The Great Hall buzzed with an electric energy the next morning. Whispers of the previous night's events followed Zhang Ming like a persistent charm. Students from all houses looked at him with a mixture of awe, curiosity, and newfound hope.
Professor McGonagall approached him after breakfast, her expression a complex blend of stern professionalism and deep-seated curiosity. "Mr. Zhang. A word."
"Of course, Professor."
"Your demonstrations last night… they were… unprecedented," she began, choosing her words carefully. "The safety of my students is my paramount concern. Are these techniques… can they be taught safely?"
"Your concern is valid, Professor," Zhang Ming replied. "I intend to implement a tiered training system. Foundational perception and control exercises will be available to all. Advanced techniques—spiritual fire, accelerated potion brewing—will be restricted to vetted core members who have passed rigorous safety examinations. Comprehensive protocols will be enforced."
McGonagall's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Good. That is… reassuring." She hesitated. "There is another matter. In my Transfiguration class today… I would like you to demonstrate. A practical demonstration of… truetransfiguration. As you did with the matchstick."
"It would be my honour, Professor."
As he left the Great Hall, Kingsley Shacklebolt fell into step beside him. "Zhang Ming. A moment." His voice was low and serious. "Your safety. Last night's triumph will have made you enemies. Powerful ones. The Malfoys. Conservative factions in the Ministry. Even… darker elements may see you as a threat or a prize. I recommend an Auror detail, at least when you are outside Hogwarts."
Zhang Ming offered a faint smile. "I appreciate the concern, Mr. Shacklebolt. But I am capable of protecting myself."
"I do not doubt it. But a visible precaution is often the best deterrent. Indulge the Ministry this. It would ease many worries."
"Very well. Outside of Hogwarts, I accept."
"Good. Also, the Minister will be here tomorrow. To present the Order of Merlin, First Class, personally. He wishes to… publicly align the Ministry with progress. And to smooth over yesterday's… unpleasantness."
"Understood."
Back in the Ravenclaw common room, he was mobbed by excited students. It took considerable effort to gently usher them to bed, their minds alight with dreams of tomorrow's Transfiguration class.
Alone in his room, Zhang Ming reviewed the day's gains.
[Significant Milestone Achieved: Ministry Endorsement Secured]
[Influence Multiplier: Active]
[World Rule Analysis: 12.38%]
He then checked his spiritual surveillance. The feed from Malfoy Manor showed Lucius Malfoy in a state of apoplectic rage, smashing a priceless vase. 'Umbridge, that incompetent bint! She's made him a martyr! And now Fudge is giving him a bloody medal!'The feed showed Draco cowering in a corner. The boy had sent a panicked owl; the backlash was worse than he'd imagined.
[Alert: Hostile Intent Detected - Lucius Malfoy. Threat Level: Elevated. Recommending heightened vigilance.]
Zhang Ming calmly reinforced the defensive arrays around his room. The game was escalating. He meditated, his spiritual sense maintaining a watchful perimeter.
The Next Morning, Transfiguration Classroom
The classroom was packed. Not a single seat was empty. Students stood along the walls. Even the staff was present: Dumbledore, Flitwick, Snape, and a stern-looking Ministry official accompanying a beaming Cornelius Fudge.
Professor McGonagall began the lesson with uncharacteristic nervousness. "Today, we are privileged to have Mr. Zhang Ming demonstrate an advanced application of Transfiguration theory."
Zhang Ming stepped onto the dais. "Good morning. Today, we discuss the fundamental difference between Transfigurationand Transmutation."
A complex diagram appeared in the air.
"Standard Transfiguration," he began, holding up a match, "alters form, not substance." He flicked his wand. "Mutatio!" The match became a needle. He handed it to a student. "It looks like a needle. It feels like a needle. But is it?"
He directed a magical magnifier at it. The projection revealed the truth: the microscopic structure was still wood, rearranged to mimic a needle. "This is 'Form Memory' magic. Unstable. Temporary."
"Now," he said, taking a second match. "Transmutation." He didn't use his wand. Golden light enveloped the match. The wood seemed to dissolve into shimmering particles before reassembling into a new shape. A moment later, a perfect silver needle lay in his palm. "This is a change at the molecular level. The wooden cellulose has been restructured into a metallic crystal lattice. It is no longer wood. It issilver."
He handed the needle to a stunned Professor McGonagall. Her diagnostic spells confirmed it. "Merlin's beard… Pure silver. The atomic structure… it's perfect."
The classroom erupted.
"Truetransfiguration?!"
"But… that's alchemy! The Philosopher's Stone!"
Dumbledore spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "Indeed. This is the fabled 'True Transmutation'. A feat only Nicolas Flamel was said to have mastered after a lifetime of study."
Zhang Ming continued, demonstrating the principle by transmuting matches into gold, copper, and glass. Each time, the change was permanent and fundamental.
"The key," he explained, "is not power, but precision. Controlling energy at a sub-atomic level. This requires a degree of control far beyond standard wandwork. It requires spiritual sense."
The implications hung in the air, weighty and profound. This was more than a new spell; it was a new branch of magic.
It was at this moment that the door opened. Minister Cornelius Fudge swept in, putting on a grand show of sincerity. "My apologies for the interruption! A momentous occasion requires a momentous announcement!" He presented Zhang Ming with a case containing the Order of Merlin, First Class. "For unparalleled contributions to magical education and the advancement of our world!" He announced full Ministry support and funding for the Science and Cultivation Research Club, a transparent attempt to co-opt Zhang Ming's success and erase the memory of Umbridge's debacle.
The students cheered, swept up in the moment. As the class ended and the crowd began to disperse, a figure hesitated by the door.
Draco Malfoy.
The room grew quiet. Harry and Ron immediately stepped forward, flanking Zhang Ming.
"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice hard. "What do you want?"
Draco ignored him, his eyes fixed on Zhang Ming. His face was pale, but his jaw was set. "Zhang. I need to speak with you. Alone."
Zhang Ming studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
They moved to a quiet corner of the corridor. Draco visibly steeled himself, then bowed deeply. "I… apologize."
Zhang Ming raised an eyebrow. "For?"
"For the letter. For… everything. It was… cowardly. And wrong." The words seemed physically painful for him to get out. "I saw your lecture last night. What you can do… what you're teaching them… It's not about blood. It's about… this." He gestured vaguely, indicating the knowledge Zhang Ming possessed. "I was an idiot."
[Emotional Analysis: Target - Draco Malfoy]
[Sincerity: 87%]
[Primary Drivers: Fear (45%), Regret (62%), Intellectual Awakening (70%)]
[Hostility: 3%]
"The past is the past," Zhang Ming said, his voice neutral. "What matters is what you do now."
Draco looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Does that mean… I could… join? Your club?"
"The door is open to anyone who is willing to learn and abide by the rules," Zhang Ming said. "That includes you, Malfoy. Prove your change with your actions, not just your words."
Relief washed over Draco's face, followed by a grimace. "My father… he won't be happy."
"Then that is a conflict you must navigate," Zhang Ming said. "Change often starts with one person making a difficult choice."
As Draco walked away, a new sense of purpose in his step, Zhang Ming felt a shift.
[New Achievement: From Foe to Friend?]
[Draco Malfoy's Alignment Shift: Hostile -> Neutral -> Receptive]
[Influence Spread: Initiated within Slytherin's younger generation.]
The seed of change, once planted, was beginning to sprout in the most unlikely of soils.