6-10

*Chapter 6: If You Don’t Pass, Try Again!*

Casting a level-five Lumos charm usually didn’t require an incantation, but Luke felt it was better to keep a low profile, so he spoke the spell out loud.

Even so, it made him stand out like a sore thumb.

The overcrowding on the boat was so bad that Neville almost fell overboard. Thankfully, Ron reacted quickly and prevented an accident.

What surprised Luke was that standing at the gates of Hogwarts Castle, alongside Professor McGonagall, was a greasy-haired, hook-nosed middle-aged man.

It was Snape.

“Mr. Luke Mountbatten, come with me,” Snape’s oily voice interrupted Luke’s thoughts.

Luke suddenly understood—the old bat... no, Professor Snape had been waiting for him.

Obediently, Luke stepped out of line. Under the concerned gazes of Harry, Ron, and Neville, he followed Snape into the castle.

Turning right after entering, Snape led Luke to a broom closet near the Great Hall.

“Let’s hear it then, our exceptional new student—assaulting classmates on the train and breaking three arms,” Snape said with a sinister smile. “Surely, a graduate of a Muggle school like you knows the consequences of such behavior. I expect our exceptional Mr. Mountbatten has a reasonable explanation, don’t you?”

Snape emphasized the word exceptional with a biting tone.

“Of course, Professor,” Luke replied, bowing politely as he slowly pulled out a recording device.

He wasn’t reckless; he had come prepared.

Under Snape’s suspicious gaze, Luke pressed play.

When Marcus's voice was heard calling Neville a "sniveling idiot," Luke noticed Snape’s expression twitch. By the time the recording ended, Snape’s face was a mask of indifference, as if nothing could faze him.

“I understand, Professor. ‘Mudblood’ is an extremely offensive term,” Luke said as he put the recorder away. “No one with proper manners would use such language—someone as distinguished as you surely wouldn’t know what it feels like to be called such things, right?”

Snape slowly turned to Luke, his gaze puzzled.

“I mean, Professor, you’ve probably never been called ‘Snivellus’ or humiliated by being hung upside down and stripped—”

Luke swore he hadn’t meant to go there. It just slipped out. He had no intention of ripping open Snape’s old wounds—he could swear on anything!

“Enough!” Snape’s expression darkened, and the lights behind him went out with a faint pop. His voice seemed to come from the depths of his throat. “Enough! Go join the Sorting Ceremony. But remember, your house will lose twenty points because of your behavior on the train!”

Luke asked innocently, “What if I get sorted into your house, Professor?”

“You reckless troll... you’ll only end up in Gryffindor,” Snape said with certainty.

By the time Luke entered the Great Hall, the Sorting Ceremony had just begun. The patched Sorting Hat had likely finished its silly song, and Professor McGonagall was calling names.

“Hannah Abbott!”

“Hufflepuff!” cried the Sorting Hat. A blonde girl with twin ponytails cheerfully skipped over to the Hufflepuff table, where older students greeted her warmly with applause.

Luke even noticed a chubby ghost happily waving at her.

“Susan Bones!”

“Hufflepuff!”

“Terry Boot!”

“Ravenclaw!”

The Sorting proceeded alphabetically, and soon they reached the M group.

“Draco Malfoy!”

Luke glanced up to see a smug boy with pale blonde hair. The hat barely touched his head before shouting, “Slytherin!”

Unseen by most, Malfoy sighed in relief.

“Luke Mountbatten!”

Professor McGonagall called his name.

Luke walked from the side entrance to the stool. His angelic face caused murmurs among the students. Every gesture exuded elegance, as if it came naturally—though Luke knew it was the result of eleven grueling years of aristocratic upbringing.

McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head as he sat down.

“So elegant, truly elegant,” the Hat’s voice whispered in his ear.

Luke sat perfectly still, but the next words almost made him lose his composure.

“Hmm... it seems your ideals don’t align with this school. Perhaps Nurmengard would suit you better?”

At the staff table, Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on Luke as if trying to see through him.

Luke mentally trailed off into five silent ellipses. What? Was Hogwarts planning to add a sixth house on top of Azkaban Institute for Advanced Studies?

"Are you insane? You can't just distribute people like that... Azkaban mostly holds regular lunatics or murderers, but the people locked up in Nurmengard? They're practically the magical world's equivalent of failed art students.

Most people fail to get into art school and retake the exams; he couldn't become Minister of Magic and decided to start a war.

At the Nuremberg Trials, he'd at least get an A-class conviction.

Even with his back to the staff table, Luke could tell that Dumbledore was already watching him closely.

'I can sense your ambition; it's ingrained in your very bones—don't deny it, child. Perhaps you haven't even realized it yourself, ha... And just now, that was merely the old hat playing a little joke on you.'

'Gryffindor? Hmm... You have unparalleled courage, a noble lineage, but... hmm, believe me, even Godric himself didn't possess such bravery.'

Luke thought to himself, If you're going to say only half of what you mean, I’ll let it slide as long as you sort me into Gryffindor.  

'Well then...' the hat stopped whispering and shouted, 'GRYFF...'

Luke was ecstatic—it was like getting a pillow when you're drowsy.

But how could that annoying old hat let him have his way? With a sudden twist, it caught everyone off guard: 'SLYTHERIN!'

The abrupt shift was so jarring that Luke nearly strained his back. Just as Professor McGonagall lifted the hat, Luke leaned in and whispered to it, 'I owe you one for this, Mr. Hat.'

Scattered applause came from the Slytherin table. Luke wasn’t a pureblood they prized, and he probably didn’t even qualify as a half-blood wizard. To be warmly welcomed by the snakes would have been strange indeed. On the staff table, Snape froze for a moment upon hearing the sorting result, as if someone had cast a Petrificus Totalus on him. When he finally reacted, his expression resembled someone who had swallowed a fly. Begrudgingly, he gave two reluctant claps for good measure.

Ron and Harry, still waiting to be sorted, whispered to each other, lamenting Luke not being placed in Gryffindor.

Luke walked straight to the Slytherin table without looking around. He glanced to his sides and spotted the blonde upperclassman he had seen on the train.

Taking a seat beside her with nonchalance, he was enveloped by a subtle, refreshing fragrance.

The Slytherin students leaned back slightly, giving him a respectful nod for his audacity.

Luke didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. He simply greeted her politely, 'Hello, senior,' and turned his attention back to the sorting ceremony.

When his gaze swept across the staff table, the glint of Dumbledore's half-moon glasses caught his eye. The headmaster nodded slightly at him, and Luke politely returned the gesture.

So it’s confirmed—Dumbledore has his eye on me.  

Oh, and Snape too.

Why was he so sure? Because the chill clinging to him like a curse only dissipated after Professor McGonagall called Harry’s name.

Not that it mattered much. Luke figured his unambitious nature, humble background, lazy attitude, and utterly average appearance wouldn’t attract much attention... right?

As the last student was sorted into Slytherin, the ceremony finally came to an end. After rolling up the parchment and taking the Sorting Hat with her, Professor McGonagall returned to her seat.

Dumbledore stood up, beaming as he spread his arms wide. 'Welcome, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I have a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!'

'Now, let the feast begin!' With a wave of his hands, every table was suddenly laden with a sumptuous spread.

When Luke turned back, the senior beside him had already put away her book and was eating small bites of food.

After a day of jostling on the train, he was famished—on the train, he’d only eaten half of Ron’s sandwich and mooched a Chocolate Frog from Harry. His stomach had been empty for hours.

The inertia of eleven years of aristocratic life in Britain was hard to shake. Thanks to the strict discipline enforced by his grandfather, old Luke Mountbatten, the relentless drilling of tutors sent by his aunt and godmother, and the guidance of his sister Diana, even when starving, he instinctively adhered to rigid etiquette, dining slowly and methodically.

(End of Chapter)"

*Chapter 7: Evaluating the Situation - Draco*

After everyone had eaten their fill, the food on the tables quietly disappeared, replaced by an assortment of desserts already prepared in advance.

Unlike the other three houses, which were engaged in lively conversations, the atmosphere at the Slytherin table was rather peculiar. Groups of students whispered to each other in hushed tones, and Luke and the senior girl beside him seemed even stranger—they didn’t exchange so much as a glance.

Luke didn’t mind, though. In fact, he quite enjoyed being consciously ignored. He was certain this rare treatment was entirely due to the presence of the senior girl sitting next to him.

To avoid any entanglements of gratitude, Luke decided to follow senior in silence and making quiet gains alongside her.

It was the best approach.

When the desserts finally vanished from the table, Headmaster Dumbledore rose once again, and the hall fell silent.

“Oh, now that everyone is well-fed, I’d like to say a few more words. At the start of the term, there are a few important reminders I must give.”

“First-year students, please note that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students. Some of our older students would also do well to remember this.”

As he spoke, Dumbledore’s sharp gaze briefly swept over the Weasley twins. “Additionally, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you not to perform magic in the hallways between classes.”

“Tryouts for Quidditch teams will take place during the second week of the term. Those interested in joining their house team should contact Madam Hooch.”

“Lastly, I must warn you: anyone who does not wish to meet a tragic and untimely end should avoid the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor.”

There were a few nervous laughs from the crowd, but most students looked serious as they stared at Dumbledore.

Luke, however, already knew what was on the fourth floor.

“And now,” Dumbledore announced loudly, “before we all retire for the evening, let us sing the school song!”

He flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon unfurled from its tip, weaving words across the high ceiling of the hall.

It was the lyrics to the Hogwarts school song.

“Everyone, choose your favorite tune. Ready—sing!”

Luke chose to sing the final verse to the melody of You’ll Return Like Lightning and found that by the time he finished, only the red-haired twins were still going. Dumbledore used his wand to conduct their last few notes, and when they were done, he clapped the loudest of all.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “It has a magic beyond all we do here. Now, it’s time for bed. Off to your dormitories!”

A large, bucktoothed boy with swollen eyelids stood up. Luke recognized him—it was Marcus Flint, who had been one of his temporary students during the earlier makeshift lesson.

“First-years, follow me,” Marcus said.

Luke stood up, joining the group of new students at the back as they followed Marcus. To his surprise, this rather rough-looking boy turned out to be the Slytherin prefect.

The portraits along the corridors caught Luke’s attention as they walked. He’d only ever seen them in the movies in his previous life, but now they were right in front of him, vivid and real. It was an exciting sight, to say the least.

Soon, they arrived at the stone wall marking the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Marcus turned to address the group.

“Remember the password I use to open the wall. Slytherin passwords change monthly, and the new password will always be posted on the bulletin board in the common room.”

Turning back to the wall, Marcus said, “Honor.”

The stone wall opened to reveal a doorway. When Luke entered, the cool tones of the common room—the watery green hues—made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

Unlike Gryffindor’s cozy common room as depicted in the films, Slytherin’s had greenish water outside its windows. Occasionally, a fish swam by, its tail slapping against the glass with a faint thud, adding an eerie touch to the already unsettling atmosphere.

The Slytherin common room was spacious, with plenty of rooms. Unlike Gryffindor’s setup, where five students often shared a single room, Slytherin offered a more comfortable two-person arrangement.

To his surprise, Luke was assigned to share a room with Draco Malfoy.

He frowned. In his previous life, whether watching the movies or reading the books, he hadn’t particularly liked Draco.

Draco was every bit the quintessential bad boy, but credit where it was due—the casting for him had been spot-on.

Even the smallest bit of goodness in Draco seemed to be exaggerated, while others’ flaws were magnified. It was, as they say, the “handsome boy effect.” As long as someone is attractive, their flaws are often overlooked.

That said, Luke didn’t truly dislike Draco. After all, they had no personal grudges, at least for now.

When Marcus called out Luke’s name earlier, a flicker of fear crossed his eyes. Marcus couldn’t understand why Professor Snape, who had always favored him, had suddenly punished him by assigning him to clean up Potions classroom trash for an entire term.

Although Marcus knew he couldn’t match Luke in a confrontation, he still took petty pleasure in assigning Luke to room with Draco.

Having been educated in elite institutions for two lifetimes, Luke easily saw through Marcus’s intentions. He merely chuckled softly, choosing not to take it to heart.

How could he expect to truly learn magic surrounded by such petty minds?

The Slytherin dormitory was reasonably luxurious—perhaps due to the years of sponsorship from pure-blood families. At the very least, the spacious bed pleased Luke.

Still, sleeping without his sister Diana felt incomplete.

Thinking of Diana made Luke feel a pang of longing. Diana was wonderful, with her mature charm and… well, those details weren’t important. What mattered was that Luke was only eleven years old. Even if Diana were divorced, all he could do now was daydream with youthful ambition.

Luke’s luggage had already been neatly arranged by house-elves. He began unpacking various books, carefully organizing them on the small bookshelf by his desk.

“Hello, I’m Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, his tone carrying a hint of arrogance.

As Luke debated where to place a copy of Nation and Society, Draco’s slightly haughty voice broke his concentration.

“Luke Mountbatten, Duke of Cambridge,” Luke replied casually, as if introducing someone else entirely.

As the favored godson of a certain long-lived lady who must not be named, Luke had been granted the title of Duke of Cambridge during the banquet celebrating his admission to Hogwarts.

Apologies, my dear balding nephew, Luke thought with mock sympathy.

Draco leaned back slightly, his arrogance diminishing. While he upheld the philosophy of “pure-blood supremacy,” he understood the significance of a Muggle duke.

More importantly, Draco had already heard rumors of how Luke had single-handedly taken on five students on the train. Despite his pride, Draco was smart enough to know that Luke was not someone to provoke.

After all, Slytherins were all about knowing when to adapt.

After some thought, Draco asked, “So… does that mean, Mr. Mountbatten, that you come from a pure-blood family?”

(End of chapter)

Chapter 8: Voiceless Consonants Need Voicing

Draco's words were polite, but the underlying message was clear: "I've never heard of any pure-blood family named Mountbatten."

Luke chuckled softly. “My grandfather was German. After moving to Britain, he changed his surname—you probably know this. My uncle and aunt have some minor influence in Britain.”

“However... I only know that both my parents were wizards, but they’ve already passed away.”

A classic trope for a transmigrator: parents sacrificed to set the stage.

“My condolences.” Draco’s expression softened, and he finally extended his right hand. “I think we can be friends, Mr. Mountbatten. After all, you’re not a Mud—I mean, not a Muggle-born.”

“Let’s keep this secret between us, shall we?” Luke shook Draco’s hand and winked. “I imagine my time in Slytherin will be exciting. Just think about it: how could noble Slytherin allow a Muggle-born to disgrace the entire house?”

Draco, still a boy, couldn’t help but smile when he thought about the days ahead.

“Besides, family lineage doesn’t mean everything, Draco—may I call you that?” Seeing Draco nod, Luke slid a book into the politics section and said softly, “I care less about the honor my family brings me and more about bringing honor to my family.”

Draco nodded again. Being just a first-year, he was still impressionable. That was precisely why Luke planned to guide him.

Perhaps this boy could be the gateway to infiltrating the Sacred Twenty-Eight?

“Well then, get some rest, Draco. I have something to take care of,” Luke said, patting Draco on the shoulder after tidying his desk.

“What are you planning to do?”

“Night roaming.” Luke picked up a copy of Basic Spells for Beginners and walked away with a grin.

He had never hidden his ambition. In his previous life, he was always a class leader. Even in games, he aimed to be the guild leader. If there was even the slightest chance, he would escape the chains of authority.

Joining Slytherin was actually a blessing. In Gryffindor, with its warm and friendly environment, he wouldn’t dare compete for prefect or top student. But Slytherin was different. A few clever traps, and those pure-blood supremacists would take the bait.

For now, though, his priority was to enhance his abilities. He couldn’t afford to lose face by being outperformed.

Awkwardly, it took him over an hour to find the eighth floor.

“Being directionally challenged is such a curse,” he thought, standing before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls.

“I need a room for practicing magic,” Luke thought, pacing back and forth three times. As if responding to his wish, a smooth iron door appeared on the opposite wall.

When he stepped through the door, it opened silently, revealing a spacious room. Luke called up his system interface to check his progress.

---

*Luke Mountbatten*

Level 15 Wizard

Mana: 275/275

Learned Spells:

- *Aguamenti (Level 6):* Creates magical glacial water.

- *Lumos (Level 5):* Produces light.

- *Protego (Level 5):* Shields against minor attacks.

- *Mage Hand (Level 5):* Manipulates objects.

- *Silencio (Level 3):* Silences a target.

- *Relashio (Level 3):* Releases a grip.

- *Levicorpus (Level 3):* Suspends a target upside down.

- *Wingardium Leviosa (Level 2):* Levitates objects.

- *Alohomora (Level 2):* Unlocks simple locks.

- *Reparo (Level 2):* Mends broken items.

- *Finite Incantatem (Level 1):* Ends spells.

---

Luke mulled over his progress. He needed to learn some offensive spells. Exiting the system, he turned his attention to the room.

Six magical dummies stood quietly, their shadows stretched long by the moonlight.

Unbeknownst to him, a strand of golden hair quickly disappeared behind a pillar.

Luke, unaware of anything unusual, opened his spellbook to learn new spells.

Contrary to his expectations, each spell required precise hand gestures. For example, Stupefy involved drawing a 75-degree angle downward, while Expelliarmus required a 90-degree angle from left to right.

Beginners struggled not just with pronunciation but with mastering the gestures. This explained why so many novice wizards found Wingardium Leviosa difficult—it wasn’t just about saying it right; the wand movement was tricky too.

Unfortunately, even with a system, he didn’t have the cheat of instantly mastering spells.

Luke raised his wand. In theory, the simplest spell should be Expelliarmus, which only required drawing a diagonal slash at nine o’clock.

But practicing such a basic spell as a first-year was a bit… unconventional. He wasn’t the Dark Lord incarnate, after all. Black magic was too dangerous, and he wasn’t confident he could handle it without consequences.

He leaned forward slightly, recalling the starting gesture for Expelliarmus. With calm determination, he moved his wand swiftly, uttering, “Expelliarmus!”

The wand tip let out a faint pop. Luke glanced around awkwardly and sighed in relief. No one had seen his failure.

Otherwise, he’d have no choice but to silence them.

After trying the wand a few more times, it still behaved as if it were broken, emitting only faint "puff puff" sounds without casting any spells.

Luke didn’t let it discourage him. He put the wand down and picked up the book again, only to notice a line of small text:

“Many beginners have no issue with wand gestures, but most are stuck on the incantation itself. The spell Expelliarmus—the 'x' in the phonetic transcription is pronounced as /eks/. After the 's' sound, remember to voice the unvoiced consonant 'p' into 'b.'”

“Makes sense,” Luke thought, shaking his head in disbelief. “Imagine practicing spells for days, only to be undone by pronunciation. Good thing I have a proper Oxford accent! If I’d picked up the mumbled Cockney speech patterns from London cabbies, I’d have no hope mastering magic.”

Silently thanking Aunt Lilybeth for his upbringing, Luke raised his wand again, now with corrected pronunciation.

“Expelliarmus!” (Disarm you!)

A thin red beam shot from the wand’s tip, striking the dummy’s wand and knocking it to the ground.

“Congratulations! You have successfully learned the Disarming Charm: Expelliarmus.  

*Notice:* Practicing the Disarming Charm on training dummies earns five proficiency points per cast. Successfully casting it in real combat can grant additional proficiency points based on the difference in skill level.

Expelliarmus  

*Current Level:* 1 (5/1000)

*Mana Cost:* 2

*Casting Range:* 30 yards

*Casting Time:* 1.2 seconds

*Skill Description:* Forces the target to disarm their weapon.

After exhausting his mana while practicing the Disarming Charm, Luke conjured a bag of magical glacier water and took a sip. Then, he stood up and resumed practicing on the dummy. This routine—draining his mana, rehydrating, and repeating—continued until the sky began to brighten.

By the end of the night, his efforts paid off. The Disarming Charm had reached Level 2, with a proficiency of 1150/2000.

Sighing with satisfaction, Luke quietly slipped out of the Room of Requirement.

As soon as he stepped out, a graceful figure emerged from behind a nearby pillar. If Luke had seen her, he would’ve been shocked—it was none other than the upperclassman who had sat beside him during the Hogwarts welcoming feast.

---

Luke was relieved he’d decided to head back early. His lack of a sense of direction made the return trip to the dormitory a one-hour ordeal.

He began mulling over whether he should befriend the Weasley twins. That magical Marauder’s Map was probably in their possession, and he wouldn’t mind paying a high price to acquire it.

What? Ask Potter? Maybe later. The priority now was solving his navigation problem. With the map, he could save three hours a day on wandering around, freeing up 90 hours a month to practice magic.

After barely two hours of sleep, Luke woke up refreshed. Noticing Malfoy still sound asleep, he hesitated before giving him a shake.

“Draco, wake up! At your age, how can you sleep so much?”

He wasn’t actually looking for breakfast company—he just didn’t want to get lost again.

First-year students didn’t have a heavy class schedule: three weekly Herbology lessons with Professor Sprout, two lessons each of Charms with Professor Flitwick, Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, and Potions with “the old bat” Professor Snape.

The rest consisted of one History of Magic class, one Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and a weekly Astronomy lesson held on Wednesday nights from 9 to 11 PM.

Luke suspected the sparse schedule was to prevent students from being late due to getting lost. Long lunch breaks and early dismissal provided ample time to explore the castle or adapt to its layout.

Interestingly, the three Herbology classes were scheduled on Monday afternoon at 3 PM, Tuesday at 11:15 AM, and Wednesday morning at 9 AM. Each class lasted 30 minutes, with lunch starting promptly at 11:45 AM and the afternoon session resuming at 2 PM. Classes ended at 3:30 PM, which Luke noted was far more relaxed than his elementary school schedule—let alone the grueling 6 AM to 11 PM routine of senior year in high school.

By 7 AM, Luke was already up and ready. Draco, still groggy, refused his offer to accompany him, so Luke washed up and headed to the Great Hall on his own.

After scanning the Hall for the upperclassman without success, Luke sat down. Moments later, he noticed Ron and Harry heading his way.

“Hey, Luke!” Ron greeted him first. “I thought you’d sleep in.”

“The early bird catches the worm,” Luke replied with a warm smile. Picking up a card provided by the house-elves, he wrote down his breakfast order and tapped it lightly on the table. Before the sound faded, the card vanished, and moments later, his food appeared before him.

As he picked up a piece of sausage, he noticed Ron’s troubled expression. With a gentle smile, Luke asked, “Ron? You seem to have something on your mind.”

“Well—uh, during the Sorting yesterday, why did you end up in Slytherin?” Ron hesitated before blurting out, “We agreed on the train that we’d go to Gryffindor together! I mean, Slytherin is—uh, not that I think you’d become a bad wizard, but…”

“I’ll take this one,” Harry interjected. “Last night, Seamus suggested it might’ve been your choice. Ron and I weren’t sure if that was true, so we wanted to ask you ourselves.”

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 9: Is Transfiguration Idealistic or Materialistic?*

"So, about that," Luke put down his knife and fork, his expression turning serious. "You saw it yourselves—the Sorting Hat initially wanted to place me in Gryffindor. But I must have offended it terribly, so it decided to mess with me instead."

"What did you do to it?" Harry's curiosity was piqued. As he scribbled down his desired dishes on a small card, he asked with interest, "The Sorting Hat is usually easy to negotiate with. I kept telling it not to put me in Slytherin, and it eventually sorted me into Gryffindor—though it thought I'd do well in Slytherin too."

Luke thought to himself, Not just well—you’re practically destined for Slytherin. With a piece of Voldemort's soul inside you, Azkaban might even be a better fit. Harry got his way, partly because of his strong insistence and perhaps partly due to Dumbledore pulling some strings behind the scenes.

After all, Gryffindors may be bold and mischievous, but they're far better company than those Slytherin snakes.

Luke also vaguely agreed with a theory he’d come across in his previous life: Dumbledore subtly guided Harry toward the Weasley family, hoping their warmth would keep Harry on the right path.

To be fair, Luke himself quite liked the Weasley family.

"I told it that it was filthy," Luke lied smoothly, spearing a small sausage with his fork.

"I think so too," Ron chimed in, nodding his red head enthusiastically. After laughing for a moment, his expression turned serious. "But Slytherins are all dark wizards—uh, no offense, Luke. I'm just worried they might bully you or lead you astray."

Luke smirked inwardly. You're not wrong, mate. With my sky-high aptitude for Dark Magic, it's almost a shame if I don't embrace it.  

"A wise person once said that prejudice takes us further from truth than ignorance does," Luke sipped his coffee, the bitter aroma sharpening his senses. "There are good people in Slytherin too, like me."

As he spoke, a blonde senior passed by and took a seat beside him.

"And this senior here—she's a good person too," he added.

The senior cast a cold gaze over the group of first-years, her frosty demeanor making them shiver. Ron hastily changed the topic. "Ah, that quote you mentioned—who said it? Was it a Muggle Prime Minister?"

"Close," Luke said, putting down his coffee cup and winking. "But not a British one."

---

The first class of the day was Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class. The classroom was on the second floor, just to the right of the staircase. Thanks to Harry and Ron waking up early to chat with Luke, they arrived on time and avoided being late.

Luke secretly thanked his two friends; without them, he might have been the one threatened with being turned into a pocket watch.

On the podium sat a silver tabby cat, its tiger-like stance giving it an air of authority. The class was still thirty minutes away, and the room was mostly empty. The tabby cat’s pupils narrowed sharply as it spotted two Gryffindor cubs walking in with a Slytherin snake.

Luke immediately recognized Professor McGonagall—after all, he'd seen her during his home visit last month. Scanning the room, he chose a seat in the Slytherin section.

Shortly after, Malfoy arrived with his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. After exchanging a few pleasantries with Luke, Malfoy took the seat beside him.

When all the students had arrived, Professor McGonagall finally transformed from her feline form and stepped onto the podium. Her stern gaze swept the class before she began with a warning.

"Transfiguration is among the most complex and dangerous subjects you will study at Hogwarts. Anyone caught misbehaving in my class will be asked to leave and never return. Consider yourselves warned."

Luke thought she might as well add, "Don't say I didn’t warn you."

Her reputation for being strict was well-known, and her warning sent a chill through the young wizards.

With a wave of her wand, the lectern before her transformed into a snorting pig. The pig oinked and sniffed around amusingly, eliciting a murmur of awe from the students.

"Cool," Ron whispered in genuine admiration.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, returning the pig to its original form.

"This is just a simple demonstration of Transfiguration," she explained. "You have a long way to go before you can transform objects into living creatures."

"Professor," Ron raised his hand eagerly.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"Can the pig you just transformed... be eaten?"

The classroom erupted into laughter. Ron's face turned as red as his hair amidst the uproar. Malfoy laughed the loudest, joking with Crabbe and Goyle that the Weasleys were probably too poor to afford pork, which was why Ron asked.

"Quiet!" Professor McGonagall rapped the blackboard with her wand, silencing the class. Her serious gaze swept over them. "Transfigured objects are not suitable for consumption. Transfiguration has its limits. When the spell wears off, the object will revert to its original form. For example—"

She flicked her wand, turning a piece of chalk into a slug. The slug writhed briefly before she hurled it against the blackboard.

In an instant, it reverted to chalk, clattering onto the tray below.

"When a transfigured creature 'dies,' the spell is broken, and it returns to its original state. Furthermore, wizards cannot create food out of thin air. Even food transformed from existing objects is inedible."

Her gaze lingered on the students before she continued, "The food at last night's feast wasn't conjured by Professor Dumbledore. It was prepared by Hogwarts’ house-elves and transported to your plates using magic."

"Understood, Professor," came a scattered response from the students.

What followed was a long and tedious lecture on the fundamentals of Transfiguration. Luke took copious notes and came to a realization: the core of Transfiguration lies in "emphasizing subjective intent."

It’s not that Transfiguration is purely idealistic. Idealism suggests that consciousness precedes matter—that thought creates reality. Transfiguration, however, asserts the primacy of matter, with consciousness influencing it.

In that sense, it felt more materialistic than idealistic.

(Chapter End)  

*Chapter 10: The Twins*

The young wizards’ lessons weren’t too intense. Unlike Luke’s previous life, classes at Hogwarts lasted only thirty minutes.

After finishing the theory portion, it was time for practical application. Professor McGonagall waved her wand, distributing a matchstick to each student.

“For this lesson, you will try to transfigure this matchstick into a needle,” she announced. Raising her wand, she addressed the class, “Transfiguration does not require specific gestures, but it does require a strong intent in your heart... Vera Verto!”

With a flick of her wand, Professor McGonagall transformed a bird on her desk into a beautiful crystal goblet.

“Very well,” she said, turning the goblet back into the bird with another wave of her wand. “Begin your practice. The first student to successfully transfigure their matchstick will earn house points.”

Just like teachers in his past life, Professor McGonagall roamed the classroom, observing her students’ progress as they practiced their spells.

Luke picked up his wand but immediately felt two sharp gazes fixed on the matchstick in front of him. Turning, he met Professor McGonagall’s piercing stare through her glasses, her eyes cutting into him like blades.

His heart wavered for a moment, but after all, he had faced more intimidating situations before. “Professor,” he nodded slightly, then turned back to his matchstick. Focusing his mind on constructing a mental image of a sewing needle, he aimed his wand at the matchstick and firmly chanted, “Vera Verto!”

As Luke’s voice fell, the matchstick began to change. Its color shifted, melting into a semi-liquid state before solidifying into a silver sewing needle.

“Mr. Montbatten, excellent work. You successfully transfigured the matchstick into a needle on your first attempt... Slytherin earns ten points,” Professor McGonagall announced. Her sharp gaze softened, and, for the first time, she smiled.

“Yay!” Cheers erupted from the Slytherin section, with Malfoy cheering the loudest.

“Silence.” Professor McGonagall’s face instantly turned stern again. Under her imposing demeanor, the classroom quickly fell quiet.

Luke was puzzled. Despite his transfiguration talent being only a three, why was he able to learn so quickly?

“Congratulations! You have learned the spell: Transfiguration.”

“Note: Due to your transfiguration talent, each successful use of the spell earns only 1 proficiency point. Maximum proficiency is increased tenfold, mana cost is doubled, casting time is doubled, and the maximum skill level is 5.”

*Transfiguration*

Current Level: 1 (1/1000)

Mana Cost: 4

Casting Range: 30 yards

Casting Time: 3.0 seconds

Skill Description: Transforms a target into any desired form.

After reviewing the spell’s details, Luke couldn’t help but sigh. So, this is where a talent of three comes into play. It seemed learning spells was the easy part; the real challenge lay in advancing them.

To avoid drawing too much attention, Luke carried a thermos at all times. Creating water out of thin air would be far too conspicuous, so this method was more discreet.

As he sipped his magically chilled glacier water, he spent the remaining time practicing Transfiguration. His diligent efforts earned nods of approval from Professor McGonagall, though she couldn’t help but worry about the boy’s mana reserves.

Yet, seeing Luke’s spirited expression, she hesitated. Could he be... some sort of prodigy?

By now, Professor McGonagall had long forgotten the earlier friction between her and Luke. Instead, she was filled with admiration for this talented and hardworking student.

In all her years at Hogwarts, this was only the second time she’d encountered such a determined genius.

Then, she turned her gaze to her own housemates, many of whom appeared lost in thought. A pang of jealousy rose in her chest.

Ah, that’s right. The Sorting Hat had originally wanted to place Mr. Montbatten in Gryffindor. He should have been Gryffindor’s pride.

That blasted hat!

The lesson ended quickly, and aside from Luke, only Hermione managed to turn her matchstick into something vaguely sharp.

If not for Luke, Professor McGonagall might have been pleased. But now, she couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied.

With plenty of time until the next class, Luke decided to stay in the Great Hall to continue practicing Transfiguration.

At lunch, Harry and Ron joined him.

“You were incredible in class today,” Ron said excitedly. Harry chimed in, “Yeah, that was amazing! Do you have any tips? Can you teach us?”

“Of course,” Luke replied readily. He didn’t mind sharing his insights with friends, especially since he had something to ask of Harry and Ron. Just as he was about to speak, a teasing voice interrupted.

“Well, if it isn’t our little brother.” A red-haired head appeared on Ron’s left.

“Word is, someone remarkable showed up in Transfiguration class today,” said another red head, this time on Harry’s right. The two heads exchanged a glance before the one beside Ron added, “A Slytherin prodigy.”

“And Gryffindor’s savior,” quipped the one next to Harry.

“Making friends with our foolish little brother,” they said in unison, turning their mischievous gazes to Ron. “People do say fools have luck, isn’t that right?”

“George! Fred!” Ron’s face turned beet red. His brothers’ teasing in front of his friends left him mortified.

“Oh, relax, little Ronniekins,” the twins laughed, ruffling Ron’s hair before turning to Luke. “Hello, I’m George,” said the one on the left.

“And I’m Fred,” added the one on the right.

Luke caught the glint of mischief in their eyes. Knowing the twins’ penchant for pranks, he smiled politely. “Hello, Fred,” he said to the one on the left, before turning to the right. “Hello, George.”

“Ha! Gotcha!” Fred exclaimed, grinning. “You’re clever, but we set you up on purpose. We weren’t lying, though.”

“Exactly, no lies here,” George added. The twins exchanged a look and clapped their hands. “Cheers!”

Luke was speechless. The Weasley twins truly lived up to their reputation as prank masters. Just when he thought he was clever, the twins proved they were one step ahead.

“Well, since you’re friends with little Ronniekins, that makes you friends of ours,” the twins said cheerfully. “This castle holds no secrets from the great Weasley twins—oh, and you, Mr. Montbatten, you really surprised us.”

“Just call me Luke,” he said, subtly trying to build rapport.

(To be continued)