Hogwarts: Knight Wizard

"Hurry up, hurry up!" 

Three sets of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor outside the classroom. 

The heavy wooden door swung open with a creak. 

Edward didn't even need to turn around to know who was rushing in at the last second. 

Panting heavily, Harry, Ron, and a drenched Draco Malfoy—who looked like he'd just been fished out of a lake—burst into the room. 

The three split up at the door. Malfoy, face dark with irritation, slunk over to Goyle's side, while Harry and Ron grabbed two empty seats on the opposite end. 

"Phew, made it. McGonagall's not here yet," Ron gasped. 

"If we'd been late, her glare would've killed us," Harry muttered. 

"Did you see Malfoy? Haha, he looks like a drowned rat!" Ron wheezed, barely catching his breath but still managing a jab at Malfoy. 

Before he could finish, the tabby cat on the teacher's desk leapt up, transforming mid-air into Professor McGonagall. She strode toward the two boys with a stern expression. 

"That's quite impressive, isn't it, Weasley?" McGonagall said, her tone far from amused by Ron's comment. 

"Perhaps I should turn you and Mr. Potter into pocket watches? At least one of you might keep time then." 

Her sharp gaze pinned them both. 

"We got lost," Harry tried to explain. 

"Then perhaps a map instead. Surely you don't need one to find your seats?" McGonagall snapped, before turning to Malfoy. 

"And Mr. Malfoy, rather than a map or a watch, it seems you need a fire to dry off. Did you take a morning swim in the Black Lake?" 

The Gryffindors barely stifled their laughter, some covering their mouths to keep quiet. 

"Sorry, Professor, I… got caught up in something," Malfoy mumbled, his face flushing as he stumbled over his words. 

(This book is first published on 101kan.com, offering an error-free, seamless reading experience.) 

"Perhaps I should turn you into a waterproof watch, then," McGonagall quipped. With a flick of her wand, the water vanished from Malfoy's clothes, his hair restored to its usual sleekness. 

She stormed back to the front of the class, her good mood clearly ruined. 

"I'm guessing you know something about what happened to Malfoy?" Daphne whispered, nudging Edward beside her. 

"If he didn't go for a dip in the Black Lake, then yeah, it's probably got something to do with me," Edward replied carefully. 

"But you were with me almost all morning. Don't tell me you snuck into Malfoy's dorm and doused him with water?" Daphne's eyes widened, unable to piece it together. 

She didn't actually believe Edward would do something like that—though the reverse seemed more plausible. 

"Quite the opposite," Edward said with a smirk. "I set up a few charms around my dorm. If someone tries to mess with my stuff without permission, they'll get blasted by an Impediment Jinx and then soaked with an Aguamenti charm." 

"What? You put protective spells around your bed? Wait, hold on—you've already learned basic protective charms?" Daphne was struggling to keep up, feeling like Edward was leaving her in the dust. 

Setting traps with spells in the dorm—and pulling it off successfully? How did he do it? 

"As an old Chinese saying goes, 'You mustn't have the intent to harm, but you must always be prepared to defend,'" Edward added. "I read it in an ancient book." 

"Let's focus on the lesson now," he said, cutting off further questions as McGonagall began to speak. 

"Transfiguration is the most complex and dangerous magic you'll study at Hogwarts," she said, her stern gaze sweeping the room, lingering on the three latecomers. "Anyone who disrupts my class will be sent out and never allowed back. Consider yourselves warned." 

Though her Animagus transformation had already stunned the students, McGonagall drove the point home by waving her wand, turning the desk into a plump pig and back again. 

But the students quickly realized they couldn't perform such advanced transfiguration. 

After taking pages of notes, McGonagall finally let them try something simpler: turning a matchstick into a needle. Both were small, inanimate objects, making it the most basic form of transfiguration. 

Even so, it stumped the new students. No matter how hard they tried, their matchsticks didn't budge—not even a hint of change, let alone turning into a needle. 

McGonagall paced between the desks, shaking her head in frustration. 

Then she spotted Hermione's matchstick, its top half transformed into a gleaming silver needle, though the bottom was still rough. 

For a first-year, it was impressive. 

"Miss Granger, excellent work! Five points to Gryffindor!" McGonagall praised. 

From the moment Hermione arrived, McGonagall had high hopes for her, and this only confirmed her sharp eye for talent. 

Hermione tried to suppress a smile, but her lips betrayed her delight. What could make a young witch happier than earning a professor's praise and points for her house? 

Just as McGonagall was about to ask Hermione to demonstrate her technique, a gasp erupted from the other side of the room. 

Following the sound, she saw a crowd of students gathered around Edward's desk, their faces full of disbelief. 

"Mr. Bedivere, where's your matchstick?" McGonagall asked, puzzled, as she looked at his desk. 

There was only a textbook, some notes, a quill, and an oddly intricate sword-shaped pendant—no matchstick or needle in sight. 

Wait, when did that pendant get there? 

"Sorry, Professor, I'll change it back," Edward said. 

He waved his wand, clearly reciting a spell. A flash of white light followed, and the gleaming pendant began to roughen and shrink, transforming back into a red-tipped matchstick. 

McGonagall could hardly believe her eyes. 

While most students couldn't even turn a matchstick into a needle, this boy had not only turned his into an elaborate pendant but reversed the transformation perfectly? 

The pendant's detailed design and ornate patterns were beyond what even many older students could manage. The finer the details, the greater the skill required in transfiguration. 

This was no first-year spellwork. 

Could Edward be a prodigy in transfiguration? 

"Mr. Bedivere, I can scarcely believe this is a first-year's work," McGonagall said, astonished. 

"Slytherin, ten points!" 

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