After class, the young wizards gradually left the Transfiguration classroom, and Allen finally made up his mind to ask Professor McGonagall about his confusion regarding the principles of magic.
After all, he was just an eleven-year-old wizard, and asking some naive questions was just innocent childlike talk. Besides, among so many professors, he was most familiar with Professor McGonagall.
Moreover, Allen vaguely felt that Professor McGonagall was a person with a cold exterior but a warm heart; she seemed strict on the surface but was very soft-hearted. Therefore, asking Professor McGonagall was the most suitable option.
So he sat in his seat, watching Professor McGonagall tidy up the documents on her desk. During this time, he exchanged glances with Professor McGonagall, and she also realized that he had a question to ask.
At this moment, Harry and Ron, who hadn't left yet, nudged Allen. "Allen, class is over, why aren't you leaving yet? Let's go back to the dormitory together. We can play Wizard Chess," Ron said.
"Yeah, let's go together. We're in the same dormitory, let's all go together!" Harry also said to Allen.
Allen was a bit surprised, but still politely said, "Ah, thank you, guys. I have some questions to ask Professor McGonagall. You go back first, don't wait for me."
Harry and Ron looked at Professor McGonagall behind the lectern, somewhat intimidated by her authority. They didn't dare to stay in the classroom alone, probably fearing that Professor McGonagall would question them individually about Transfiguration. So they quickly said to Allen, "Then we'll go first. We'll wait for you in the dormitory to go to dinner together."
After speaking, they grabbed their textbooks and ran off in a flash.
Watching their retreating figures, a warm current surged in Allen's heart—what a familiar feeling!
It was like being back in college, the days of attending classes with his roommates. Counting the days, it had been six years since he left college in his previous world. He hadn't expected to relive this feeling here.
He also wondered how his roommates on Earth would feel when they received the news of his untimely death. He hoped they wouldn't be too sad for him...
...
After everyone had left the classroom, Allen walked from his seat to stand before Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall, seated behind her desk, looked up, her stern gaze piercing through her glasses as she stared at Allen. "Mr. Phoenix, do you have a question? Is it about your work-study program? Or have you developed some new physical problem that you need to tell me about?"
Allen bowed slightly, "I have some questions about magic that I'd like to ask you recently."
Professor McGonagall, being considerate, stopped her work and waved her wand, conjuring a chair opposite her desk. "Sit down and speak."
Allen obediently sat down. "I wanted to ask, why do all our first-year textbooks only cover the use of spells, but not the fundamental principles of magic?"
Professor McGonagall seemed very surprised to hear this question. She scrutinized Allen with astonishment for a moment before finally speaking. "Mr. Phoenix, this is the first time in all my years that a student has asked such a question. What I can tell you now is that magic has not only a gentle side but also a cruel and violent one. The spells in the textbooks have been carefully selected over many years; they are the most commonly used, safe, and least problematic magic. Learning these spells at your age is enough for your future work and life. Don't think too much about other things."
Allen was a bit unwilling to give up and pressed on, "You know I come from a Muggle orphanage. I've seen Muggles use wires to harness electricity, and steel to contain gunpowder, achieving unimaginable things. The essence of it is energy conversion. What about magic then? When I cast magic, I don't feel my own power diminishing, yet I release magic beyond imagination. How do we wizards achieve all of this?"
Professor McGonagall sat up straight, scrutinizing him as if seeing Allen for the first time.
Facing Professor McGonagall's stern gaze, which felt almost tangible, Allen remained unfazed. He bravely met her eyes, thinking to himself, "Even the Sorting Hat, with its maxed-out Legilimency, couldn't see my thoughts, so I'm even less afraid that any other wizard can read my mind. As long as I don't panic, you won't be able to discern anything from me."
After a long moment, Professor McGonagall finally withdrew her gaze and hummed softly, "I didn't expect you to be thinking so far ahead!"
Facing Allen's inquiring gaze, Professor McGonagall said hesitantly, "All I can tell you now is that magic is a gift from this world to wizards. The reason we can cast magic is because wizards themselves resonate with this world."
Seeing that Allen was about to ask another question, Professor McGonagall's mouth twitched slightly, and she quickly said, "You are only a first-year student now. Knowing too much about this prematurely is not beneficial for your future development. So, for now, just focus on learning the courses the school has arranged for you. You can completely trust Hogwarts in this regard."
Seeing this, Allen had no choice but to give up. He politely bid farewell to Professor McGonagall, "Thank you, Professor, for helping me with my confusion. I'll head back now."
Professor McGonagall nodded.
But just as Allen was about to leave, she called out to him, "When you choose your career path in your sixth or seventh year, you might consider the path of a Curse-Breaker. Many of your questions in that field will be answered."
Allen bowed again, pushed the door open, and left the classroom.
...
When Allen returned to the Gryffindor common room, he found a notice posted there: flying lessons would begin on Thursday, which was tomorrow—Gryffindor students would have class with Slytherin students.
Allen found his roommates enthusiastically discussing flying lessons in the common room.
However, Harry and the others were sighing.
"What bad luck," Harry said dejectedly, "It's just as I expected. Making a fool of myself in front of Malfoy on a broomstick."
He currently detested Malfoy.
He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.
"It's not certain whether you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron said rationally, "I know Malfoy always brags about how great he is at Quidditch, but I bet he's just talking big."
Malfoy talked about flying all day long. He loudly complained that first-year students weren't allowed to join the House Quidditch team, and he told many long, boastful stories, always ending with him narrowly dodging a Muggle helicopter.
However, he wasn't the only one talking big: judging by Seamus Finnigan's tone, it seemed he had spent most of his childhood flying around the countryside on a broomstick.
Even Ron, if anyone was willing to listen, would talk about the time he almost crashed into a hang glider while riding Charlie's old broom. Everyone from a wizarding family talked incessantly about Quidditch.
Neville had never ridden a broomstick in his life because his grandmother never let him near one. Privately, everyone felt his grandmother was quite right, as Neville, even with both feet firmly on the ground, always managed to cause an endless stream of accidents.
Allen also enthusiastically participated in the discussion. Although he had flown many times on airplanes in his previous life, how could being confined to a small seat compare to the joy of flying on a broomstick? Moreover, flying was a dream everyone had, and when that dream was about to come true, it was incredibly exciting.
Allen listened attentively and participated in every conversation about Quidditch, also taking in many flying tips that he wasn't sure would be useful.
This was the first time since Allen transmigrated that something made his heart leap with such joy. The thought of flying freely on a broomstick tomorrow made Allen feel a little nervous.
Even when everyone was lying in bed at night, they were still enthusiastically discussing various Quidditch matters.
Allen, however, felt more and more muddled as he listened. His small 11-year-old body couldn't handle staying up late, and he fell asleep at some point.
What he didn't notice was that his wand, which he usually carefully put away when sleeping, was this time carelessly left on the headboard.
In his sleep, Allen mumbled about flying, and with a roll, his hand landed on the wand at the headboard...