Chapter 84: Eyes in the Shadows

Hogwarts' magic curriculum was a bizarre assortment.

There was Herbology, where young wizards had to outwit mischievous Jumping Bulbs;

there was History of Magic, taught by a ghost, and Potions, where any lapse in attention would earn severe point deductions.

But if one were to name the course most beloved yet most difficult for the young wizards, it was undoubtedly Transfiguration.

In this class, young wizards could freely unleash their magic to transform the matches before them,

requiring almost no rigorous steps or complex gestures and incantations.

Professor McGonagall appeared quite formidable, yet her miraculous Transfiguration spells deeply fascinated the young wizards.

No one could resist turning a teapot into an elephant with a trunk that sprayed water, nor refuse making a quill stand up and dance.

Contrary to the young wizards' enthusiasm, however, few achieved quick success in Transfiguration;

even Hermione, who progressed the fastest, had only managed to transform her match into a needle with a rounded tip.

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

the vast majority of young wizards gathered around, letting out a synchronized "Wow—"

[You have practiced an Intermediate Transfiguration spell to the standard of a Proficient Hand; Proficiency +100]

Wizard Sean had still underestimated his talent for Transfiguration; with merely two weeks of practice, he had already reached the standard of a [Proficient Hand] in Intermediate Transfiguration.

Surprise was not felt by Wizard Sean alone; Professor McGonagall was equally astonished.

The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes smoothed out, and a look of gratification flashed behind her square spectacles.

"Excellent, Mr. Green—a very superior piece of Transfiguration. I shall award five points to Ravenclaw!"

She strode quickly to stand before Wizard Sean, ignoring the gasps of the surrounding young wizards;

her eyes held only Wizard Sean, whose focus made him appear slightly shy.

"After class, come with me."

She said softly.

Wizard Sean paused briefly, then replied in a low voice, "Yes."

The Transfiguration lesson passed quickly.

The young wizards bustled out of the classroom, leaving only Wizard Sean and Professor McGonagall behind.

Professor McGonagall gazed at Wizard Sean, her ears still catching the whispers of the young wizards:

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

The usual severity in her eyes gradually softened.

She had brought forth a seed from barren soil;

now, she was watching that seed sprout and grow.

"Come with me, Mr. Green."

She then walked briskly out of the Transfiguration classroom.

Professor McGonagall's office was not far away; pushing open the wooden door, Wizard Sean took a few seconds to survey the room.

It was a small study located along the second-floor corridor, containing a brightly burning fireplace, with a window overlooking the Quidditch pitch.

Many young wizards were gathering there, as the flying lesson for Gryffindor and Slytherin would begin soon.

"Demonstrate the Transfiguration spell once more."

Professor McGonagall's stern voice had unconsciously softened somewhat.

Wizard Sean quickly realized this was private tutoring—private tutoring from Professor McGonagall herself.

When he left the professor's office, his Intermediate Transfiguration had improved significantly, and he now held an additional notebook on Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall had resolved many of his confusions and pointed out the direction of Transfiguration: the wizard's will.

Like other magic, Transfiguration was influenced by a wizard's emotions;

intense feelings, such as sorrow or shock, would affect this ability, a rule that applied even to Animagi and Metamorphmagi.

For instance, after Sirius's death, Tonks found it difficult to control her metamorphic abilities.

Her physical changes included her hair turning mousy brown and thin, while her body became 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 the flying lesson for Gryffindor and others,

although he was equally interested in it.

Yet he always knew what he needed to do, rather than merely what he wanted to do.

At twilight, the corridors of Hogwarts seemed as if cast under some kind of Slowing Charm.

Torches leaped upon their iron brackets, stretching flickering shadows long across the stone walls, where dozing portraits emitted steady snores.

As footsteps crossed the arcade extending westward, sunlight vanished completely behind the glass windows, and the air suddenly grew damp and heavy.

A spiral stone staircase descending appeared within a recess concealed by tapestries, with icy coldness climbing up along the steps.

Wizard Sean ascended the stairs with practiced ease, silently thinking to himself

how he should explain his presence to Professor Snape, should he encounter him, in order to leave safely.

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

He swiftly moved to the cauldron, lighting the fire, preparing the ingredients, and retrieving his notes in one fluid motion.

He had already brewed at least ten cauldrons of Cure for Boils; in his simulations, that number was multiplied by ten.

Thus, he was intimately familiar with every single step, even capable of making slight improvements.

The liquid in the cauldron emitted a comforting bubbling sound to Wizard Sean; thick, dark-green surfaces constantly swelled and burst with bubbles.

Powdered dried nettles and adder fangs were ground into a fine, emerald-green dust.

Wizard Sean carefully poured them into the cauldron in batches; each addition caused the liquid's boiling to intensify abruptly.

At this moment, he had to stir immediately to the right three times—half a turn too many or too few could ruin all previous effort.

Yet he did not do so.

Regarding magic, he had always understood one principle:

it was an idealistic miracle, yet one that could accommodate reason.

The study of charms taught him that while a wizard's mental state was undoubtedly important, proper pronunciation and gestures could make spellcasting easier.

Young wizards—or indeed, even professors—had not deeply realized this point;

had they realized it, the textbook instructions for the Levitation Charm would not simply read "pronounce clearly, swish and flick."

Instead, they would specify what constituted clear pronunciation and how exactly to swish—left or right, with a large or small amplitude?

Regrettably, the magical world adhered to a concept of survival of the fittest:

those wizards possessing talent would practice according to instinct and intuition until they succeeded;

those lacking such talent could only repeat their exercises endlessly, hoping Merlin would bless them with the emergence of that intuition.

During Transfiguration class, Wizard Sean had more than once noticed that Michael was simply waving his wand chaotically; he would even repeat the same incorrect motion ten times.

Wizard Sean, on the other hand, not only recorded his errors and correct executions regarding posture and pronunciation during Transfiguration,

but also deeply analyzed the differences between them, sometimes conducting comparative experiments until he was utterly exhausted.

Coupled with a certain ancient intuition, his progress in Transfiguration could be described as remarkably rapid.

The same applied to Potions; such intuition did not appear often, but whenever it did, Wizard Sean was unwilling to let it slip away.

Just as now, Wizard Sean altered his stirring amplitude, following a certain intuition, and even slightly increased the heat.

Candlelight flickered within the dungeon; in a place Wizard Sean could not see, a pair of gloomy eyes emerged from the shadows.