Professor McGonagall was stunned.
She had been using her Animagus form—a tabby cat—to silently observe new students during their first Transfiguration class for many years now.
Much like the Sorting Ceremony, this little tradition was a closely guarded secret. It allowed her to gauge each year's Gryffindors from a feline perspective.
It was always quite entertaining.
Most first-years never realized anything unusual about the cat, assuming the professor simply hadn't arrived yet. As a result, they would chat loudly and freely, showing no signs of calming down even as class officially began.
This year was no exception.
If anything, the excitement was even more intense—likely due to Harry Potter's presence. Every few sentences, someone would sneak another look in his direction.
Watching their behavior, McGonagall had already mentally prepared the stern remark she planned to deliver at the end of class:
"You are the worst batch I've ever taught."
But what she hadn't expected—what she could never have imagined—was that a student would one day pick her up by the scruff of her neck.
Utterly preposterous!
Anyone familiar with cats knows they have a certain weakness: grab them by the scruff, and even the most feral feline will become docile and still.
Magical cats were no exception.
And any witch or wizard who transformed into an animal via Animagus magic would also inherit that creature's instincts and vulnerabilities.
So when Professor McGonagall, in her tabby cat form, let her guard down for just a moment, Sherlock seized the opportunity and picked her up like a common housecat.
She tried to resist, but the instinctive submission that came with her feline form left her helpless.
By the time her human self overpowered the cat instincts, Sherlock had already released her scruff—and was now gently stroking her.
And Sherlock was very good at petting cats. His movements were practiced and precise—light strokes, gentle scritches, and just the right pressure.
Before long, McGonagall found herself slipping into a trance of blissful relaxation.
"Sherlock, have you noticed the markings around this cat's eyes? They look a lot like Professor McGonagall's glasses," Harry said, visibly excited.
Ever since Sherlock explained the difference between looking and observing, Harry had been trying to improve.
So when he noticed this detail, he was thrilled.
He'd heard that pets often resemble their owners over time, and here was proof! Sherlock had said this wasn't McGonagall's pet, but clearly—this time—he'd made a mistake.
Harry allowed himself a touch of smugness, though he didn't say it aloud.
Surely Sherlock had picked up on his implication.
But before Sherlock could respond, the tabby cat in his arms suddenly began to squirm—and leapt from his hands to the floor.
In the blink of an eye, the cat was gone.
In its place stood a stern-looking woman, cloaked in emerald green robes, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, square spectacles perched on her nose.
The markings around the cat's eyes had indeed mirrored the frame of her glasses.
She was none other than Minerva McGonagall—Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor House, and Professor of Transfiguration.
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The first-years were stunned.
Harry and Ron, who had just been watching Sherlock pet their professor, were frozen with their mouths agape—wide enough to fit an entire toad.
Ron stammered, "Pr–Pr–Pr–Professor McGonagall!"
McGonagall shot Harry a grateful glance, then turned to Sherlock, her eyes sharp and inquisitive.
"Mr. Holmes, did you recognize me from the start?"
She remembered how, during their first encounter, Sherlock had deduced from the texture of the acceptance letter and a few comments that Hogwarts must be located in Scotland.
For someone capable of such logic, it was natural to be suspicious.
Harry and Ron, now realizing what Sherlock had just done in front of everyone, began to sweat nervously.
Their expressions were a mix of admiration and panic, silently praying Sherlock wouldn't be punished too harshly.
But Sherlock answered calmly, "No, Professor. I simply noticed that this cat was holding itself unusually rigid."
His gaze was steady, sincere—clearly not lying.
McGonagall's expression softened slightly.
After all, he was just a bright-eyed, curious young wizard. What harm could he have intended?
"If you'd seen the way your classmates were behaving, you'd be stiff too," she muttered.
Her sudden transformation had already captured everyone's attention. But that comment silenced the room instantly.
"Your Transfiguration was seamless, Professor. There wasn't even a hint of magical energy. Incredible," Sherlock said with sincere admiration—as if he hadn't just been cradling her moments ago.
McGonagall gave a slight huff to hide her embarrassment.
"This technique is called the Animagus Transformation, Mr. Holmes. It allows a witch or wizard to fully assume an animal form. It's a very advanced branch of Transfiguration.
"During practice, it's not uncommon to lose oneself in the animal mind and become unable to revert—extremely dangerous for first-years."
"Now, everyone take your seats. We are about to begin."
Relieved that Sherlock hadn't caught on to her earlier… compromising behavior, McGonagall took a deep breath.
Truth be told, she had initially resisted being pet.
But in her Animagus form, feline instincts had slowly taken over—and Sherlock's expert technique hadn't helped.
Before she knew it, her inner cat was utterly relaxed and melting into bliss.
Thankfully, Harry's comment about her glasses had snapped her out of it just in time to avoid a full-on embarrassment.
Still… the fact remained. She'd been petted by a student.
Time to shift attention—something she was quite good at.
She waved her wand, and her desk transformed into a large pig—then changed back again.
As expected, the students were instantly captivated, buzzing with excitement.
But her next words were a splash of cold water.
"Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic you will learn at Hogwarts."
Her eyes swept the room, pausing briefly on Sherlock and Harry.
"Anyone foolish enough to cause trouble in my class will be expelled from it. Permanently. You've been warned."
The class sat up straight immediately.
Satisfied, McGonagall finally began the lesson.
Only then did the students realize—turning furniture into animals would take a long time to master.
They had to start small.
Today's goal: transform a matchstick into a needle.
Even this seemingly simple task proved difficult for almost everyone.
By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any real progress. Though one end of her matchstick was still wood, the other had become sharply pointed.
McGonagall gave her a rare smile.
Seeing the notoriously stern professor smile filled Hermione with pride. She lifted her chin high, like a swan basking in glory.
This, she thought, is what it means to be a true Gryffindor—gifted in Transfiguration!
And then—
"Five points to Gryffindor!"
Hermione was stunned.
Wait… what?
She'd heard that Professor McGonagall was notoriously stingy with House Points. Getting a smile from her was already an achievement. But five whole points?
That was almost unheard of!
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