Transfiguration was the one class Alexander actually looked forward to.
Which was unfortunate—because the moment he sat down, he remembered he was now juggling two detentions.
Professor McGonagall entered the classroom, sharp-eyed and composed as ever. The room quieted instantly.
Alexander raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Chen?" she asked, already bracing herself.
"I have detention with Professor Snape now, too," Alexander said plainly. "Which one should I attend?"
A ripple of whispers spread through the class.
McGonagall paused. Just for a fraction of a second.
"I will handle it," she said firmly. "You will continue detention with me."
Alexander let out a long sigh of relief.
"…Thank you, Professor."
She gave him a look. "That was not permission to relax further."
Then she turned and began the lesson.
Great, Alexander thought. Another week of Hogwarts etiquette lectures.
Sure enough, once she moved away to assist another student, he muttered under his breath, "So that's another week of being taught how to be 'considerate.' Thrilling."
Transfiguration itself, however, was interesting.
Today's task was once again the matchstick-to-needle transformation. Around the room, students struggled—some producing bent needles, others ending up with half-charred sticks.
McGonagall moved gracefully between desks, offering sharp but helpful corrections.
"Focus, Mr. Carter."
"Miss Whitcombe, intent matters."
"No, Mr. Holloway, you cannot rush precision."
Alexander, meanwhile, wasn't even looking at his textbook.
He stared at the matchstick in front of him, eyes narrowed—not in frustration, but curiosity.
What's the limit? He wondered.
He altered his casting angle slightly.
The matchstick shimmered—
—and popped.
A sharp bang echoed through the classroom as the matchstick exploded into splinters and smoke.
Several students yelped.
Cho jumped in her seat.
McGonagall spun around instantly, wand raised. "Mr. Chen!"
Alexander blinked at the smoking remains. "…Huh."
"Do not experiment with Transfiguration without supervision," McGonagall said sharply. "This branch of magic is extremely dangerous when mishandled."
"Yes, Professor," Alexander said quickly. "Noted."
She watched him for another long moment, then flicked her wand and replaced the destroyed matchstick with a new one.
"Proceed correctly," she said. "And carefully."
This time, Alexander obeyed.
Mostly.
He transformed the matchstick into a needle.
Perfectly.
Then back.
Then again.
Faster.
Again.
The transformation became smoother—quicker—cleaner. His wand movements shortened. His intent sharpened.
By the end, the matchstick blurred between forms, needle and wood snapping back and forth so fast it was hard to tell where one ended, and the other began.
McGonagall noticed.
She stopped helping another student and watched quietly from across the room.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Just control.
The bell rang.
Students packed up noisily, still buzzing about the earlier explosion.
Alexander stood, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked out as if nothing unusual had happened.
McGonagall remained where she was, eyes following him.
Fast, she thought.
Far too fast for a first-year.
Troublemaker or not—
Alexander Chen was undeniably talented.
And that, she knew, might be the most dangerous thing of all.