The owl's note left the class blinking.
First period… self-study?
On reflection, most first-years softened. Professor McGonagall had shepherded the Sorting the whole evening and shepherded most of them yesterday besides. At her age, a strain was only natural. Self-study it was.
What wasn't natural was the three-inch essay.
Muggle-borns in particular stared in betrayal.
Wait—we came here to do magic, not homework. Why is wizard homework worse than the Muggle kind?
Then they remembered Theodore had been assigned three times the length and felt marginally better. Nine inches—nearly wand-length. Cruel and unusual.
Theo only sighed. Petty revenge, Professor? Fair. Considering the Ten-Thousand Transformations talent she'd essentially sponsored, he could let this one slide.
Energised by what they'd just witnessed from Theo and Hermione, the room actually attacked the text with gusto… for about three minutes.
Transfiguration standard constructs?
Gamp's Law?
One hundred and thirty-seven micro-steps for inanimate transformations (introductory)?
Why did Chapter One run over twenty pages, with no diagrams? Even note-taking felt like a survival course. Casting? Out of the question.
In canon, only prepped-in-advance Hermione had kept pace with McGonagall on day one, barely changing a match into a silver needle—and that had earned a rare smile. Harry could learn Patronus and monster Accios; Transfiguration, like maths, remained the subject you can't wing.
The initial roar died into a whimper. Dozens of pleading eyes drifted toward Theo and Hermione. Harry and Ron broke first.
"Help, geniuses!"
"What does any of this mean?"
"Three inches of this will kill us."
Theo's gaze slid to Hermione. In the original timeline, her early know-it-all streak plus relentless excellence had isolated her; Gryffindors had bristled. Not this life. Not on his watch.
"Hermione," he said gently, "you've cracked most of this already. How about you… teach a bit?"
She froze, colour climbing her cheeks. "Teach? I—I've never tried. And your Transfiguration's much better—how could I—"
"Because I know you can," he said, half teasing, wholly sincere. "Besides, Queen of All Answers commanding the lectern? That's cool. I'll be right here. If anything snags, I'll backstop."
Her eyes met his; the contact sparked like a charm. She looked away, inhaled, and—voice a touch shaky—said, "All right. If you're lost, I can… explain."
Every face in the room turned up, wide and guileless.
"Lost everywhere," said Harry.
Hermione blinked, then sighed. "We'll start at paragraph one."
"And," Theo added, smiling, "Hermione's notes will be available as reference."
A beat of silence—then the classroom erupted.
"Long live the Queen of All Answers!"
"Our saviour—Hermione Granger!"
Flustered but steadying, Hermione organised her thoughts and began. Under a real explainer's hand, the opaque text thinned; ideas slotted into place. By the bell, her voice was hoarse, her quill hand cramped… and while no one managed a full needle, many matches showed honest change: a sharpened tip here, a wash of silver there. Enough to thrill first-years.
Even Ron's battered wand produced a slightly pointier match.
Only Neville kept waving his wand to no effect, face fallen into quiet misery. While most crowded Hermione with thanks and questions, no one noticed the boy at the back—no one but Theo.
He stepped over. "Hey, Neville. You don't look great."
Neville's nod was small and helpless. "I'm rubbish. At… everything."
"I didn't understand Hermione's bit. Everyone made theirs change, and I couldn't. My gran says my memory's bad. My uncle thinks I'm a Squib. I think—maybe Hogwarts made a mistake. Maybe the professors will realise I can't do magic and send me home."
Theo paused. This was the boy who, in another thread of time, would grow into steel: leader of Dumbledore's Army when Harry was gone; the one who defied Voldemort to his face, drew the Sword of Gryffindor, and severed the last Horcrux. Gryffindor's Sword Saint, they'd call him.
Here and now, he was just a boy with his head full of noise that said he wasn't enough.
Theo set a hand on Neville's shoulder. "Believe yourself, Neville. You were meant to be here."
"Believing yourself is the best magic of all. What do you like doing?"
Neville thought. "Pets. Plants. I like… taking care of things. Pots at home, cuttings—herbs and that."
"Then you've got a gift for Herbology," Theo said, without a flicker of doubt. "Truly. I wouldn't be surprised if you end up teaching it here one day."
Neville stared at him. His eyes went shiny.
The Longbottoms were a house of courage to the last breath; his parents had fought Death Eaters until the Cruciatus stole their minds. The name Longbottom weighed heavy; expectations heavier. He'd only ever heard scolding and sighs.
No one had ever said he might be Professor Longbottom.
A seed dropped into the soil of Neville's chest and, very quietly, took.
A translucent pane winked open at the edge of Theo's vision:
[While seeking the Way in Jade Void Palace, you meet a boy named Tu Xingsun—small of stature, modest of talent, bowed by self-doubt.]
[Your words of encouragement ease his heart.]
[Relationship with young Tu Xingsun: Acquaintance.]
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