"Learning Transfiguration requires hard work and dedication, for it is more exacting and scientific than any other subject.
In Transfiguration, only perfect execution counts as success."
Professor McGonagall stepped down from the dais, rapping Harry's book.
"Now, please turn to page five.
I shall repeat the instructions on the board:
In performing Transfiguration, a firm and decisive wand movement is essential.
Do not wave or twirl your wand unnecessarily, or the Transfiguration will fail.
Before uttering the incantation, visualize clearly in your mind the exact form you wish the object to take..."
Professor McGonagall covered two key points, introducing a Finite Incantatem after,
then set the first-years to turning their desk matches into silver needles.
The class dove in eagerly, but success eluded most—
despite swapping grips and mangling pronunciations, the matches stayed stubbornly wooden.
They scratched heads and furrowed brows in frustration.
Hermione, though, fixed her gaze on Sean.
Sean's eyes flickered,
lost in thought.
Transfiguration,
hailed as the branch that best showcased a wizard's will,
exemplified one truth—
magic
was miracle itself.
And wizards?
The gods who wielded it.
With clear intent, unshakeable belief, and sufficient mental strength,
even a first-year could reshape an object's very essence.
...I know a match's structure, and I've the confidence to succeed.
Sean thought.
Perhaps delving deeper into its makeup, or bolstering my self-assurance with affirmations,
but...
I'm more curious about something else.
From Magical Theory.
"Once you've mastered a spell, to unleash its full power, sufficient mental strength is required."
If Lumos's emotion was yearning,
what fueled Transfiguration?
"Command,"
Sean said.
"I am the god.
Transfiguro!"
[You have practiced basic Transfiguration to expert standard. Proficiency +30]
Light burst from Sean's wand tip; in a blink, the match gleamed as a silver needle—tip icy-sharp, tail threaded with an eyelet.
The feat drew a crowd in seconds.
"Merlin's beard! He did it!"
"How?!"
"Who? Who—Sean... eh?!"
Beside him,
Hermione's jaw dropped; she'd caught every detail,
so why did the same flick and incantation work for him?
"Mr. Greene..."
McGonagall hurried over, eyes locked on the needle, her face easing into relieved delight—
but as she opened her mouth, it tightened.
"Step back from Mr. Greene—at once!"
Her sharp command scattered the gawkers.
Sean, oblivious, stared ahead with fierce focus.
"I can do more,"
he told himself.
"Transfiguro!"
His wand slashed firm;
the rat in the cage beside him twisted into a snuffbox—halfway there, tail still twitching,
but it wrung a collective "Ooooh—" from the class.
[You have practiced intermediate Transfiguration to novice standard. Proficiency +50]
"Mr. Greene,"
McGonagall's eyelids fluttered; her stern tone cracked,
"An unsettling talent..."
She paused, catching Sean's shy, drained glance.
Her lips softened, genuine joy warming her eyes.
Reassuring bearer.
"Transfiguration beyond your years—for that, Mr. Greene, ten points to Ravenclaw!"
McGonagall's smile brimmed with approval.
"Brilliant!"
Michael punched the air, pocketing Terry's match from the front desk.
Terry snapped to, anger bubbling—till Michael said:
"Look at Sean's Transfig, Terry—Ravenclaw's up ten!"
Terry eyed Sean, blanked a beat, then grinned bashful.
Michael smirked over the pilfered match; Anthony, leading the claps, just shook his head.
[You have practiced intermediate Transfiguration to apprentice standard. Proficiency +10]
[You have practiced intermediate Transfiguration to apprentice standard. Proficiency +10]
[You have practiced intermediate Transfiguration to apprentice standard. Proficiency +10]
...
Before the bell, with his strength ticking back, Sean ground on proficiency.
Another drain left him winded; he checked the system:
[Transfiguration: Apprentice (113/900)]
[Advancement: Novice Transfiguration—unlock Transfiguration domain novice title]
Progress flying.
Not bad with pale purple talent.
Sean itched to eye the novice title, but Potions loomed larger—needing ingredient handling down to grind via practice.
"Where's my match?!"
Pre-bell, Sean caught shy Terry's rare yelp;
Michael bolted like the wind.
Zipping past Sean, he tossed a "Smashing, Sean!"
Sean glanced at the pursuing Terry, chuckling soft,
then headed for the greenhouse.
...
In the corridor before it,
Sean spotted a familiar figure.
"Bruce."
Sean quickened to him.
"Ah, Sean."
Bruce smiled mild,
"Greenhouse bound?"
"Mm."
Sean agreed, and they strolled the hall.
Sunlight spilled warm over Hogwarts, casting slanted shadows from armor and statues; portraits still gossiped door-to-door.
Sean eyed a lady turning snub on an approaching knight, curious.
"Know why Sprout preps fangs and such?"
Bruce arched a brow.
"For the first-years' Potions brewing?"
Sean ventured his guess.
"I see why Ravenclaw claimed you..."
Bruce threw up his hands, wry,
"So you'll have twigged what we're up to today?"
Sean pondered, then: "No clue."
"Aha!"
Bruce lit up like he'd won one—
"Slug prep—horned versus smooth; porcupine quills too—if we're quick, done by tea."
Sean nodded, anticipation bubbling.
Nail these ingredients today, and step one was locked.
Glowing with that,
Sean shoved open the greenhouse door.