The Weasley twins got punished—for charming a bunch of snowballs to chase Quirrell everywhere and smack into the back of his turban.
Seeing it, Sean was a little stunned.
It seemed Hogwarts' "harassment" of Voldemort wasn't just Prefect Penelope's flaming rebuke—it now included the Weasleys' snowballs.
No wonder Voldemort wanted to attack Hogwarts.
There were… grievances.
As Professor Sprout, a bit cross, hauled the twins away, Sean headed back toward the castle. He'd prepared everything; now it was down to practice.
A cold draft ran the corridor; the fire in the Transfiguration office burned low.
Professor McGonagall stood at the window, fingers pressed to a letter, as if looking back on last winter.
Firelight danced on the square lenses of her glasses, reflecting a muted shadow deep in her eyes that she never showed to anyone.
She set the letter down, movements deliberately slow, as if only tidying papers. Outside, the snowy view of Hogwarts stretched on.
Until—
Knock, knock, knock.
Sean gently tapped the office door.
"Come in, child."
McGonagall took her seat at the desk.
Advanced Transfiguration is more dangerous and complex; it must be practiced under safe conditions.
Sean kept the professor's warning in mind and began today's work.
His wand swept; the beetle slowly began to sprout feathers…
[Specific, Clear Intention; Steadfast Conviction; Sufficient Will]
Transfiguration never escapes these three rules. The beetle swelled—but two seconds later, it snapped back.
Breathing hard, Sean stared at it, puzzled.
"Child," said McGonagall—the baffled look was rare on him; only then did he seem like an eleven-year-old. "Try to think—why a beetle?"
Her eyes narrowed, then she seemed to think of something and sank back into a calm quiet.
"Why… a beetle?" Sean murmured. Suddenly his eyes lit. He rifled through her notes:
[When using advanced Transfiguration, one way to strengthen conviction is to find the corresponding likeness.]
Below were examples:
A frog into a toad is easier; a canary into a cuckoo likewise.
They're both "living → living" transformations in advanced Transfiguration—but easier than others because those forms share striking similarities.
Sean had a stray thought about the boy who turned a classmate into a badger—had he really thought his mate was a badger?
He flicked his wand again. The beetle quickly became a big, feathered bird—still with some antennae and a sheen of chitin, but he'd reached Apprentice level:
[You practiced an advanced Transfiguration once at an Apprentice standard. Proficiency +30]
"You are an unquestionable talent, Mr. Green!" McGonagall breathed. And Sean, eager now, kept casting.
As he liked to say—if the panel showed progress, success was only a matter of time.
After a while, he'd reached Beginner. Once he got to Adept, he could start crafting "owl biscuits."
Just before he left, McGonagall came over, took his hand; the fire softened her features. In a low voice she said:
"This Christmas, you will receive a letter. I promise."
Sean could parse the densest theory across magical branches, yet found himself at a loss before feelings like these.
…
Thanks to the deepening snow, Professor Sprout's smile grew warmer:
"Come spring of the second year, anything buried by snow will burst back stronger."
She often said so, hefting a hoe.
Outside the castle, Sean, Justin, and Neville trudged toward the greenhouses.
Not far off, Harry had just returned from practice.
"I really pity those people," Draco Malfoy said, standing in the snow. "Having to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas—because no one at home wants them."
He was looking at Harry.
Crabbe and Goyle snickered.
Harry ignored them and looked to Ron, who'd come to meet him—Hagrid stood behind, bundled in his coat, and Ron held a steaming honey–lemon tea—courtesy of Justin.
Since the match, Malfoy had been sourer than ever.
He ranted about Slytherin's loss, said next time a big-mouthed tree frog would replace Harry as Seeker. He'd thought everyone would laugh—but no one did. They respected Harry for hanging onto that bucking broom.
Jealous and angry, Malfoy settled for mocking Harry's lack of a "proper" family.
"And you—move. You're in the way," he drawled at Ron. "Sucking up to Hagrid, Weasley? I suppose you hope to keep the grounds after you graduate?
"Hagrid's hut must feel like a palace compared to your old home!"
Ron lunged—and just then, Professor Snape appeared.
"Weasley!"
Ron let go of Malfoy's robes.
"Someone provoked 'em first, Professor Snape," Hagrid rumbled. "Malfoy just insulted both their families."
Hagrid and Harry weren't hopeful; they knew Snape didn't play fair.
Ron swallowed his fury. He knew what was coming—Snape's bias—he'd done this dance more than once.
What none of them expected was Snape's silence. He stared, dark as a storm—and then looked past them, toward the fleeting green eyes heading to the greenhouses.
"What did he… say?" Snape felt a nameless rage tear through his chest.
"Ah—I only said someone has no parents—and is poor and laughable…" Malfoy said, self-satisfied, not noticing the black-clad figure's chest heaving.
"Get out of my sight—all of you!" Snape roared—at Harry and Ron.
They had never seen Snape so angry; terror-struck, they ran.
"Odd, Harry—did we just… get off?" Ron asked, baffled.
~~~
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