In the next moment, under the stunned gaze of every student in the classroom,
the matchstick in front of Karmit began to shift.
Starting from the bottom, thin strands of golden light wrapped around the wood, replacing it piece by piece.
Within seconds, a golden needle lay upon the desk.
Elegant patterns spiraled upward from the base, winding toward the tip where they converged in a flawless point.
Exquisite. Beautiful.
That was the first thought in everyone's mind when they saw it.
Karmit himself was a little dazed.
'Wait… it actually worked? So all this time, had he been learning spells the wrong way?'
He vaguely remembered something from the original stories:
To cast a spell, you had to truly believe in the effect you wished to create. For example, the Killing Curse—if you cast it, you had to mean to kill.
But Karmit had never used magic that way.
He just cast whatever spell he wanted, whenever he wanted, without needing such intent.
If Transfiguration required it… then did the Patronus Charm require the same principle?
It felt like he had just discovered a hidden rule behind spellcasting.
But he needed to test it further.
Professor McGonagall picked up the golden needle and examined it carefully.
Her eyes widened with genuine admiration.
"Mr. Black, you have surprised me. Your Transfiguration is on par with any student here. What you lack is merely experience and casting speed.
With your talent, I believe you will overcome those weaknesses very quickly."
Karmit nodded. "Thank you, Professor. If not for your guidance, I doubt I would have managed to grasp Transfiguration at all."
McGonagall smiled.
"I am your teacher, am I not? It is my duty to guide you. But I can tell you have many unresolved questions.
You should speak with Professor Flitwick. In the matter of spell theory, he is unmatched. I am sure he can help you."
"I will, Professor," Karmit promised.
McGonagall placed the needle back on the desk. "Five points to Slytherin. Congratulations, Mr. Black."
At the back of the room, Ron's teeth were grinding so hard they nearly cracked.
Him again.
Always him.
That cursed Black. That wretched Slytherin.
He had been so close. So close.
Ron glared at the pitiful half-needle, half-matchstick on his own desk, his fury simmering.
....
Hogwarts' first morning passed entirely within Transfiguration class.
Classes here were surprisingly relaxed—many of them took up an entire morning or afternoon.
The most important part, however, was that casting spells was far more fun than learning vocabulary or doing mathematics.
After class, Karmit checked the time. Lunch was still a while away. He decided to follow McGonagall's suggestion and visit Professor Flitwick.
He wanted answers regarding the way he cast magic.
He wasn't worried about telling Flitwick if something about his magic seemed unusual.
As the saying went—one could doubt Dumbledore's morality, but one should never doubt the dedication of Hogwarts' four Heads of House.
Even Professor Snape—Hogwarts's infamous bat—would show terrifying power if his students were in danger.
The youngest Potions Master in history, once a Death Eater… he could be fearsome when defending his own.
Flitwick's office was on the eighth floor—the highest point of the castle.
Which meant Karmit had no choice but to deal with the mischievous staircases.
He glared at the staircase in front of him as it shifted frantically back and forth, changing positions as if it had a mind of its own.
'Did these stairs have attention disorders?' As he studied the carvings on the banisters, Karmit made a silent decision.
When he finally learned all these magical patterns, he would make these stairs behave like obedient kittens.
Just like Vannie.
In his arms, Vannie seemed to sense his thoughts. She nudged his chest, then continued sleeping soundly.
Karmit waited until the stairs finally settled, then climbed upward.
By the time he reached the eighth floor, his face was slightly flushed. Whoever designed Hogwarts must have been insane.
No one thought to install an elevator? Ridiculous.
Grindelwald's era had already seen the use of magical lifts. Yet Hogwarts remained unchanged.
Fall behind, and you suffer.
Maybe he should discuss a massive renovation project with Dumbledore.
If he could secure the contract, the profits would be considerable.
At Flitwick's door, Karmit knocked.
"Come in!"
The door swung open.
Flitwick was standing on a chair, leaning over his desk, scribbling something.
He looked up in surprise when he saw Karmit.
"Mr. Black? Shouldn't you be on your way to lunch? What brings you here?"
Karmit bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Professor. I believe I've run into a problem."
"And since you are the champion of the Hogwarts Dueling Club and the foremost expert on spellcraft in the British wizarding world, I thought only you could help me."
Flitwick's eyes sparkled instantly. He hopped down from the chair with surprising energy.
"You know about all that? Those old stories aren't worth mentioning. Come, sit, Karmit, sit! I'd be happy to hear your concerns."
Indeed—everyone in the world loved flattery. Flitwick had gone from calling him "Mr. Black" to using his first name without hesitation.
He guided Karmit to the sofa and snapped his fingers.
Two cups of steaming tea appeared on the table.
Karmit blinked.
Flitwick grinned proudly. "Brought by the house-elves. You know, I have goblin ancestry, so they're fond of me.
If you ever need anything, I can take you to the kitchens to meet them. Tell them your preferences and life will become much easier."
"That would help a lot," Karmit replied sincerely. "Thank you, Professor."
"Now," Flitwick said, settling into his seat, "tell me your trouble."
Karmit began, "Earlier in Professor McGonagall's class, she told me that in order to cast a spell, I must firmly believe in the effect I want the spell to produce.
For example, if I want to transform something, I must fully believe I can transform it."
Flitwick nodded. "That is correct. All spells require such intent. It's basic magical theory."
Karmit continued, "But when I use other spells... I don't need that at all."
__________
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