Chapter 1 – After Class
Professor McGonagall looked at the stack of parchments in front of her and sighed. The initial "History of Transfiguration" essay that she assigned to the first-year students every term gave her a good idea not only of their previous understanding of transfiguration, but of what misconceptions were most common – and what their work ethic was like. Though there were some common patterns through the years, every term brought a few surprises.
She picked up the first paper and gave it a quick once-over, letting out another sigh. Myths and misconceptions were rampant, and the response wasn't even that long. She glanced up at the name – Vincent Crabbe. Her brows lifted, and she shook her head. "Just like your father," she murmured. "Lazy and arrogant." The professor picked up her quill and began to mark each of the errors and add instructive notes in the margins. It was not particularly likely that Vincent would take the notes to heart, but she had never been able to avoid at least making the attempt.
Other students showed more promise – Padma Patil's response, while equally brief, was coherent, well-informed, and showed encouraging insights, making connections between wizarding history in general and the development of transfiguration as a discipline. And while Justin Finch-Fletchley clearly had only the most rudimentary understanding of what transfiguration even was, that was commendable, given his non-wizarding background.
Ronald Weasley? Another one. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips as she read over the paper. Not bad, all told. She wondered how often she would have to contact the Weasleys about this particular boy. The twins had been quite a handful – still were, to be honest, and there was no sign that it was going to get any easier with them. Fortunately their parents had been quite supportive. Molly, especially. Arthur had always offered his support, but she'd never been quite certain that there had been any follow-through. Mrs. Weasley, however, proved to be a formidable ally. Ronald's information was fairly basic, and his observations seemed tentative. Yet he'd been Sorted into Gryffindor. Interesting, that. Perhaps it was due to having so many older siblings. That gave him both a strong foundation in basic theory, but also made it likely that he was used to being overshadowed. Percival was quite studious, and George and Frederick, while... challenging, to be certain, were certainly well-liked, and definitely hard to ignore. With a bit of encouraging, Ronald might prove an excellent pupil.
Next after his was another Muggleborn student. This time, however, she recognized the name. Professor McGonagall chuckled softly to herself. Hermione Granger had not only participated enthusiastically in class, but had clearly made a point of finding out as much as she could ahead of time. She was likely one of those who, new to the world of magic and wizards, was worried that she didn't truly belong there. However, given her obvious intelligence and her determination to prove herself, it would not take long for her to feel more secure of her place. Seeing that fierce stubbornness had struck a chord with the professor, and she set the paper aside with a quiet smile.
The next paper had no name on it, and in fact, seemed to start in the middle of a sentence. Frowning, she turned it over, noticing for the first time that there was writing on both sides. However, neither side seemed to be the beginning of the assignment. Puzzled, she read more carefully, and was able to discern that the writing style and penmanship matched the previous one. Her brows lifted. Was this the second page – and both front and back? She picked up Hermione's paper and turned it over. Yes, it continued on the back of the first page, and continued on the front and the back of a second, and... Goodness gracious, how many pages had the girl written?
Oh dear.
With a shake of her head, she went through the next several pages, made sure that she kept them in order, and placed them carefully on a clear space on her desk. That essay was going to require more attention than most, and it would have to wait until later, when she could approach it with a clear mind.
Reading over the essay that followed, she felt her stomach clench and the muscles in her neck and back begin to tighten up in frustration and indignation. She had been very clear with each of her classes that unless directly given permission, they were to work independently. And she had read these very words before, she was certain of it. Not only that, the diction and vocabulary were – well, not completely out of reach of a first-year student, provided that student was exceptionally well-read – but at the very least, highly unlikely. She checked the name: Draco Malfoy.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. It was wrong, of course, to judge one student based on their relationship to another, but, well, she was only human, and there you had it. She remembered Draco's father, Lucius, all too clearly. He had been as slick and polished as the ridiculous mane of hair that he was always so very proud of. While he hadn't often gotten in trouble, and had actually been one of the Slytherin prefects, McGonagall often suspected what he was really good at was not getting caught.
Well, his son had not been so fortunate. It was almost insulting, really, to see words and phrases copied directly from someone else. One of the books that used to be assigned for History of Magic, and probably one that was available in the Malfoy household. Did he really think she was so ignorant that she wouldn't notice? Or perhaps that she didn't actually pay attention to what the students wrote in their papers – or even that she didn't read them at all. She didn't waste any further time on that essay, but picked up her quill and scrawled PLAGIARIZED – SEE ME across the top. It was tempting to add an exclamation point or two, but she decided they would be unnecessary. Her meaning couldn't be any clearer.
When she came to the next paper, she saw the name, and she hesitated. Harry Potter. She almost didn't want to look at what he'd written. He was The Boy Who Lived, after all. It was a lot to live up to. And not only that, she'd spent so much time watching him grow up, and doing what little she could to try to protect him from those horrid people he'd been forced to live with. All things considered, it would be very difficult not to be personally involved. She had no children of her own – had never wanted any – but this was something almost like it.
With another slow breath, she began to read. It was somewhat clumsily written, and the insights he drew were simplistic. But it was thorough, and he had clearly done at least some studying, and used more than one source. Possibly he'd gotten some help from some of the other students – the Granger girl was in Gryffindor, she remembered. Still, it didn't have the echoing quality that inevitably cued her in to a student who wasn't doing their own work. Perhaps Harry would be able to come out from the shadow of his illustrious past – or perhaps even grow tall enough to cast his own shadow.
It was several hours before she'd finished marking the rest of the papers. Miss Granger's alone had taken the better part of an hour, not only because of its length. She'd felt compelled to give more extensive marginal notes even than she usually did. Somehow she was confident that Hermione would pay significantly more attention to them than most students would.
Now for that other matter...