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Chapter 27: Professor McGonagall
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 21:39:58 +0000 UTCThe door opened. A firm clicking of heels cut through the heavy atmosphere of the classroom. Everyone’s heads snapped to the front. Quills aligned. Backs straight. Voices silenced.
Everyone, except one.
“Good morning,” said Professor McGonagall in her dry tone, her unmistakable voice slicing across the room.
“Good morning, Professor,” replied thirty-eight students almost in unison, with a discipline rarely seen even in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Almost all.
Because while the entire class reconfigured itself into its best academic posture, McGonagall’s gaze landed with surgical precision on a single point.
Ryan Ollivander. Feet on the desk. Sunglasses still on. Chair reclined back to a dangerous degree.
The very picture of insolence wrapped in Gryffindor robes.
'The famous Professor McGonagall, she looks like the one from the movie, but much younger. Of course, it’s still twenty years until 1991…' Ryan thought, studying the witch with curiosity.
Of course, he noticed the lethal glare McGonagall was fixing on him.
“Mr. Ollivander,” the professor said, her right eyebrow arching in a dangerously sharp line.
“Professor. A pleasure to see you again…” Ryan replied, tilting his head slightly, as though greeting a duchess instead of a stern teacher.
“Remove your feet from the desk immediately,” McGonagall said without a trace of humor.
Half the classroom held their breath. The other half was already mentally drafting the story they would retell at lunch if Ryan Ollivander lost points in the first minutes of the first class of the year.
Ryan complied without breaking composure. Slow. Deliberate. As if he were doing the entire room a favor.
But McGonagall wasn’t finished. “And take off those sunglasses.”
A moment of absolute suspension. A beat of silence. Every pair of eyes fixed on him.
Fabian Prewett looked at him as if trying to send telepathic thoughts: don’t be an idiot, don’t lose points, I’m trusting in your redemption.
Gideon’s lips were pressed tight, as though watching a painfully awkward comedy sketch. Jamie and Callum outright glared at him. Alicia stared stiffly ahead, her expression screaming this is exactly what I was afraid of.
Even Emmeline looked at him. Not mocking, not worried about house points. She just wanted to see how he would handle it. Him, who so disliked authority.
Ryan stayed still for one more beat. Then, calmly, he removed the sunglasses.
And that was when several, too many, felt the air in the room shift, as though charged with static. His eyes were a cold metallic gray, piercing like steel. The direct inheritance of his grandfather and mother: Garrick and Iris Ollivander.
His hair, golden, with rebellious strands hovering on the edge of perfect disarray. His mother’s features: sharp but harmonious, as if sculpted with intent.
And with the sunlight streaming in from the right, his face looked even more defined, almost cinematic.
A brutal contrast with his relaxed posture, his condescending tone, and his obvious disdain for obedience.
He was, in a word, magnetic.
Not like the polished, immaculate, almost aristocratic appearance of Lucius Malfoy, whose bearing was more statue than boy.
Some Gryffindor girls bit their lower lip without realizing it. Even some Slytherin girls exchanged quick glances and raised eyebrows.
Alicia stared hard at the edge of her desk, unblinking, as if swallowing had suddenly become difficult.
Marlene, glancing back from the front row, clenched her jaw. She’d broken up with him the year before, but not because she had stopped liking him.
Emmeline, for the first time in a long while, turned her gaze away. Not out of discomfort. But because what she had just felt, that involuntary spark of attraction she had not asked for, was too hard to ignore, even for her.
And she wasn’t about to let it show on her face.
Ryan said nothing more. With controlled ease, he straightened in his seat, set his feet on the floor, propped an elbow on the desk, rested his cheek lightly on his hand, and looked forward.
Exemplary behavior.
Defiant attitude? A little, perhaps.
Style? Undeniable.
'Should I try selling McGonagall a quill? She might find it useful,' Ryan wondered as the professor began her introduction to fifth-year Transfiguration.
McGonagall then moved behind her desk, surveying all the students.
“Welcome to the first fifth-year Transfiguration class.”
Her tone was formal, crisp, leaving no space for distraction.
“This will be a demanding year. Those who wish to achieve Outstanding marks on their OWLs must demonstrate not only magical skill, but also discipline, focus… and a profound respect for the laws of magical transformation.”
A brief silence ran through the room.
“Today we will begin with one of the most challenging branches of this subject: Vanishing Spells.”
Some students tensed at the word, knowing difficult times were ahead. Others leaned in with more interest. As for Ryan, though he sat upright with an aura more serious than usual, he wasn’t particularly interested in this first lesson.
Ever since he had arrived in this world two months ago, and in the days before coming to Hogwarts, he had followed a strict routine that included two hours of Transfiguration practice daily, guided by his mother, an expert in the field.
The former Ryan had passed Transfiguration for four years, so he had a solid base, though not a brilliant one.
Now, however, he was brilliant, advancing far beyond his year. And his goal was clear: to master Conjuration, a discipline taught only in sixth year. The Vanishing Spell, then, was merely a stepping stone.
McGonagall continued:
“Or, as I like to say: Nothing… is everywhere. What vanishes leaves no hole, but dissolves into the very fabric of the magical world.”
A few students scribbled notes frantically. Others tried to absorb the phrase.
“Today we will work with simple invertebrates. We’ll begin with snails. Over the course of the term, we’ll move on to more complex organisms. The level of difficulty will rise: a mouse will require greater control… and if any of you manages to vanish a kitten completely before Christmas, I’ll mention you personally in my report to the Headmaster.”
Several heads whipped around. Was there a trace of irony in her tone? Perhaps. Or perhaps not.
“We’ll be using the last section of Intermediate Transfiguration. Start from page 312.”
The book, with its red cover, gilded corners, and signature green-emerald clasp, was opened almost in unison.
Ryan opened his lazily.
McGonagall went on:
“For the first twenty minutes we’ll review theory. I want you to note the process of magical dispersion in objects with a biological core. Then we’ll move on to practice. I ask for discretion, care, and don’t be alarmed if your snail explodes the first time.”
A couple of Gryffindors choked.
A couple of Slytherins smirked quietly.
“The class will last two full hours. At the end, I’ll collect a brief observation report from each of you.”
And so, theory began. Ryan already knew the principle of magical dispersion in detail. The notes he took were minimal, barely keywords, written only out of formality.
Emmeline, seated beside him, noticed his handwriting was precise, fast… and brief. Like someone jotting down what they already knew. She said nothing.
After twenty minutes, McGonagall gave the signal to begin practice.
Snails appeared in small enchanted boxes on each desk. Some students looked at them with obvious disgust. Others with scientific curiosity. A few girls with a touch of pity.
McGonagall walked slowly, observing, correcting wand grips, repeating instructions with strict calm.
And then, in the third row of the Gryffindor section…
“Evanesco,” Ryan said.
A faint flash, barely a blink of magical light—and the snail in front of him vanished without a trace.
No explosion. No collapse. No partial failure.
The box was empty.
McGonagall, who had been observing from the far corner, snapped her head around. Her eyes sharpened. She walked directly toward him.
“Has your snail vanished, Mr. Ollivander?”
“Yes…” Ryan answered, resisting the urge to add something sarcastic.
The professor stopped at his desk. She examined the empty box carefully. Clicked her tongue, barely, with no defined expression.
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” she announced clearly.
That was all it took for the entire class to turn and stare at Ryan as if he were an impostor.
Some Gryffindors, like Fabian and Callum, frowned in confusion. Jamie outright gaped as though he’d been slapped. Marlene arched an eyebrow. Alicia looked at him for a few seconds, then turned back to her snail.
Clearly, Gryffindor found it more shocking to see Ryan earn points for their house than to see him sell enchanted goods.
Ryan noticed Emmeline was also watching him, not even trying to hide it.
“What is it? Does my brilliance make you uncomfortable?”
“…” Emmeline wanted to turn her head back toward her snail, but for some reason she wanted to keep talking to him.
“I’m just surprised at how easily you did the spell… It was as if you already knew it beforehand,” she said, not breaking eye contact.
“Let’s just say… it’s an advantage to have a mother who’s an expert in Transfiguration,” he replied calmly. “She gave me some extracurricular lessons over the summer. You know… so I wouldn’t embarrass her with such simple spells.”
Around him, however, several classmates who still had their snails intact, some even attempting for a third time without success, felt that last remark was like a poisoned dagger, slipped in with elegance.
If it weren’t for McGonagall’s eyes on them, more than one would have wanted to throw their snail in his face.
“Of course,” said Emmeline, twirling her wand between her fingers, “as simple as unraveling the existence of a living creature. Child’s play.”
Ryan smiled, saying nothing more.
He had already turned in his report. The practical work was done. The snail had vanished as though it had never existed. So… with free time ahead of him and a classmate to his left whose expression was focused but frustrated… he made a decision.
“Want me to help you?” he asked quietly, tilting his chair slightly toward her.
Emmeline glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
“You’re really surprising me today. First you wake up early, get to class on time, act considerate by giving me a quill, earn points with McGonagall, and now you want to help me…” Emmeline said in a tone of surprise rare for her.
She finally looked at him directly, one eyebrow raised.
“What traumatic event did you go through this summer? A divine epiphany?”
“Your concern flatters me. But no,” Ryan said, shrugging theatrically. “I simply decided to take things a little more seriously this year. You know… stop bringing shame to my great family name,” he added in a mock-solemn tone.
“All right…” said Emmeline, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll let you help me if you want.”
Ryan nodded with ceremonial air.
“First: focus your intent on the core of the body,” he murmured, leaning just close enough so only she could hear. “Snails don’t have bones, but they do have a center. Magic follows intent. If you think of vanishing it like a trick, it’ll explode. If you think of it reintegrating into the magical fabric of the world… it dissolves.”
Emmeline tried.
Once.
The snail vibrated, turned faintly transparent, then solidified again. She frowned.
“Very close,” Ryan said. “Your intent was good, but the wand movement wasn’t quite right.”
“Look,” he said, raising his wand. “It’s a very smooth curve with the final twist like an enveloping stroke, not a cutting one.”
He demonstrated the precise gesture. Then indicated she should practice it without casting the spell. She tried. But there was still a slight stiffness in her wrist, a tension he noticed instantly.
“Not like that…” Ryan murmured, and without asking permission or warning, he took Emmeline’s hand, the one holding the wand.
Not roughly. But not timidly either.
He guided her firmly, tracing the correct motion with his fingers over hers, making sure she felt it, understood where the mistake lay.
“There. Now try it on your own,” he said, finally releasing her.
Emmeline felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the snail.
But she nodded, cast the spell, and this time, the snail vanished.
Completely. No explosion, no twisting. It simply disappeared, clean, as if it had dissolved into the air.
Emmeline looked at him, surprised. Then turned her head slightly toward Ryan, her expression aiming for neutral but unable to fully hide her astonishment.
“Thank you,” Emmeline said. Direct. Straightforward. Because if she wasn’t anything, she wasn’t proud at the wrong times.
Ryan smiled faintly, as if it were nothing. He leaned back into his seat, eyes forward.
He noticed several gazes on him, McGonagall’s among them, but paid them no mind. Since he was free and still had class time, he read through the theory to reinforce it further.
The bell rang with its familiar resonance and chairs scraped hurriedly. Some students sighed, others muttered complaints as they packed away notes, while several un-vanished snails still crawled resignedly along the edges of their boxes.
Ryan had turned in his report long ago.
He stood with calm, as though he had all the time in the world. Adjusted his robe with an elegant gesture, picked up his book, and just as he passed in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk, he stopped.
From his pocket he drew his round sunglasses, dark as night, and slid them on in a single smooth motion.
“Professor,” he said, loud enough for half the class to hear, in that tone balanced between formal and irreverent, “I hope that when I vanish a cat, you already have that letter ready for the Headmaster… and perhaps fifteen points for Gryffindor. Ten, at the very least?”
He smiled at her and kept walking, leaving the classroom without waiting for a reply.
Silence.
A silence so compact it could almost be sliced with a blade.
McGonagall blinked.
Very slowly.
Her lips pressed into a line as straight as a ruler, but she said nothing. She only followed him with her eyes, a faint spark of incredulity… and something else harder to place. Amusement? Disapproval? Curiosity? Perhaps all at once.
Ryan didn’t go far. He still had about ten minutes before his next class. He sat on a bench, waiting for the supposed potential customers, who, luckily, appeared within three minutes.
Three children. Two girls and a boy. All with brand-new robes, neat hair, and that look of anxious wonder you only ever saw in first-years. They stopped a few steps away, whispering among themselves, until one stepped forward.
Ryan lowered his glasses slightly, looking at them over the rim. He gave them a half-smile.
Without any fuss, he explained the function, effects, and price. As clearly and efficiently as possible. They agreed the moment he finished his brief pitch.
After all, if they’d sought him out so quickly after his little show in the Great Hall a few hours ago, it meant they had a decent allowance to spend.
He explained that he couldn’t hand them over just then, since if he climbed all the way to the Gryffindor common room to fetch them, he’d be late for his next class—and so would they.
“I’ll see you after second period,” he said firmly, without preamble. “In the common room.”
The children nodded eagerly, visibly excited.
Ryan stood, straightened his robes, and headed for his second class: Herbology.
This time he didn’t show off. His knowledge in the subject was on par with his classmates, and though he made no mistakes and lost no points, he didn’t draw much attention either. But he did achieve one thing: he wasn’t late. And that was already more than many expected of Ryan Ollivander.
He went to the Gryffindor common room. In his shared dormitory, he opened his trunk and pulled out three enchanted eagle quills: pink, dark blue, and orange.
His current stock was 19 quills, minus these three sales, he would be left with 16.
When he came back down to the common room, the three children were already waiting for him. Standing side by side, with the excitement of kids about to buy a treasured gift.
Ryan didn’t make a big show of it.
He handed them the quills. Let them test them for a few seconds: the girls traced floating hearts in pink and orange, the boy wrote his surname in dark blue, letters shaky but thrilled. They worked perfectly.
Twenty-four galleons.
Quick and clean.
Yes, he could have charged ten galleons apiece, like in a Diagon Alley shop. But for now, since he had stock, he set a special price for his first Hogwarts customers. Once demand grew, he’d raise the price to ten or twelve galleons.
Adding the eight galleons he’d made from Alicia’s earlier purchase: thirty-two galleons in a single day. Enough to buy another griffin quill for twenty galleons, inscribe runes on it, and still pocket twelve in net profit.
While the children laughed, testing their quills and writing silly phrases in the air, he noticed several glances turning his way.
It wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d just closed a deal in the middle of the common room. What was interesting was the mix of reactions: curiosity, surprise, suspicion… and admiration. All of it in the faces of students who, until yesterday, had thought of him only as an eccentric with strange lines and an ego bigger than Hogwarts Castle.
One look in particular made him pause for a second.
Lily Evans. She sat in an armchair with an open book, though she wasn’t reading it. She was watching him with an expression difficult to read. Eyes analyzing him, as if trying to solve a riddle.
—That Ryan Ollivander, the boy with dark glasses and theatrical lines, had earned ten points for Gryffindor in McGonagall’s class.
—That he’d arrived early to both classes in the first period.
—That his Vanishing Spell had been flawless on the first try.
—And that he was the inventor of magical quills several students now owned. At breakfast, he’d sold one to Prefect Alicia from fifth year, and he’d also displayed a griffin quill, which he himself had valued at 250 galleons—only to then give it away as if nothing, to a classmate.
None of it matched the Ryan she thought she knew from the rumors.
Ryan glanced at her sideways and nothing more. He pocketed the galleons as if he were used to it, and began walking toward the exit of the common room. He was hungry, and who knew, maybe he’d find another customer in the Great Hall.
