Hogwarts' magic classes were varied and peculiar.
There were Herbology lessons where young wizards had to outwit mischievous bouncing tubers,
History of Magic taught by ghosts, and Potions, where even the slightest distraction could cost you points.
But the most beloved—and most difficult—class for young wizards was undoubtedly Transfiguration.
In this class, they could freely unleash their magic to change the matchsticks in front of them, with almost no strict steps or complicated wand gestures required.
Professor McGonagall seemed strict and unapproachable, yet her magical Transfiguration captivated the students.
No one could resist turning a teapot into a snorting elephant, or making a quill stand up and dance.
Yet, contrary to the students' enthusiasm, few achieved quick success in Transfiguration.
Even the fastest learner, Hermione, had only managed to give a matchstick a rounded needle tip.
So when Sean transformed a running mouse into a snuff bottle and then made it run again, most of the students gathered around, exclaiming in unison, "Wow—"
[You practiced an Intermediate Transfiguration with Expert Level Skill. proficiency +100]
Sean still underestimated his own talent in Transfiguration.
After just two weeks of practice, he had already reached the Expert standard for Intermediate Transfiguration.
The surprise wasn't just his own—Professor McGonagall's eyes crinkled at the corners, and a glint of satisfaction shone behind her square glasses.
"Excellent, Mr. Green—truly outstanding Transfiguration. I'll award five points to Ravenclaw!"
She strode quickly to Sean, ignoring the surrounding students' gasps, her eyes focused only on Sean, slightly shy from concentration.
"After class, come with me."
She said softly.
Sean paused briefly, then replied in a low voice.
Class ended quickly, and as the students rushed out, only Sean and Professor McGonagall remained.
McGonagall watched Sean, while whispers of the other students floated in the air:
—Rumors that a certain Ravenclaw had earned the most house points, reportedly even double the second-place student.
The usual sternness in her eyes softened.
She had nurtured a seed from barren ground, and now she watched it grow and sprout.
"Follow me, Mr. Green."
She strode out of the Transfiguration classroom.
Her office was not far. Pushing open the wooden door, Sean took a few seconds to glance around.
It was a small study off the second-floor corridor, with a roaring fireplace and a view of the Quidditch pitch.
A few students trickled in, as the Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lessons would begin shortly.
"Demonstrate the Transfiguration again."
Her firm voice had softened slightly without her realizing it.
Sean quickly realized this was a private session, a special lesson from Professor McGonagall.
…
By the time he left her office, his Intermediate Transfiguration had improved significantly, and he had a notebook filled with Transfiguration notes.
McGonagall had answered many of his questions and pointed him toward the essence of Transfiguration: the wizard's will.
Like all magic, Transfiguration was influenced by emotion.
Strong feelings—sadness, shock—could affect the ability, even for Animagi or skilled Metamorphmagi.
For instance, after Sirius' death, Tonks struggled to control her Transfiguration abilities.
Her physical changes included her hair becoming gray-brown and finer, and her body growing thinner.
In the corridor, Sean hurried toward the dungeons, not stopping like the other Ravenclaws to watch Gryffindor's flying lesson.
Though he was equally interested, he always knew what he needed to do, rather than what he wanted to do.
Hogwarts' corridors seemed under a slowing charm at dusk.
Torches flickered on iron holders, casting long shadows, while the dozing portraits emitted even snores.
As his footsteps echoed through the archways to the west, sunlight vanished behind the windows, and the air grew damp and heavy.
A spiral stone staircase appeared behind a tapestry, cold air climbing its steps.
Sean ascended the stairs with practiced ease, silently thinking, If I encounter Professor Snape, how can I explain myself to get out safely?
Fortunately, he saw nothing, and his emerald eyes brightened instantly.
He quickly reached the cauldron, lit it, prepared the ingredients, and consulted his notes in one fluid motion.
He had brewed at least ten batches of scabious potion, and in his simulations, that number multiplied by ten.
He knew every step intimately, even able to make slight improvements.
The liquid in the cauldron bubbled reassuringly, thick and dark green, while the powders of dried nettles and snake fangs were ground into a fine jade-green dust.
Sean carefully added them in portions. Each addition caused the liquid to boil violently, and he had to stir three full circles to the right immediately—half a circle too many or too few could ruin everything, but he did not falter.
He understood one thing about magic:
It was a mental miracle, yet compatible with reason.
Learning charms had taught him that a wizard's mental state was crucial, but correct pronunciation and gestures also made spells easier to cast.
Most students—or even professors—did not fully realize this.
If they did, the spellbooks' Floating Charm instructions would not simply emphasize clear pronunciation and single, precise gestures.
What counted as clear pronunciation, how exactly to move the wand—left or right, large or small—was rarely explained.
Unfortunately, the magical world followed a survival-of-the-fittest mindset.
Wizards with talent practiced instinctively until success; those without talent had to repeat their practice endlessly, hoping for intuition to emerge.
In Transfiguration, Sean noticed Michael wildly waving his wand, even repeating the same incorrect motion ten times.
Sean, however, not only recorded his own correct and incorrect gestures and pronunciation, but he also analyzed the differences and sometimes ran comparative experiments until exhausted.
Combined with a certain ancient intuition, his Transfiguration progress was rapid.
The same applied to Potions. Though intuition appeared less often, when it did, Sean never let it slip away.
Just now, he adjusted his stirring, following a sudden intuition, even slightly increasing the heat.
In the dungeon, candlelight flickered.
Where Sean could not see, a pair of dark, brooding eyes appeared in the shadows.