Draco Malfoy flicked a smug glance at Harry and Ron before drawling on.
"My dad taught me proper wand grip ages ago. Match to needle? I nailed it day one—and better than Hermione, too!"
He leaned in, voice dripping. "Unlike some people in this room who can't even manage a crummy matchstick. Not surprising, really—"
He dragged the word out: "—after all, not everyone's got pure-blood talent. Some folks just get lucky and still can't hack real magic."
Alice—who'd actually been waiting for something clever—snapped her eyes to him.
Malfoy faltered under the stare, then tacked on, "Obviously some witches are exceptions. Not talking about them."
"Tch." Alice clicked her tongue and looked away.
But she wasn't the only one pissed. Half the Gryffindors were glaring daggers. Even McGonagall looked like she'd swallowed a lemon.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said sharply, "this is a sharing circle, not a stage for your pure-blood nonsense. We're discussing Transfiguration. Sit."
She turned. "Longbottom—I saw you raise your hand three times. Up you get."
McGonagall wanted to redirect the heat. She'd caught Harry and Ron practically vibrating—she had zero doubt Harry would shove his wand up Malfoy's nose. The kid had stabbed a troll, after all.
Neville stood, knuckles white around his wand, head ducked, voice barely above a whisper.
"I… I think Transfiguration's really hard. I can't control my wand. Either I snap the match or whatever comes out doesn't look like a needle at all."
He paused, then—without realizing—his voice steadied. "But I'm not giving up. Professor McGonagall said focus makes it happen. I will get it. Same as everyone else. I won't let down the people who believe in me."
McGonagall dabbed the corner of her eye, beaming. "What a wonderful student. I look forward to that day, Neville."
"Anyone else?"
Alice raised her hand.
McGonagall's eyes lit up—she'd been dying for Alice to speak. Shame she'd let Malfoy go first.
She nodded. Alice stood.
She looked straight at Neville. "Mr. Longbottom—last Charms class, I told Draco something. The first half fits you perfectly."
Neville—freshly seated—stood again, mirroring her seriousness.
Alice smiled. "If talent's short—repeat."
If talent's short—just repeat.
Neville blinked, then nodded hard. "I will, Alice Norton!"
McGonagall watched, heart full—and silently cursed a certain thousand-year-old hat hiding in the Headmaster's office.
Blind, rotten Sorting Hat.
Alice had no idea McGonagall was still salty she wasn't in Gryffindor. After boosting Neville, she got to her own thoughts.
"Professor—if you master Transfiguration, can you reshape mountains? Rivers?"
McGonagall's eyebrow shot up. Big dreams. She nodded—yes.
Alice filed it away: Dumbledore digging up Galleon Nicholas's grave? Bet that was Transfiguration.
She continued. "To me, Transfiguration's a tool to make the impossible real."
"Before Hogwarts, I had all these wild ideas—stuff I thought could never happen."
"My grandpa's from an ancient Eastern country. He told me a myth about a power called the Seventy-Two Transformations. Transfiguration feels like it could turn that myth into reality."
"That possibility? That's what hooks me. I'm dead certain—if I push Transfiguration far enough—I'll pull off those seventy-two changes."
McGonagall had never heard that angle. A kid inspired by Muggle mythology to chase a whole branch of magic? She asked:
"May I know the story your grandfather told you?"
"Journey to the West, Professor. I can have my family send you a copy."
"Only downside—no moving illustrations. It's a Muggle book."
McGonagall waved it off. "No worries. Let me know the cost."
Alice blinked. "How about a bet, Professor? You won't pay me."
McGonagall straightened—she never accepted gifts from students. She'd pay. But Alice looked so sure…
She laughed. "Fine. Let's see you wiggle out of that one."
The rest of class flew by with more kids sharing.
Afterward, on her way back to the Slytherin common room, the Bloody Baron yanked her into a dark alcove.
He looked like he'd swallowed a cactus. Alice rolled her eyes. Here we go.
"Spit it out, sir. I'm not a mind reader."
"Do you know Hogwarts has a tragic ghost—Myrtle Warren? 'Moaning Myrtle'?"
Alice nodded.
"She's been worse lately. So depressed even Peeves won't mess with her. Can you imagine?"
"We tried female ghosts. She won't talk. You're close in age—could you check on her? See what's wrong?"
Alice hesitated. "Ghost form or student form?"
"Student form, obviously. Your ghost trick's our secret—I'm not blowing your cover."
"What's in it for me? And why do you care?"
"Why help Myrtle? Helena says her crying's making her depressed. As for you—I'll teach you ghost combat techniques."
"Deal." Alice didn't blink. Ghost fighting skills? Yes please.