Chapter 16: Edward, the Helper  

"Slytherin, ten points!" 

Professor McGonagall's loud announcement drew every eye in the room to Edward, followed by a collective "Wow!" from the students. 

Not everyone was thrilled, though. 

Hermione, for instance, was visibly miffed at having her thunder stolen. She was pouring all her effort into making her matchstick transform further. 

Behind Edward, Malfoy let out a dismissive "Hmph," but his focus on his own matchstick noticeably sharpened. 

It wasn't just him. After Hermione and Edward earned points, every student's concentration on their matchsticks visibly intensified. 

We're all first-years—why should they succeed when I can't? 

Daphne, in particular, narrowed her eyes in silence, mentally cataloging every detail of Edward's technique—his wrist movements, the volume of his incantation, even the rhythm of his breathing. 

A rare smile crept onto Professor McGonagall's face. As a teacher, she was delighted to see her students so driven. 

But ambition and competition weren't enough. Going down the wrong path could backfire. 

Her eyes had already zeroed in on Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor boy with light brown hair like Edward's, who seemed to have a peculiar knack for explosive or fire-related magic. 

If she didn't step in soon, his matchstick might turn into something like a Wizarding Wheezes firecracker, likely leaving both him and Dean Thomas beside him with sooty faces. 

"Let's pause for a moment, everyone. Mr. Bedivere, perhaps you'd like to share some of your insights with the class?" McGonagall said, gesturing for Edward to step forward. 

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," Edward replied promptly. 

He stood up so quickly that Daphne didn't even have a chance to grab his sleeve. 

She shook her head helplessly as she watched him head to the front. 

Some of the other Slytherins shot Edward mocking glances, a few even chuckling softly. 

They might envy or resent his talent, but most thought he lacked the cunning befitting a Slytherin. 

Share your tips in class? Yeah, right. 

Edward felt the undercurrent of malice in their stares but brushed it off. 

You can only expect sincerity from others if you offer it first. 

He was happy to take that first step. 

With a casual wave of his wand, the matchstick on the teacher's desk transformed into a gleaming short sword, earning another round of "Oohs" and "Aahs" from the class. 

"Let's start with this: when I turned the matchstick into a sword just now, did anyone notice my wrist movement?" Edward asked, scanning the room. 

"Uh…" Most students exchanged blank looks. 

Who'd remember that? Everyone was staring at the matchstick, not your wrist! 

"A circle, then a flick?" Daphne ventured hesitantly. 

She'd observed him closely several times and was confident she'd nailed it. 

"Nice one! And now?" Edward grinned, waving his wand again to turn the sword back into a matchstick. 

"Wait, that was totally different from before!" 

"Yeah, this time it was a flat sweep, then a jab forward." 

"And the tone of the incantation was different too!" 

The first-years were thoroughly confused. 

"Exactly! You've all just pinpointed the key to Transfiguration!" Edward said, tapping his temple. "From my perspective, Transfiguration is a complex subject, but its essence isn't about the motions—it's about what's up here." 

"You might think you failed because your incantation wasn't clear enough or your wand movement wasn't sharp enough, so you keep tweaking the form." 

"But in reality, to succeed at Transfiguration, you need two things: a crystal-clear mental image of the object you're transforming and an unshakable belief that you will succeed. Both are essential." 

"Don't hesitate, don't doubt, don't fear the challenge. Picture a needle clearly in your mind and believe with absolute certainty that you'll turn that matchstick into a needle. That's all the advice I can give." 

Edward finished with a slight bow. 

The classroom's silence broke with a burst of applause, led by Professor McGonagall. 

"Excellent! Truly excellent! In all my years, I've never heard a first-year explain the essence of Transfiguration so clearly! Five more points to Slytherin!" 

"Now, carry on, everyone." 

"Mr. Bedivere, if you're willing, perhaps you could offer some guidance to your classmates." 

Hermione's eyes lit up. She'd been half a step from success but couldn't figure out what was holding her back. 

Edward's words made it click: she'd had a fleeting moment of self-doubt. 

That tiny hesitation had left her silver needle slightly imperfect. 

Now, a flawless silver needle lay before her. 

Hermione let out a relieved sigh, looked up, and saw Edward giving her a thumbs-up. 

She returned a shy, friendly smile. 

Maybe Slytherins aren't all bad. 

Daphne was the third to succeed. 

In terms of intellect, she was second to none in the room. Edward's advice had lifted the final veil of confusion for her. 

Still, she wasn't entirely satisfied with her performance. 

Edward was one thing, but how had Hermione Granger beaten her to it? 

Was all her parents' training over the years really outdone by a Muggle-born who'd only known the wizarding world for a month? 

As for the others, while Edward's advice had sparked some progress, their results varied. 

"Mate, you're a Transfiguration genius!" Ron said, gaping at his matchstick, which now had only a wooden stub left. 

"Just a bit of thinking," Edward said with a smile. "Focus a little more and picture the needle's shape in full detail." 

Harry stared at his matchstick, which was only pointed at one end, then glanced at his excited friend, feeling a bit discouraged. 

"Harry, you've got to believe in yourself more. Compared to defeating You-Know-Who, a needle's a piece of cake, right?" Edward said gently. 

"Huh? Oh! Right!" 

Harry took a deep breath, feeling a warm surge in his chest. The matchstick in front of him finally started to thin out. 

"Ron! I did it!" 

Beyond Harry and Ron, most of the Gryffindors had managed to make at least some change to their matchsticks. 

But on the Slytherin side, some were less than pleased. 

"Slytherin's traitor!" Malfoy muttered coldly. "Sharing tips with those Gryffindor idiots?" 

At that moment, he thought Edward was even worse than Potter. 

"I don't entirely agree with Edward sharing his tips either, but aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself, Draco?" Daphne said, glancing at the completely unchanged matchstick on Malfoy's desk. 

"That's not very fitting for your status, is it?" she added, raising an eyebrow and nodding toward Crabbe and Goyle, whose matchsticks had at least shown some progress. 

Malfoy went silent for a moment. He knew Crabbe and Goyle were ahead of him. 

"Daphne, this is nothing for me. Just watch!" 

A flash of white light later—nothing happened. 

Malfoy's already pale cheeks flushed red with frustration. 

Pansy and Zabini were already exclaiming over their successes, yet he couldn't even focus. 

As he prepared to try again, a voice interrupted. 

"Focus, Malfoy. I know what's on your mind. Let go of those distractions. With your talent, you can do this." 

Edward had quietly walked over to his desk.