Second floor, corridor to the left of the staircase, third painting.
The instructions on the note Professor McGonagall had given him were precise. Sean found the designated spot easily, a large, ornate oil painting depicting a wizened old man sitting in a comfortable, book-lined study. As Sean approached, the painted figure looked up, his eyes, though just pigment and canvas, seeming to sparkle with an ancient intelligence.
The old man reached down, his painted hand disappearing below the frame, and reappeared, placing a single, perfect green apple on the desk before him.
"I have always felt my study lacks greenery," the old man's voice rasped, the sound seeming to emanate from the painting itself. "I wonder, young man, if you might assist me? Beautify my chambers. Add some life. Use only this apple and your transfiguration skills. Would that be possible?"
Sean knew at once this was the entrance exam, a magical password far more elegant than a simple phrase. He drew his wand, his mind already working, dissecting the challenge. He aimed the tip at the apple within the painting.
With a gentle tap, the magic flowed. The apple's skin did not simply change; it split, growing a multitude of tiny, writhing branches. They acted like tentacles, lifting the apple from the desk and carrying it to a corner of the painted room. There, the transformation accelerated. The apple swelled and hardened, its green skin turning to reddish-brown terracotta, becoming a large, ornate flowerpot. The branches that had sprouted from it thickened and grew, forming the trunk and limbs of a small, elegant tree.
Just as the old man in the painting leaned forward, a look of appreciation on his face, Sean added a final flourish. New vines burst forth from the pot, snaking up the walls and along the shelves of the bookcase, their leaves unfurling to cover the drab surfaces in a cascade of vibrant green. More vines descended from the painted ceiling, dangling like living chandeliers, transforming the once-staid study into a lush, verdant sanctuary.
The old man's appreciative expression morphed into one of genuine surprise. He nodded slowly, his painted eyes filled with respect. "An excellent transfiguration," he rasped. "Minerva's judgment is as sharp as ever. It is no wonder she invited you to the Sprucewood Club so early in your school career. As a Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor from a century past, it is my honor to welcome you."
As he spoke, the entire painting seemed to melt away, the frame widening and deepening until it became a heavy wooden door, which swung open silently on its own.
Sean stepped through, passing down a short corridor lit by flickering, floating candles. He arrived in a circular, comfortable room, a stark contrast to the cold dungeons of the Slytherin common room or the clinical austerity of Snape's Potions Club. A magnificent fire roared in a large stone hearth, casting a warm, dancing glow across the room. More enchanted candles floated near the high, domed ceiling, bathing the space in a bright but gentle light.
Professor McGonagall sat in a plush armchair in the center of the room, looking up from a book as he entered. The room was arranged for conversation, not for a lecture. Nine soft, single sofas were arranged in a neat circle around her central chair.
"Sean. You're early. Find a place to sit."
"Professor," he asked, looking at the empty seats, "may I sit anywhere?"
"Yes, of course," she said with a rare, small smile. "There are few rules here, Mr. Bulstrode. This is an exchange of ideas, not a formal class. There is no need to be so restrained. Relax."
"Understood. Thank you, Professor."
She nodded and returned to her book. Sean chose a sofa and, taking a page from his professor's book, pulled out a book of his own. His month at Beauxbatons had instilled in him the habit of always carrying something to read. Now that Aldrich wasn't by his side to serve as a mobile library, a book was a constant companion.
Over the next few minutes, the other members arrived, filling the empty sofas one by one. The last to arrive was Katharine Bishop, his Ravenclaw rival, who gave him a brief, almost imperceptible nod as she took her seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Professor McGonagall began, closing her book. "It is a pleasure to see you all again. As you know, we lost three members to graduation last year, but we are joined this term by two new students. Please welcome Mr. Sean Bulstrode and Miss Katharine Bishop."
A polite, welcoming round of applause filled the room. Sean offered a small nod to the other students, taking a quick survey of the group. Professor McGonagall's club was a true cross-section of Hogwarts' best and brightest people from all four houses. There were three Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff, and two Slytherins. The other Slytherin was a fifth-year Sean didn't recognize. He offered the boy a nod, which was returned in kind, before turning his full attention to the professor.
"Today," she said, her voice filled with academic passion, "we will continue where we left off last term: the research into changing the size of targets through transfiguration. This includes making inanimate objects larger or smaller and the far more difficult task of altering living creatures. While Charms can achieve a similar effect, if you wish to truly glimpse the deeper mysteries of Transfiguration, this is a hurdle you must overcome."
The students all nodded, their faces serious and focused. They understood the distinction. The Engorgement and Shrinking Charms were simple tools, shortcuts for a desired effect. But to alter the very essence of an object or creature, to change its fundamental size through pure Transfiguration—that was a different discipline entirely, a far more profound and difficult magic. It was the bridge to the highest levels of the art, and every student in this room was talented enough and ambitious enough to want to cross it.
Sean sat back on his sofa, listening intently to the high-level exchange between Professor McGonagall and the older students. Beside him, an auto-quill, enchanted for speed and accuracy, scratched furiously across the pages of a fresh notebook, capturing every word, every theory, every nuance of the discussion. He would not miss a single key point.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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