HP: Ashborn

Honestly, I could've spent hours diving deeper into this book, but alas, I had responsibilities. More specifically, I had promised Jasmine a transfiguration lesson.

I checked the time—2:45 PM. Perfect. Enough time to make my way to the Great Hall like a responsible, punctual wizard (like me... most of the time).

At exactly 2:59 PM, I reached my destination, only to find my redheaded menace of a friend deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall.

Now, this could mean two things: Either she was impressing McGonagall with her sheer brilliance... or she had already done something questionable.

I had strongly hoped for the situation being the first, not the latter.

"Good afternoon, Professor."

"Good afternoon, Ma—Ahem, Mr. Ashborn." Professor McGonagall corrected herself, giving me a pointed look. Never a good sign. "I hear you're heading to the library."

'She doesn't look like she is in trouble,' I thought while answering the lioness in front of me.

"Yes, Professor. I thought skimming over what we'll be learning in class might help me stay ahead."

"An admirable attitude," she acknowledged before turning her gaze to Jasmine. "But Miss Potter here tells me you've been performing transfigurations in front of her."

Uh-oh.

"Just the basic ones, Professor," I said quickly, trying my best to sound like an innocent, knowledge-hungry student (which I am). "You know, turning a matchstick into a needle, changing stones into buttons—nothing dangerous!"

"Is that so?" Her expression didn't change. "Come with me, both of you."

There was no room for negotiation in that tone.

With the enthusiasm of two students being led to their imminent doom, we followed our Gryffindor Head of House from the ground floor up to the first, straight into her office.

"Take a seat," she instructed, gesturing to the chairs.

We sat. Then, as if compelled by some unspoken force, we glanced at each other and gulped in perfect synchronization. This was either going to be a stern lecture or a sentencing.

Professor McGonagall folded her hands and gave me a look that could petrify a basilisk. "You know, Mr. Ashborn, that Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic. Practicing without guidance could have resulted in something going terribly wrong. And very dangerous for you."

I knew that. I really did. I understood that she was saying this for my safety. But in my defense, the book I had—The Basics of Becoming: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration—was an absolute masterpiece. Even as a beginner, I could tell that.

Besides, what was the worst that could've happened? Turning a teacup into a rat? Maybe a minor explosion? Accidentally giving an object sentience and creating a new species?

Okay, maybe she had a point.

So, I decided to just tell the truth. Lying to the head of my house was not on my to-do list today.

"I had a very good book to guide me," I said, keeping my voice as innocent as possible.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Could you show me the book?"

"Of course, Professor."

I reached into my enchanted bag and pulled out a 1,147-page tome, placing it on the table with the kind of reverence usually reserved for ancient relics or particularly good desserts. The book, originally written in the 1600s by Wilhelm von Hohenberg, looked as pristine as if it had just been picked off the shelves of Flourish and Blotts.

Professor McGonagall glanced at the cover. Then her eyes shot up in sheer disbelief. This was new. It was rare to see her truly stunned.

"Merlin," she muttered, carefully opening the book as if it might turn to dust in her hands. "Where did you get this, Mr. Ashborn?"

"Family library," I answered simply.

She looked back at the book, then back at me. "In this condition? And written by Lord Hohenberg in the 1600s?"

I shrugged. "My family library is a bit... special. The one in your hands is just a copy. The original is still in the library, preserved with enchantments."

I saw a flicker of something in her expression—was that respect? Intrigue? Maybe even envy? Before I could bask in my small victory, curiosity got the better of me.

"But if I may ask, Professor—what exactly is so special about the author?"

Professor McGonagall gave me a look that practically screamed, 'How do you not know this?' but, to her credit, she answered anyway.

"Lord Hohenberg was the founder of the Transfiguration Guild and the first known Grandmaster of Transfiguration."

"Huh?" I said intelligently.

Jasmine, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly perked up. "Oh! I've heard of them! My dad applied to the guild to become a Master of Transfiguration—but he wasn't successful. He always complained about their ridiculously high standards."

Professor McGonagall let out a long sigh, as if she were suddenly remembering a particularly exasperating student. "Yes... if only James had put as much effort into research as he did into pranking. He was one of the most naturally gifted Transfiguration students I ever taught, but he never truly dedicated himself to mastering the craft."

I nodded, only half-listening, because my brain was still catching up to what she had said earlier.

"And what exactly is a Grandmaster, Professor?"

"A Grandmaster is a title given only to those who have reached the pinnacle of a magical art. To put that into perspective, in the past century, only two people have come close to earning that title. One of them is our Headmaster. As for the other… well, I don't know much, except that he currently resides in Austria."

I see. So only A.P.W.B.D. and G.G. had reached that level, huh?

That was... something.

Just as I was enjoying this little intellectual detour, the warmth in Professor McGonagall's face vanished. Uh-oh. Stern mode activated.

"Well, we're getting sidetracked," she said, her no-nonsense voice back in full force. "I brought you here because you claimed you could perform transfigurations. And, young man, one should always be ready to take responsibility for the words they say. Can you back them up?"

I met her gaze evenly. "If we're talking about basic transfigurations, I believe I can indeed perform them, Professor."

"Then you won't mind if I test you right now?"

"Sure," I said confidently, drawing my wand.

"Very well." With a flick of her own wand, a matchstick floated into the air in front of me. "Change it into a needle."

Alright then. Show time.

I closed my eyes and focused, pushing my Occlumency into overdrive to sharpen my concentration. My mind stilled, tuning out every distraction as I processed the task ahead.

Step one: Visualize the matchstick—its shape, its material, its texture.

Step two: Merge the blackened tip and the wooden body in my mind, seeing them as a single entity.

Step three: Encase it in magic, reshape it into the slender form of a needle.

Step four: Alter its color from wood-brown and black to gleaming silver.

Step five: Adjust its structure, making it hard enough to pierce fabric but only temporarily—no need to traumatize the various laws of Transfiguration.

With all these thoughts locked into my intent, I channeled my magic, pouring it through my wand. Strong will, clear vision, precise execution.

I tapped the matchstick lightly.

And just like that—needle.

(A/N: The whole process took barely a second, but let me have my dramatic moment, okay?)

Professor McGonagall blinked. Then, without a word, she picked up the needle and examined it closely, as if expecting to find some trickery. Jasmine, meanwhile, looked utterly unimpressed. Not that I could blame her—she had already seen me do this before.

A smug grin crept onto my face. Yep, the book had taught me well.

Speaking of which—this wasn't just any book. Sure, it was magical, but it also happened to be infuriatingly stubborn. It refused to reveal the next chapter unless I successfully completed the exercises it set for me.

The first time I discovered this, I had nearly raged at the book. But now? I couldn't really complain. The results spoke for themselves.

Professor McGonagall accepted my results without question and proceeded to hand me a series of transfiguration tests—both theoretical and practical. And, well... let's just say I passed them with flying colors.

By the end of it, she was wearing a smile so satisfied and excited that I wouldn't have been surprised if she started planning my future as her transfiguration protégé right then and there.

"I apologize for doubting you, Mr. Ashborn," she said, still looking rather pleased. "Though I must say—congratulations on completing three-fourths of the first-year syllabus."

"Thank you, Professor," I replied nonchalantly, blissfully unaware of the utterly shocked, wide-eyed stare coming from the redhead sitting next to me.

McGonagall, however, wasn't done being inquisitive. "Though I must ask—you perform magic as if you've had prior practice. Considering we received no notice of a Statute of Secrecy violation, where exactly did you cast your spells?"

Ah. The tricky part.

"I learned all the theory from the prescribed first-year books, Professor," I began. "I read them thoroughly, but as you can imagine, it was incredibly frustrating not being able to actually practice. I couldn't cast spells in front of other kids without breaking the Statute, and only my matron knew I was a wizard."

She nodded, allowing me to continue.

"I studied patiently... for three months. But then—well, my patience finally ran out."

At this, Jasmine turned to look at me, probably just now realizing how unhinged I could be.

"So," I continued, "on the 1st of August, I packed my things, took the matron's blessings, and left the orphanage. I rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron until September 1st to finally practice in peace."

"Wait—1st August? Isn't that the day we met at Ollivanders'?" Jasmine chimed in, her voice laced with surprise.

"Yes, same day," I confirmed, noticing that Professor McGonagall now looked intrigued.

"And during that time, I learned to cast various spells and practiced as many transfiguration exercises as possible," I concluded. "And, well—here we are!"

McGonagall let out a breath, eyeing me like a particularly fascinating specimen. "You must be quite gifted at Transfiguration if you reached this level with only self-study. You may not even need to attend my classes."

I nearly gasped. Sacrilege.

"Absolutely not, Professor," I said immediately, my tone borderline offended. "There's a world of difference between self-study and learning under the guidance of an expert. And there is no way I'm missing the chance to be personally taught by one of the greatest transfiguration masters of the century."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, I thought I saw the tiniest hint of amusement. "Quite the flatterer, aren't you?"

"I prefer the term 'enthusiastic student,'" I replied smoothly.

She shook her head, though I caught a trace of a smirk. "Well then, since you clearly have the knowledge to teach Miss Potter the basics, I have no objections. Off you go, both of you."

With that, we were dismissed, leaving me with two thoughts:

That went surprisingly well.

Just as I hopped off my chair, ready to make my grand exit, the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office suddenly roared to life with emerald flames. A familiar face appeared within the fire, and an equally familiar, sweet voice followed.

"Good afternoon, Professor. I wanted to ask if you're free at the moment?"

Lily.

McGonagall's lips curled ever so slightly. "Lily."

"Mum!" Jasmine exclaimed, spinning around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"Jasmine? Is that you?" The voice on the other side of the fire sounded both surprised and amused. Then, in true parental fashion, she immediately jumped to conclusions. "What are you doing in the professor's office? Is she in trouble, Professor?"

"No!" Jasmine shrieked before McGonagall could even open her mouth.

The professor, looking thoroughly unimpressed by the overreaction, waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, Miss Potter. She's just accompanying her friend here. Anyway, Lily, what was it you needed?"

"Ah, well, I wanted to make a surprise visit to my daughter, but it looks like that won't be happening today. Still, I'd like to talk to her for a while if that's alright, Professor."

McGonagall sighed, though there was a fondness in her expression. "That's not a problem, Lily. I'll allow it, though do keep in mind—this won't be happening every time. Give me a moment, and I'll open the Floo properly."

A minute later, the green flames flared up again, and out stepped a mature version of Jasmine. Same striking red hair, same piercing green eyes—just older, more refined, and with an expression that immediately told me she was about to be my problem.

"Hello, dear," she said, enveloping Jasmine in a warm hug.

"Hello, Mum."

Then her gaze flicked to me. And her eyes lit up—not with kindness, but with the unmistakable spark of someone who had just stumbled upon the juiciest piece of gossip.

This woman is dangerous.

"So, this is your friend, huh?" she mused, her voice far too amused for my liking. "I must say, I was quite curious when I heard from the professor minutes ago that you were accompanying a friend."

"Hello, Mrs. Potter," I greeted swiftly, bowing my head slightly out of pure survival instinct.

"Hello, Mr. Ashborn," she replied, eyes still gleaming with motherly mischief. "I must thank you for befriending my dear daughter. It was one of the great mysteries that kept me up at night, wondering how she'd manage with her anti-social tendencies. Tell me, are you also a Ravenclaw?"

Before I could answer, Jasmine cut in with a dramatic sigh. "No, he's a Gryffindor. For some reason only the Sorting Hat understands."

McGonagall and Lily both turned to look at me, equally intrigued.

"What do you mean by that?" McGonagall asked, her professor instincts tingling.

"Yes, do tell," Lily added, the curiosity in her voice practically vibrating.

Absolutely not.

"I believe I left something important in my dormitory. See you later, Professor. Jasmine. Mrs. Potter," I said with perfect calmness—before bolting out of the office with long, purposeful strides.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I heard Jasmine deadpan, "And he ran away. Makes me wonder what part of him is actually Gryffindor."

McGonagall, still staring at the door, frowned thoughtfully. "Miss Potter, I am quite curious about what you meant by those statements. Extremely talented students being placed directly under my watch is rare, and I am not about to let a jewel like him slip through my fingers."

Lily chuckled, shaking her head. "Relax, Minerva. She's right. That boy is exceptionally special. If I had to take a bet whether the boy would have been a Gryffindor or not. I would have bet against it."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

Oh, indeed.