Ron, of course, knew the spell was ineffective. Such a fragmented incantation, invoking daisies and sweet cream as offerings, was closer to ritual magic than a proper Transfiguration spell. How could it be considered a contemporary spell?
Most likely, Ron had either been pranked by his older brothers or wanted to show off in front of the girl. Unable to back down, he stubbornly blurted out the fabricated incantation. In reality, true Transfiguration spells required no such long-winded phrases. Once slightly proficient, a wizard could perform most transformations silently.
Transfiguration was one of the oldest magical arts. In mythological times, the witch Circe—Medea's aunt—residing on the Greek island of Aeaea, was legendary for turning sailors into pigs. Homer immortalized her exploits in epic tales. Circe's magic extended even into food; anyone who ate her enchanted meals could be transformed. Some legends claim she achieved permanent transformations with potions resembling a stronger Polyjuice Potion.
Clearly, Circe adored pigs more than Neville loved his toad or Ron loved Scabbers. Yet discussing the principles of her Transfiguration was largely academic. As a goddess of magic and daughter of Helios and an Oceanid, Circe likely possessed divine power in addition to her magic. She probably wasn't bound by Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.
What Harry didn't realize was that in the original story chronicling his life, the first three Transfiguration spells were: Professor McGonagall's Animagus transformation into a cat, Hagrid's failed attempt to turn Dudley into a pig, and McGonagall turning her desk into a pig. Apart from the Animagus transformation, all involved pigs—a deliberate homage to Circe's legacy.
For now, Harry only knew that Scabbers was unusually resistant to Transfiguration. He nearly embarrassed himself trying to work with Ron at the table. Although a fat rat, Scabbers' magical resistance was impressive. Even changing his fur color required an immense exertion of Harry's extraordinary charm.
Harry forced the rat to accept its transformation, bending its will so it perceived itself as an ordinary rat rather than a cunning rat king.
When the little girl saw Scabbers turn yellow, her eyes widened in astonishment. The textbooks she had skimmed never mentioned such a simple spell. She turned to Harry:
"This… is actually a real spell! I'll remember it. My name is Hermione Granger. By the way, what's your name?"
"My name is Ron Weasley," Ron muttered, ignored immediately.
Harry, however, did not answer at once. "Before I answer, may I ask, Miss Granger, why didn't you knock before entering? The boy next to you is the owner of the toad, isn't he? He knocked the first time he came in."
Harry could hear her footsteps long before she arrived, yet he had waited. He wasn't fixated on etiquette; he wanted to teach the arrogant girl a lesson. You really are high and mighty, he thought.
Hermione's face flushed red. She wanted to protest, explaining that she only meant to help, but Harry's captivating presence forced her to lower her head.
"I… I'm sorry, sir. I was too anxious. Neville's pet couldn't be found anywhere."
Harry nodded in acceptance. Then he asked, sighing lightly, "Still hasn't been found?"
He mused quietly: the toad should still be alive. Wizard pets possessed a trace of magic, making them far more resilient than ordinary animals. Not finding it likely meant it was simply hiding—or perhaps, in a more extreme scenario, some older wizard on the train had eliminated it.
"Does it have a name?" Harry asked Neville.
"Trevor, sir," Neville replied, lowering his head under Harry's radiant aura. The young wizard's brilliance was almost blinding, like a small sun.
"Trevor… sounds more like a dog's name," Harry remarked with a faint smile. "All right—Accio Trevor!"
With a wave of his wand, magical energy enveloped the toad. There was faint resistance—it seemed the creature possessed hidden magical potential, though far less than Scabbers. Harry's charm easily overpowered it, and the toad flew directly into his hands.
Handing Trevor back to a profusely grateful Neville, Harry's gaze returned to Hermione.
"Potter. Harry Potter."
"So it really is you?" Hermione asked, lifting her head.
"I know all about you, of course," she continued. "I bought extra reference books: A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. All these books mention you."
"Mention me? Because of Lord Voldemort? All right," Harry said, feeling nothing. Achievements in this world were not truly his own, and the recognition felt slightly awkward. In contrast, the praises of bards in the A Song of Ice and Fire world would have made him laugh heartily while drinking.
Hermione, sensing Harry's lack of deference to Voldemort, felt even more overwhelmed by his presence. She led Neville away quietly.
Ron, embarrassed and losing face before Harry, muttered, "We'll be sorted into houses soon. I hope I'm not in the same house as her… That spell… I must have been rusty, that's why it failed—"
"It's not your fault," Harry said. "That spell was useless anyway. Better not to cast it. I was only joking with her."
Ron paused. Even he could tell Harry had spared his pride. Could someone so great really consider a mediocre person like him a friend? A deep sense of respect and loyalty filled Ron's heart. Remembering Harry's focused expression while transforming Scabbers, Ron realized it wasn't Harry's fault the spell failed—it had been a dud all along. He gives me face; I can give him my life… I swear undying loyalty to Lord Potter!
Ron stared at Harry, then stammered, "So… the spell was useless all along? George must have known it was fake."
"Which house are your brothers in?" Harry asked.
"Gryffindor," Ron said. The entire family had been sorted there, so it was only natural he would follow. Ron considered Ravenclaw acceptable but was determined to avoid Slytherin. Harry noted his innocent smile and said nothing more.
Ron changed the subject to a recent piece of magical news: the Gringotts robbery.
The Daily Prophet had been filled with reports. Several old vaults on the upper levels had been blasted open, their gold coins stolen. Another attempt on the highly secured underground vaults had failed—the intruder had entered and exited unharmed, leaving nothing behind.
Everyone claimed only a truly powerful Dark Wizard could evade Gringotts' defenses. Harry laughed awkwardly, unwilling to delve further. He didn't know who had assisted in the failed lower-level robbery. The successful upper-level thief, however… was closer than anyone realized.
"Let's change the subject," Harry said, steering the conversation away.