Professor McGonagall was furious. With a flick of her wand, water shot out like a fountain, dousing the flames that had ignited Eloise's hair.
After his unfortunate mishap, McLaggen stood frozen in his seat, as if fully aware that hell awaited him in the form of McGonagall's wrath. He could practically feel the fiery pits open beneath his feet.
McGonagall shot him a deadly glare, the kind that made it seem like she was about to transfigure him into a rat.
Eloise, equally furious, glared daggers at McLaggen. Her hair, which she had painstakingly grown out all summer, had been reduced to a barren wasteland by a mere matchstick.
Her expression suggested that she was very close to launching an Avada Kedavra straight at McLaggen's head.
In a tone colder than the Scottish winter, McGonagall said, "Mr. McLaggen, because of your carelessness, Gryffindor will lose five points!"
At this pronouncement, all the Gryffindor students turned to glare at McLaggen, their eyes filled with a murderous intent that made it clear they were imagining sending a Reducto curse straight to his nether regions.
After all, Gryffindor's House points had already dipped into the negatives!
Eloise began to sob softly, tears streaming down her face. No girl liked having her hair ruined, even if, in all fairness, hers hadn't been particularly impressive to begin with.
McGonagall, feeling sorry for her, comforted her. "Don't worry, Miss Midgen. Madam Pomfrey has a wonderful hair-regrowth potion. Your hair will be back to normal by tomorrow,."
With that, McGonagall conjured a large, bright red hat, complete with a moving lion's head on top, and gently placed it on Eloise's head to cover up her charred hair. Katie Bell helped Eloise to her feet and guided her out of the classroom, presumably toward the hospital wing.
Before they left, McGonagall quietly instructed Katie to use the less-traveled staircases to avoid attention.
Five minutes later, class finally ended.
McGonagall asked William to stay behind.
"Professor McGonagall, is there something you wanted to discuss?" William asked once the other students had filed out of the room.
"Mr. Stark," McGonagall began thoughtfully, "your progress in Transfiguration is quite remarkable."
"Normally, it takes students about a month and a half to successfully transfigure a matchstick into a needle. By my estimation, you're at least six weeks ahead of your peers. Did you study this subject on your own during the summer?"
William nodded honestly. "Yes, I studied on my own."
He didn't want to pretend he was some kind of prodigy in Transfiguration—because, frankly, he wasn't.
"And how long did it take you?" McGonagall inquired.
"More than half a month," William admitted.
The surprise in McGonagall's eyes faded a bit. More than half a month was certainly impressive for someone of his age, but it was hardly what she would call "genius." It was a respectable achievement—better than the average student—but not on the level of those few who could master the spell in just a few days.
Not to brag, but McGonagall herself had mastered this particular transformation in just one day.
By her third year, she had completed the coursework for sixth-year Transfiguration, and before she graduated, she had won the prestigious "Most Promising Newcomer in Transfiguration" award.
So when it came to raw talent in Transfiguration, McGonagall wasn't intimidated by anyone.
Initially, she had thought William might be another prodigy in the subject. But now she realized he wasn't quite on that level.
Yet, the admiration in her eyes didn't fade. In fact, it deepened.
"A young wizard who can focus, apply themselves, and work diligently—those are rare traits indeed, Mr. Stark. Your thirst for knowledge explains perfectly why you were sorted into Ravenclaw."
McGonagall continued, "As Helga Hufflepuff once said, 'Diligence is the greatest driver of progress for any wizard.' Combine hard work with wisdom, and you'll go far, Mr. Stark. It's a pity... the Sorting Hat should have put you in Gryffindor."
"Please, call me William, Professor," William smiled. "And yes, the Sorting Hat did consider placing me in Gryffindor."
"I never believed a witch or wizard could possess just one quality," McGonagall said, with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Many children have qualities from all four Houses. In fact, the Sorting Hat once considered placing me in Ravenclaw."
"That's a shame," William said with a smile. "Ravenclaw missed out on an extraordinary witch."
McGonagall chuckled. "I wouldn't want to compete with Professor Flitwick for the position of Head of House. But if you ever find yourself struggling with any aspect of Transfiguration, William, you're welcome to come to me for help."
William nodded. "I will. Cedric told me the same thing."
"Cedric? I seem to recall that you're Muggle-born, William?"
"Yes," William explained. "Cedric and I met during the summer at Ollivanders. He taught me a lot during the break."
"Ollivanders, hmm... I've advised that boy not to spend so much time on wandmaking," McGonagall said, shaking her head slightly. "He's wasting his potential."
It was clear she didn't hold much regard for wandmaking as a career path.
"However, Cedric is one of the most talented students I've ever taught in Transfiguration," McGonagall added. "The last student with such natural ability was... well, that would be James..."
McGonagall sighed.
"James?" William recalled the confrontation in the hospital wing, where Professor Tywin had mentioned that name.
"James Potter," McGonagall clarified. "A Gryffindor student. He was killed by You-Know-Who."
"Potter...," William repeated, suddenly realizing who she meant. James Potter—Harry Potter's father.
"Professor," William ventured, "may I ask you something? Were Professor Snape and Professor Tywin classmates?"
McGonagall nodded. "Yes, they were, though they were in different Houses."
"Did they have some sort of falling out?"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Why are you asking?"
William didn't want to reveal too much about what had happened in the hospital wing, so he answered vaguely, "I've noticed they don't seem to get along very well."
McGonagall frowned slightly. "William, what happens between professors is none of your concern. Your job is to focus on your studies."
William nodded, realizing he had probably pushed his luck as far as he could. McGonagall's stern gaze made it clear that further questions would not be entertained.
Fortunately, William had other ways of getting information—there was someone at Hogwarts who had been around for fifty years, and probably knew the school's secrets better than most of the professors.
The ultimate insider.
...
On Thursday morning, Professor Snape was finally released from the hospital wing.
But his troubles were far from over.
Rumors about Snape receiving a love letter began circulating as soon as he returned. No one knew exactly which student or House had started the gossip, but by the next morning, it seemed like everyone was talking about it, as if they'd all seen the letter with their own eyes.
Furious, Snape had been on the warpath, determined to root out whoever had started the rumor.
He took out his frustration on the other three Houses, deducting over a hundred points in just a few days, with Gryffindor bearing the brunt of his wrath.
Thanks to William's earlier contributions, Ravenclaw still held a comfortable lead in the House point standings. Gryffindor, however, was in shambles, with their point total plummeting toward an all-time low.
The sad part was that Snape wasn't wrong—Gryffindor had, in fact, started the rumor. Specifically, the Weasley twins were responsible.
During one dinner, Lee Jordan had even hired an owl to deliver Snape a special "gift"—a set of... Lolita dresses.
And so, the rumour of "Snape the Crossdresser" spread through Hogwarts like wildfire.
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