Hogwarts: Knight Wizard

"What? Done showing off in front of the Gryffindors, so now you're back to mock me?" Malfoy hissed through gritted teeth. 

"I haven't even settled the score from this morning!" 

His right hand clutched his wand, trembling—whether from fear or fury, it was hard to tell. 

"I don't need your help!" he added venomously. 

"I don't know why you're misunderstanding my intentions, but I genuinely didn't mean anything by it," Edward replied, his demeanor unshaken by Malfoy's outburst. 

"You know I'm right. Focus on the spell and clear your mind of distractions." 

His tone was calm, as if none of their past clashes had ever happened. 

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but one look at Edward's steady gaze silenced him, like a Mandrake under a Silencing Charm. 

Deep down, he knew Edward was right—every word of it. 

How else could Edward have earned points from Professor McGonagall? Was it just because he was good-looking? 

Though reluctant to follow Edward's advice, Malfoy hated the idea of being outdone even more—especially by Gryffindors like Potter, who'd snubbed his attempt at friendship, or that Muggle-born Granger. 

Following Edward's guidance, Malfoy calmed himself, pushing aside all distractions and focusing entirely on the matchstick in front of him. 

He pictured a delicate silver needle, its surface gleaming, until the image was etched clearly in his mind. 

I'm a Malfoy, heir to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. My talent is second to none in this room! 

With a flick of his wand, he tapped the matchstick. 

Without even opening his eyes, Malfoy knew he'd succeeded. 

Gasps of awe filled the room. 

"Draco! You did it! Your needle's way sharper than ours!" Pansy Parkinson exclaimed. 

Malfoy let out a long breath, relieved. 

"Hypocrite," he muttered, shooting Edward a sidelong glance. "Don't think helping me this time changes how I see you." 

His usual lazy, drawling tone was back. 

Edward found it amusing but didn't care much. 

His goal wasn't just to help Malfoy—he wanted to help the whole class. Malfoy was just incidental. 

And Edward wasn't about to be impressed by Malfoy's magical talent either. 

When it came to manners, Malfoy had a lot to learn, and Edward didn't mind "helping" him with that a bit more. 

Fair's fair. 

All in all, the Transfiguration class went smoothly. 

Well, except for Seamus, who, unnoticed by McGonagall and Edward, turned his matchstick into a firecracker—and then accidentally set it off, singeing his hair into a smoldering, burnt nest. 

Even McGonagall had to admit it was one of the most memorable Transfiguration lessons she'd ever taught. 

Every student gained a deeper understanding of the subject, and all managed to transform their matchsticks in some way, for better or worse. 

A good start is half the battle, and this class sparked real interest and confidence in the first-years for future Transfiguration lessons. 

"Honestly, Mr. Bedivere," McGonagall said, "if you were a third-year or above, I'd recommend to Professor Dumbledore that you become my teaching assistant." 

"Of course, that would need Professor Snape's approval, but I'm sure he'd agree." 

"Thank you, Professor, but I'm just a first-year. I've got a lot to learn," Edward replied with a slight bow. 

McGonagall shook her head regretfully. "Such a pity. But we'll have opportunities in the future." 

She patted Edward's shoulder and hurried off. 

As Edward watched her disappear down the corridor, a strange sensation stirred in his mind. 

"Due to your genuine, unpretentious help to others, the Blessing of Sincerity has upgraded to Level 2." 

The moment those words flashed in his mind, Edward felt his perception of the world sharpen, as if he'd gained a deeper understanding of its truths. 

The Blessing of Sincerity, ever since he'd awakened it, had only allowed him to discern truth from lies in others' words. 

Through testing, he'd learned that at Level 1, it only worked on certain people. 

It was effective on Muggles, adults and children alike. 

But for wizards, it only worked on those close to his age. 

Older wizards, like his parents, were beyond the reach of Level 1's ability to detect truth or falsehood. 

In Hogwarts, it had only worked on younger students. For third-years and above, or the staff, Level 1 was useless. 

But now, at Level 2, Edward felt he could clearly distinguish truth from lies in the words of students up to third year. He could even see through some magical illusions. 

For instance, the silver needles on the desks—he could tell at a glance what they'd originally been. 

This was even more effective than the Revealing Charm! 

Beyond that, Hogwarts itself seemed different in his eyes. 

Many of the paintings in the stairwells appeared almost translucent to him. 

Behind them, he could faintly make out dark, hidden passages. 

Secret tunnels? 

Though he couldn't just duck into a painting in front of everyone, Edward was eager to explore these passages in his free time later that day. 

Adventure, after all, was a knight's romance. 

But he soon realized he had little time to himself. The moment class ended, enthusiastic Gryffindors swarmed him. 

"How did you manage to turn a matchstick into that intricate sword-shaped trinket?" Hermione demanded, rushing up to him with rapid-fire questions. "I tried several times, and even turning it into a quill was hard!" 

"Let Edward breathe, Hermione," Ron groaned, walking on Edward's right. "You're seriously thinking about academics right now?" 

"Thanks for the encouragement back there, and for what happened before the Sorting," Harry added, joining them. 

Seamus, Dean, and Parvati crowded around too, practically mobbing Edward as if his robe sported Gryffindor's gold and scarlet instead of Slytherin's silver and green. 

Almost everyone in class had benefited from Edward's help. 

"Honestly, I still don't get why you were sorted into Slytherin!" Ron complained, not for the first time, clearly pained by the thought. 

"No, don't say that. They're not bad, just… less outgoing," Edward said, trying to defend his Housemates. 

Before he could finish, he felt his sleeve yanked sharply. 

Daphne had somehow pushed her way through the Gryffindor crowd. 

"Alright, everyone, let me remind you—Edward's not in your House. We've got another class soon," she said, shooting Hermione a pointed look. "If you've got questions, ask your know-it-all over there." 

"See you later." 

Amid the Gryffindors' stunned expressions, Daphne dragged Edward away. 

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