Chapter 46

Hogwarts’ magical courses are bizarre and varied.

There are Herbology classes where young witches and wizards must outwit mischievous Jumping Bulbous Stems,

a Magical History class taught by ghosts, and a Potions class where even a moment’s distraction earns harsh point deductions.

But the course young witches and wizards love most—and find most difficult—is Transfiguration.

In this class, they can freely unleash their magic to transform the matches before them,

requiring almost no rigid steps or complex gestures.

Professor McGonagall looks intimidating, yet her astonishing Transfiguration spells captivate the students deeply.

No one dislikes turning a teapot into an elephant with a spraying trunk, nor can anyone resist making a quill stand and dance.

Yet contrary to the students’ enthusiasm, few achieve quick success in Transfiguration,

even Hermione, the fastest progressor, could only turn a match into the rounded tip of a needle.

So when Wizard Sean turned a running mouse into a snuffbox and made it run again,

most of the young witches and wizards gathered around, letting out a synchronized “Woo—”

【You practiced an Intermediate Transfiguration with proficiency. Proficiency +100】

Wizard Sean had underestimated his Transfiguration talent; after only two weeks of practice, he had already reached the 【Proficient】 standard in Intermediate Transfiguration.

Not only Wizard Sean, but also Professor McGonagall was astonished,

her wrinkles softening, a glint of approval flashing behind her square glasses.

“Excellent, Mr. Green—outstanding Transfiguration. I award five points to Ravenclaw!”

She strode forward, ignoring the gasps of the surrounding students,

her eyes fixed only on Wizard Sean, whose focus made him seem shy.

“After class, come with me.”

She whispered.

Wizard Sean blinked slightly, then murmured, “Yes.”

Transfiguration class ended quickly,

the students streamed out of the classroom, leaving only Wizard Sean and Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall watched Wizard Sean, still hearing the whispers of the students:

—rumors that a certain Ravenclaw had earned the most house points, even double that of the second-place student.

Her usual sternness slowly softened.

She had plucked a seed from barren soil,

and now she watched it grow and sprout.

“Come with me, Mr. Green.”

She swiftly exited the Transfiguration classroom.

Professor McGonagall’s office was nearby; as he pushed open the wooden door, Wizard Sean glanced around for a few seconds.

It was a small study on the second-floor corridor, with a roaring fireplace and a window overlooking the Quidditch pitch.

Many young witches and wizards had already gathered there, as Gryffindor’s Flying lesson with Slytherin was about to begin.

“Demonstrate the Transfiguration again.”

Professor McGonagall’s stern voice had unconsciously softened.

Wizard Sean quickly realized: this was a private lesson—a personal tutorial from Professor McGonagall.

…

When he left her office, his Intermediate Transfiguration had improved significantly, and he now held a Transfiguration notebook,

in which Professor McGonagall had answered many of his questions and pointed him toward the core of Transfiguration: the wizard’s will.

Like all magic, Transfiguration is influenced by the wizard’s emotions,

strong feelings—such as grief or shock—can disrupt this ability, even affecting Animagi and Metamorphmagi.

For example, after Sirius’s death, Tonks struggled to control her transformations.

Her hair turned gray-brown and grew thin and long; her body grew thinner as well.

In the corridor.

Wizard Sean was hurrying toward the dungeons; unlike other Ravenclaws, he did not go to the Quidditch pitch to watch Gryffindor’s Flying lesson,

though he was equally interested in it,

for he always knew what he needed to do, not what he wanted to do.

Hogwarts’ corridors at twilight seemed enchanted with a Slow spell.

Torches flickered on iron brackets, stretching swaying shadows across the stone walls, where dozing portraits emitted rhythmic snores.

As footsteps echoed through the archway toward the west, sunlight vanished behind the glass windows, and the air grew suddenly damp and heavy.

A spiral stone staircase appeared in a recess hidden by a tapestry, icy cold rising up the steps.

Wizard Sean ascended the stairs with ease, silently thinking,

how should he explain himself if he met Professor Snape, to leave unharmed?

Fortunately, Wizard Sean saw nothing, and his emerald eyes brightened instantly.

He moved swiftly to the cauldron, lit the flame, prepared the ingredients, and pulled out his notebook—all in one smooth motion.

He had brewed at least ten batches of Boil-Cure Potion; in his simulations, that number multiplied tenfold,

so he knew every step intimately, even capable of minor improvements.

The liquid in the cauldron emitted a reassuring gurgle, its thick, ink-green surface bubbling and bursting continuously,

powdered stinging nettles and venomous fangs ground into a fine emerald-green powder,

Wizard Sean carefully added them to the cauldron in stages; each addition caused the liquid to boil violently,

at which point he must immediately stir three full turns to the right—half a turn too little or too much would ruin everything,

yet he did not do so.

For magic, he had always understood one truth:

it is a miracle of the mind, yet it can coexist with reason.

His study of spells taught him that while a wizard’s mental state matters, precise pronunciation and gestures make spellcasting easier.

Yet young witches and wizards—even professors—had not deeply realized this,

otherwise, the textbook’s description of the Levitation Charm would not simply say “clear pronunciation, deliberate motion.”

What exactly counts as “clear”? How precisely should the wand move—left or right, wide or narrow?

Unfortunately, the magical world upheld a survival-of-the-fittest philosophy,

for those with talent, they practiced by instinct until success came;

for those without talent, they repeated drills endlessly, waiting for Merlin to grant them instinct.

During Transfiguration, Wizard Sean had noticed Michael waving his wand wildly, even repeating the same wrong motion ten times.

Wizard Sean, however, recorded both his correct and incorrect wand movements and pronunciations,

analyzed their differences deeply, sometimes running comparative experiments until exhaustion.

Combined with a certain ancient intuition, his Transfiguration had advanced rapidly.

The same applied to Potions; this intuition rarely appeared, but whenever it did, Wizard Sean refused to let it slip away.

Just now, Wizard Sean altered his stirring motion, following an instinct—and even slightly increased the heat.

In the dungeon, candlelight flickered; in a place Wizard Sean could not see, a pair of gloomy eyes surfaced in the shadows.