"Harry Potter and the Shadows of Merlin"

Dyna walked toward the tabby cat, performed a polite bow, and then sat down at an isolated desk. His calm composure drew whispers—and sneers—from some of the younger students who disliked his presence.

Draco Malfoy sneered.

"Look at that convict bowing to a cat!"

Pansy Parkinson chimed in, her voice dripping with disdain:

"They say most people who emerge from Azkaban are mentally unstable. Why hasn't the school expelled him yet? Letting scum like that in is a crime!"

Dyna simply observed them, his quiet demeanor seeming even more ominous to Draco.

"Professor! Where's the professor? That convict wants to kill me!" Draco cried, frantic.

Professor McGonagall, disguised as the tabby cat, leapt from the desk with a graceful flick of her tail. Transfiguring before the class's eyes, she returned to her human form. She stood tall, shoulders straightened, and calmly addressed the room:

"Mr. Malfoy spoke rudely in class. Five points will be deducted from Slytherin."

Draco squawked indignantly.

"You're favoring Gryffindor! I don't accept this!"

His outburst rattled the classroom. But Dyna's cool gaze held steady.

"Quiet, Malfoy," he said firmly, projecting his voice across the room. "Class is about to begin. If you wish to cause a disturbance, kindly leave."

Malfoy's bravado faltered. Humiliation washed over him. He straightened his posture, his tone shifting as he challenged Dyna.

"Emrys! How dare you tell me to leave? You threatened me! I'll go straight to Father!"

Dyna shrugged, inviting Draco to proceed. He knew Professor McGonagall would back him—Malfoy had crossed a line.

Sure enough, the cat-shaped corner of the classroom flicked forward—and there stood the real Professor McGonagall, sharp-eyed and composed.

Draco readied himself to retaliate with another outburst, but the calm expression on McGonagall's face silenced him.

"Draco Malfoy is skipping class," she said decisively. "Ten more points will be deducted from Slytherin."

With that, Draco turned and stormed out. On his way, he nearly collided with Harry and Ron, rushing in late.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, startled by Draco's departure. But before they could even settle, McGonagall called out:

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, you are one minute late. Perhaps I should transfigure you into pocket watches—so you may learn punctuality."

Ron muttered, "The castle is too complicated—we got lost…"

"In that case," McGonagall continued, "I'll turn you into maps—now hurry and find your seats. We're about to begin."

Harry and Ron scrambled for desks as Draco re-entered, cheeks still flushed.

"Professor McGonagall, I apologize," he said, eyes cast downward in contrition.

McGonagall regarded him pensively. Draco's father had instilled the importance of acknowledging one's mistakes in him; Draco nodded once, silently accepting the lesson.

She raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Malfoy knows how to correct his mistakes. Not an easy task. Consequently, I'll return two points to Slytherin."

A ripple of relief passed through Draco, who sat down, arms folded, eyes narrowed—reflecting both resentment and concession.

Professor McGonagall's teaching was masterful. She distilled the fundamentals of Transfiguration into digestible, memorable steps—an approach far more structured than Sirius Black's freeform style back in Azkaban. There, Dyna had learned spells clearly, but conceptual understanding was left to his intuition and trial. Here, half a lesson clarified vague insights that had nagged at him for months.

"Now," McGonagall said, distributing matchsticks, "your task is simple: transfigure a matchstick into a needle. Begin."

Dyna raised his wand. He applied the methodical framework McGonagall had outlined and felt his magic respond with crisp efficiency—perhaps 0.2 seconds quicker than before. As the matchstick shimmered, he molded it into a silver needle.

But he didn't stop there. He carefully shaped the eye of the needle and threaded it with a tiny piece of wood—split from the matchstick—imitating the real thing. The red wood punched through slender as thread.

McGonagall was watching.

Amidst frantic wand movements and shouts from other students, Dyna remained serene and focused. When she approached, she raised an eyebrow in surprise. There lay his needle, complete with a tiny thread and eye.

"Excellent Transfiguration," she said, her tone warm. "Material, form, detail—all perfect. Five points to Gryffindor."

She then lowered her voice.

"Would you care to attempt another transformation?"

Dyna hesitated—but excitement glimmered in his eyes.

"There's something I learned in Azkaban… it's unconventional."

"A try is all it takes," McGonagall encouraged.

Once more he raised his wand. The slender needle began to expand—first thicker, then longer. Within moments, the silver glimmer transformed into the shape of a ceramic teacup. Astonished gasps filled the room. Without resting, Dyna continued: the cup sprouted legs, then a tail, then a ruffle of fur. In less than a heartbeat, a small squirrel sat perched atop the desk, whiskers twitching and eyes bright with life.

McGonagall stared.

"You have changed volume, density, matter… and now—you've created life."

Her tone carried shock and awe.

"Yes," Dyna answered softly, meeting her eyes.

"The transition from inanimate to living creature," she murmured. "Simulation of biological dynamics… the granting of consciousness."

All eyes were locked on the tiny squirrel, which scurried up to Dyna's shoulder, twitching its nose.

McGonagall exhaled slowly.

"You possess extraordinary talent in Transfiguration, Mr. Emrys. Your technique is… unusual. Clearly, much learned in Azkaban—but you apply it with remarkable finesse."

She hesitated.

"I dare not award more points—the material before the class is script, and this far exceeds it. But… well done."

Dyna nodded, his heart pounding.

"Mr. Emrys," she said more quietly, "you have the highest aptitude in Transfiguration I have witnessed. Your potential is immense."

Dyna swallowed—warmth flooded his chest.

"Would you welcome one-on-one guidance? I can help refine and expand your methods."

His eyes lit up.

"I'd be honored, Professor!"

She smiled.

"Then let us begin. This Saturday at nine in the morning—my office."

Across the desks, students stared. Harry nudged Ron:

"Did you see that? Dyna's—"

Ron interrupted with a shrug.

"He's good, but Fred and George Transfigured stuff when they were five. Doesn't faze me."

Hermione sat still, face pale. A hush fell over her. The academic rival she had always looked up to—finding her benchmarks and trying to exceed them—suddenly seemed unreachable. Dyna had steamrolled even that high threshold.

Moments before, in Charms, she'd brushed past brilliance. Today, she was left in awe. Dyna Emrys was, quite simply, the brightest moon—without effort.

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