle was looking over the rsults of the impromptu duel.

Oh fucking hell! I groaned.

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