If Peter had to set aside his ambitions and choose a subject based on pure interest alone—something that stirred genuine excitement—it would, without a doubt, be Transfiguration.
The subject was vast, elegant, and filled with mystery. It touched nearly every corner of the magical world. Its complexity demanded precision and intelligence. It was magic in its purest, most refined form.
And above all… it had Animagi.
The ability to transform into an animal at will? That wasn't just magic—it was mastery.
After gently brushing off Neville's emotional gratitude (and finally managing to get him to stop talking), Peter sat in the front row beside Hermione. His attention, however, wasn't on his classmate.
It was locked firmly on the tabby cat perched atop the podium.
The cat hadn't moved once. It sat with impeccable posture, its front paws folded neatly beneath it, green eyes scanning the room like a silent sentinel.
Hermione noticed the way Peter kept glancing at it.
She leaned in and whispered, "Peter… what's with the cat? Is something wrong?"
Peter didn't blink. "Nothing."
He absolutely was not about to expose Professor McGonagall's little trick. It was tempting, but he didn't know what kind of consequences came with revealing a teacher's transformation in front of a class—especially this teacher.
So instead, he kept his expression calm and his eyes forward.
The room continued to fill with students, chattering as they found seats. No one seemed to realize the professor was already present.
Peter crossed his arms and waited.
This was going to be fun.
To be honest, if you hadn't read Hogwarts: A History or the original book itself, you'd never suspect the truth behind Professor McGonagall's trick.
With Peter's current level of magical training, it would've been impossible to tell at a glance that the cat on the podium was an Animagus. It looked far too natural. The coloration, the pattern of the fur, even the way it sat—all of it was perfect.
But Peter was no ordinary first-year.
He watched with quiet intensity, not just admiring the appearance, but noticing the subtle things—the way the cat's ears never flicked toward sound, how it didn't lick a paw or twitch its tail. It didn't act quite like a real animal.
And that, ironically, was the giveaway.
It wasn't a slip-up. In fact, Peter could tell it was a deliberate decision on Professor McGonagall's part. She didn't want to fully mimic a cat's instincts. This wasn't just a show—it was a message.
A warning to the curious: you're not the only one watching.
Hermione, seated beside him, didn't notice a thing. She simply thought Peter had taken a sudden and deep interest in tabby cats. Her focus shifted back to her textbook.
But on the podium, the cat stirred.
Professor McGonagall had taught for many years. She was used to students staring—some because they loved cats, some because they were daydreaming.
But this Weasley… this red-haired Slytherin… he was different.
When their eyes met, she saw more than idle curiosity. There was recognition. Respect. And something rarer still in a first-year—understanding.
He had figured it out.
McGonagall's emerald eyes gleamed with subtle approval. She gave him the slightest nod.
Peter dipped his head in return.
The quiet, mutual acknowledgement was brief but unmistakable.
Hermione noticed.
"Peter," she whispered, leaning close. "The cat it's, I mean—she—"
"Ssh."
Peter gently placed a finger to his lips.
Hermione's eyes went wide. She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at the podium, now far more curious than before.
As the hour approached, more students filtered into the classroom, their voices hushed with curiosity and nerves. Some glanced at the tabby cat perched on the podium, but no one gave it more than a passing look. After all, it was just a cat. What was so unusual about that at Hogwarts?
Peter, of course, knew better.
Finally, the last pair of students arrived—Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, looking slightly flushed and very out of breath.
The moment they stepped inside, the tabby cat leapt gracefully from the podium.
And midair, in a fluid, seamless motion, it transformed.
Gasps echoed across the room.
In the blink of an eye, Professor McGonagall stood where the cat had been, her robes crisp, her hair pinned into its usual severe bun. The room buzzed with awe and excitement. Wide eyes sparkled. Even the more cynical students looked momentarily stunned.
It was a dramatic entrance—and clearly an effective one.
But Professor McGonagall herself did not look pleased.
Her sharp gaze locked on the two students standing awkwardly near the door.
"Mr. Potter. Mr. Ron Weasley," she said coolly, "perhaps I should turn you both into pocket watches, so you'll never forget what time class begins."
Harry, caught off guard, managed a sheepish response. "We got lost, Professor."
"Oh? Then perhaps I should turn you into maps instead."
The students chuckled nervously, but McGonagall's expression only hardened.
"Why don't you find your seats before I start considering a compass rose next," she snapped. "And five points from Gryffindor for being late. I trust you'll remember that without needing to be turned into parchment."
Harry and Ron wilted under her glare and hurried to the nearest empty seats—right beside Peter and Hermione.
They slid into place without a word, faces red.
Peter leaned slightly toward them and whispered under his breath, "Impressive entrance. Shame about the landing."
Ron groaned.
"Don't remind me," he muttered.
That was the only empty seat left in the room.
Apparently, some things were universal—no matter the school or the world, the seats closest to the teacher were never the most popular.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her gaze sweeping the class like a hawk eyeing its prey.
"Transfiguration," she began crisply, "is the most complex and dangerous branch of magic you will learn at Hogwarts."
She didn't wait for a reaction.
With a flick of her wand, the desk in front of her shimmered, shifted, and transformed into a squealing pig. The class gasped as one.
McGonagall raised her voice above the noise.
"I will not tolerate misbehavior in this classroom. Consider this your only warning. Anyone who attempts to act foolishly will be dealt with severely."
The pig snorted and trotted in a circle, still blinking in confusion.
Harry and Ron went stiff with fear, visibly paling.
Hermione, ever prepared, leaned across the table and whispered, "She's just trying to scare you. Transfiguration hasn't been allowed as punishment for years. I read it in Hogwarts: A History."
Before either of them could relax, Peter added in a low, deadpan voice, "Yes, but no one can really supervise what professors do. She could turn you into pigs quietly, and no one would ever know."
Ron turned to glare at him, face scrunched and uncertain whether he was joking.
He opened his mouth to retort—but then closed it again, scowling.
Harry, on the other hand, let out a small laugh. He still liked Peter. Despite the snake badge on his chest, he didn't seem all that bad. Not like how everyone kept whispering Slytherins were supposed to be.
Then Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
"Before we begin," she said, "I would like to commend Mr. Peter Weasley."
Heads turned.
"He was the only one in the class who recognized my Animagus form."
There was a moment of silence, and then—
"I am awarding Slytherin five points."
Hermione clapped immediately, beaming. Harry followed with a few enthusiastic claps of his own.
Peter nodded politely, doing his best not to smirk as Ron sulked beside him.
This day was off to an excellent start.
"Traitor," Ron muttered under his breath.
But no one responded. The class had already moved on.
Professor McGonagall turned briskly to the board and began her lecture, her chalk writing with clean, practiced precision as she explained the fundamental theory behind Transfiguration.
Peter opened his copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. The pages were worn and filled with densely packed notes—scribbles in the margins, arrows connecting concepts, small diagrams illustrating wand movement.
Hermione, peering over from beside him, blinked in surprise.
"You've already tried this?" she whispered, eyes wide.
Peter nodded without looking up. "Just the basics. Object deformation. Still ran into plenty of problems."
Hermione looked torn between admiration and panic. Her fingers twitched toward her quill, as if trying to memorize everything on his page at once.
Peter glanced sideways and, seeing the gleam in her eyes, added firmly, "But I don't recommend trying it alone, Hermione. Transfiguration isn't just wand waving—it's dangerous if you don't understand what you're doing. If you have questions, ask the professor. Or me."
Hermione hesitated, then nodded slowly. "All right."
Peter returned to his notes.
From his own late-night experiments, he already knew Professor McGonagall hadn't been exaggerating earlier. Transfiguration was serious magic. It wasn't just changing one thing into another—it was redefining how matter behaved.
Last night, he had tried turning a dried fish into a mouse. The results had been... mixed.
It had looked like a mouse, sure. Right size, right fur, even a tiny tail. But it hadn't moved. It hadn't blinked or breathed. It hadn't been alive.
It was just a hollow shell—an imitation.
And that was the line between ordinary Transfiguration and the truly advanced level: life transformation.
That barrier, Peter knew, was razor-thin—and extremely dangerous.
Biomorphosis—the transformation of one living being into another form, whether into an object or a different creature—was one of the most advanced and dangerous branches of Transfiguration.
Even the briefest attempt at reshaping life itself could result in catastrophic failure. The complexity wasn't just in the spellwork, but in the ethics, the biology, the sheer volatility of tampering with something alive.
Peter knew this from experience.
He still remembered the night he attempted it. A rabbit into a teacup. It had seemed harmless enough on paper.
But when he reversed the spell, what came back wasn't a rabbit.
It was a twisted heap of flesh—sinew and fur tangled together, its limbs malformed, its eyes half-formed and wide with pain. And it was still alive. For a few horrifying seconds, it twitched. It writhed. It screamed.
Peter had vomited.
He hadn't touched food for days afterward.
That memory alone was enough to make him cautious. His mind may have been sharper than most first-years, but that wasn't the same as being ready. He was careful. Restrained. Focused.
Because the alternative… was unthinkable.
If a young wizard ever tried to transfigure a human body without proper understanding, the consequences would be nightmarish.
The lesson began in earnest.
For most of the class, Professor McGonagall's lecture felt like a whirlwind of complex terminology and layered concepts. The young wizards around Peter could hardly keep up. They scribbled notes in a frenzy, their quills racing to catch a few key words before the next sentence came.
But Peter wasn't flustered.
Instead, he quietly compared her explanations with the notes he had already compiled from various books. He took careful notes, marking where her theories overlapped with his own, underlining contradictions, circling ideas he hadn't yet considered.
While others tried to stay afloat, Peter was fine-tuning a system.
Near the end of class, Professor McGonagall walked down each aisle with a small wooden box, handing out thin wooden matches to each student.
"Your first practical exercise," she said. "Transform your matchstick into a needle."
A few excited murmurs rippled through the room.
"The incantation," she added clearly, "is Feraverto. Wand movement must be sharp and precise. Focus on the material—its density, shape, texture. Not just what you see, but what you know it must become."
She demonstrated once, her match instantly becoming a gleaming silver needle that clinked against the desk.
Then she stepped back and gestured for them to begin.
Most of the students managed to recite the incantation, Feraverto, without issue. But spellwork alone wasn't enough.
Transfiguration required more than words—it demanded focus, control, and an understanding of the object's structure and essence. For first-years with no magical foundation, it was like being handed a violin and expected to perform a symphony.
By the end of class, only Peter had fully succeeded.
Hermione came close. Her match had changed shape—one end had narrowed into a sharp silver point, but the transformation remained incomplete.
Professor McGonagall walked between the rows, inspecting each desk, her face a careful mask of composure. When she reached Peter and Hermione's work, her expression changed.
"Excellent, excellent," she said, holding up both items for the class to see. "Mr. Peter Weasley's Transfiguration is flawless. The texture, the metallic sheen, even the balance—it is, without question, a proper needle."
She turned slightly, lifting Hermione's half-transformed match. "And Miss Granger, while yours is not yet complete, you've demonstrated a clear grasp of form and control. With another ten minutes, I have no doubt you would finish it perfectly."
Hermione's cheeks turned pink with pride. Peter nodded slightly in her direction.
"Ten points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall declared. "Now, for your homework…"
Groans followed as she listed a three-foot essay on the theory of Transfiguration, plus a chart comparing successful and failed transformation cases.
After a final round of instructions, the bell rang.
Students rose, stretching and collecting their things, the room quickly filling with chatter.
"Mr. Peter Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, her voice cutting clearly across the noise. "Please stay behind. I have something to discuss with you."
A few heads turned. Peter raised a brow, then gave Hermione a small shrug as she gathered her books and followed the others out.