The next morning, my Transfiguration class awaited—a lesson I'd been anticipating ever since my session in the Room of Requirement.
The classroom was bright and orderly, sunlight streaming through tall windows that glimmered across the polished desks. Dumbledore stood at the front, his deep blue robes flowing like calm water, his piercing eyes filled with quiet intellect.
He smiled when I entered. "Ah, Mr. Riddle. I hope you've been practicing."
I simply nodded, keeping my expression polite and modest. "A little, Professor."
Dumbledore's smile deepened slightly—as if he already knew I was lying.
The class began, and Dumbledore introduced today's topic: advanced transformations of inanimate to animate objects. For most first-years, even changing a matchstick into a needle was difficult. But today, he was having us attempt to turn goblets into animals.
The challenge drew murmurs from the students.
But to me, it was child's play.
The moment Dumbledore gave the word to begin, I focused, raising my wand slightly.
"Avifors."
Blue sparks danced from my wandtip—and in an instant, my goblet spread shimmering wings, transforming into a silver-feathered bird that fluttered gracefully onto the desk.
The entire room went silent.
Even Dumbledore paused mid-step, his eyes glinting with clear surprise. "Well done, Mr. Riddle," he said finally, his tone measured but approving. "Flawless form, stable transformation, and excellent wand movement. Ten points to Slytherin."
A wave of whispers rippled across the classroom.
But I wasn't finished.
I flicked my wand again, reversing the spell with perfect control, then repeating it—this time, shaping the bird into a butterfly, then back into a goblet without a single spark out of place. My magic flowed perfectly, seamless and steady.
"Another five points to Slytherin," Dumbledore said, his tone now carrying a faint note of admiration. "You may sit down, Mr. Riddle. I think you've already demonstrated mastery for today."
As I returned to my seat, Abraxas leaned in and whispered, "Merlin's beard, Tom… you're insane."
I just smiled faintly. "Practice makes perfect."
But deep down, I knew—it wasn't just practice. It was talent. Dumbledore's talent. My system's blessing. And the blood of Merlin himself running through my veins.
By the time the lesson ended, Slytherin had gained twenty-five points in total—thanks entirely to me.
Even Dumbledore, as the class dismissed, stopped me before I left. "You have quite the gift, Mr. Riddle," he said quietly. "Use it wisely."
"I intend to, Professor," I replied smoothly.
His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer—then he smiled, the corners of his mouth curving in that familiar, mysterious way. "See that you do."
That evening, while reviewing notes in the common room, a house-elf appeared beside me with a small, sealed envelope.
It bore the Slug Club insignia.
"Professor Slughorn," the elf squeaked, "requests your presence at his academic gathering tomorrow evening, Master Riddle."
I took the envelope and opened it, reading the neat, flowery handwriting inside. It was an invitation to a private academic party in the Slug Club—a gathering of Hogwarts' most promising students.
A faint smile crossed my lips. Exactly as planned.
And then the familiar system chime echoed softly in my mind.
[New Quest Unlocked: Impress Professor Slughorn at his Party][Reward: Supreme Magic Control](Perfect control over all internal magical flow. Allows for flawless spell precision, zero wasted energy, and instant mastery of spells requiring exceptional finesse.)
I leaned back in my chair, reading the text twice. Supreme Magic Control. That reward would change everything. Every spell, every duel, every experiment would be perfect—no wild surges, no wasted power.
"Looks like tomorrow," I murmured quietly to myself, "I'll have to make quite the impression."