Professor McGonagall suddenly wondered if she had misheard English altogether.
If her ears weren't deceiving her, Riddle had just said… he had invented a potion and wanted to publish the corresponding paper in Transfiguration Today?
"…I see." McGonagall recovered quickly, though her tone was uncertain. "You haven't spoken to Professor Snape? He'll be in the Great Hall shortly. You could see him then."
"…Eh?" Now it was Tom's turn to be confused. "Professor Snape is an editor for Transfiguration Today?"
McGonagall: …
Right. That was her mistake.
"Mr. Riddle," she said delicately, "I believe you'd have more success submitting to Brewing Glory, not Transfiguration Today. Of course, if you had insights into transfiguration, I would be glad to help."
Tom grinned. "Professor, the potion I invented may be a potion, yes—but it's designed specifically to aid in Transfiguration training. So naturally, it belongs in Transfiguration Today."
McGonagall's interest sharpened immediately. "A potion that aids Transfiguration?"
She had intended to press further, but realized they were still standing in the corridor. She opened her office door, gestured him inside, and conjured a cup of steaming lemon tea and a silver tray bearing small cakes.
"Thank you, Professor. Please, take a look at my paper."
Tom handed her a thick stack of parchment, then lifted the tea cup with casual ease.
Curiosity tinged with skepticism, McGonagall began to read.
The opening was heavy with advanced potions theory—enough to make her eyes blur. She had never cared much for Potions after graduation. But as she turned the pages, the subject shifted into her own domain, and her expression grew grave, then intrigued.
Tom had named his invention the Illusion Draught. Its effect was to strengthen the power of imagination.
Ordinarily, when one visualized something, the mental image was hazy—an indistinct sketch hidden behind fog. With concentration, details could be sharpened slightly, but always with that stubborn veil of vagueness.
After drinking this potion, however, the image became sharper, crisper, almost tangible.
For Transfiguration, this was critical.
The clearer one's internal image of the intended form, the higher the success rate and the more precise the transformation.
No wonder Riddle insisted this belonged in Transfiguration Today.
"Mr. Riddle," McGonagall asked after carefully finishing the paper, "do you have a finished sample?"
"I do. Three bottles."
Tom produced three crystal vials filled with shimmering silver-gray liquid. "I've already tested it with Hermione and Daphne. Both reported excellent results."
McGonagall nodded knowingly. "Indeed, I have noticed Granger and Greengrass improving rapidly these past weeks."
Still, she lifted one of the vials herself. "I'll need to test it personally to be sure."
"Of course."
She didn't hesitate. Poison never crossed her mind. Not from Tom, a student held in high regard by nearly every professor. Even if it had been a Gryffindor's most troublesome rival, McGonagall would not have suspected poison.
Let alone Tom Riddle.
The potion's effects struck swiftly.
Her vision blurred—not from her eyes, but as if two worlds overlapped before her. She struggled for several minutes to stabilize her thoughts, forcing herself not to imagine anything nonsensical.
At once she understood. This Draught truly enhanced the clarity of imagined constructs.
With a flick of her wand, the quill on her desk warped instantly into a mouse, which darted about the office in panic.
Such a simple feat was beneath her skill, but she knew exactly what it meant for students: a significant increase in accuracy and stability.
"Mr. Riddle, how long does it last?"
"Balancing cost and ingredients, about one hour per vial is optimal," Tom replied smoothly.
"One hour?" McGonagall's eyes lit up. That was perfect—roughly the length of a class. In double sessions, subtracting lecture time, students would still have nearly an hour of enhanced practice.
She flipped back to the potion's recipe. Most of the ingredients were common. The rarest were Murtlap tentacle juice and powdered skin of the African Tree Serpent—though the latter required only a pinch, about two grams.
Overall cost was reasonable. A student hitting a wall in Transfiguration could afford to try a bottle.
McGonagall's heart stirred.
Transfiguration had always been Hogwarts' most difficult discipline. The Illusion Draught could not alter raw talent, but it could strip away one of the greatest hurdles.
Many failed not from lack of knowledge, but from faltering visualization. With this potion, that stumbling block would vanish.
She set the parchment down with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
"Mr. Riddle—you're right. The Illusion Draught belongs in Transfiguration Today. Give me some time. I'll test it with several students."
"No rush, Professor." Tom inclined his head. "Tomorrow I'll bring you ten more bottles. Use them freely. If the paper needs polishing, I trust you to refine it."
McGonagall's usually stern face softened into a rare smile. "It's my duty. To think, one of my students may soon be published in Transfiguration Today. I can't help but feel as proud as when Severus first rose to prominence."
Leaving her office, Tom's spirits soared.
Soon, another source of steady income would open up.
And unlike his earlier Theory of Magical Creatures' Evolution, the Illusion Draught would strike deeper.
After all, Transfiguration had always held greater prestige than the study of magical fauna. That hierarchy had been centuries in the making, and no single paper could overturn it.