"Who can demonstrate what I just explained?" Professor McGonagall asked, her gaze sweeping over the young witches and wizards in the classroom.
The students below either stared blankly at her or ducked their heads. Not a single hand went up.
Today's lesson was a tough one—transforming a teapot into a bat. Normally, this was something taught to fourth-years and above.
In Transfiguration, turning one inanimate object into another was relatively straightforward. A stone bench into a wooden one, a candlestick into a needle—grasp the basic principles, practice diligently, and most young wizards could manage it.
The next level was trickier: turning a living creature into an inanimate object, like a ladybug into a button or a rat into a snuffbox. That required not just understanding the theory but heaps of practice and a touch of talent. Many students struggled, either leaving parts of the creature untransformed—say, a rat's tail sticking out of the snuffbox—or only managing to change the shape, like a rat-shaped snuffbox.
The hardest of all was transforming one living creature into another or an inanimate object into a living one. Think frogs into sheep, people into ferrets, or, as Professor McGonagall had shown in her first lesson, a desk into a pig. At this level, practice alone wasn't enough. You needed serious talent.
Talent was everything.
Dudley slowly raised his hand. Beside him, Hermione hesitated, half-lifting her arm before lowering it again. She could manage a bat-shaped teapot, but that didn't count as a full transformation. Harry faced the same issue—he could conjure bat wings, but the rest of the spell eluded him.
That was the challenge with this level of Transfiguration: the result had to act like a living creature, or it wasn't a success.
McGonagall looked at Dudley with mild surprise. He rarely volunteered for demonstrations in her class, usually sticking to answering theoretical questions. Even during weekend tutoring, she seldom saw him, as he typically focused on Potions or self-study.
Professors always kept a close eye on good students—especially the exceptional ones.
"Very well, Mr. Dursley, let's see your demonstration," McGonagall said, clearly pleased by his initiative.
Dudley stood, one hand gently gripping his wand while the other traced its length, feeling the texture of his new wand.
He pointed at the teapot on the desk.
Sparks flickered from the wand's tip, and in the next moment, something extraordinary happened. The teapot began to morph, its vibrant colors fading to a dull gray.
Before long, a creature with large ears and wide wings appeared before the class.
Its round eyes darted around, scanning the room. Startled by the students' stares, it let out a squeak, flapped its wings, and shot up to the ceiling, hanging upside down from the chandelier.
It was indistinguishable from a real bat.
"An absolutely perfect transformation. Ten points to your house," McGonagall declared, her rare generosity with points underscoring her delight.
Normally, she doled out one or two points at a time.
'A flawless Transfiguration. That'd earn an Outstanding on the O.W.L.s,' she thought to herself.
Dudley truly was one of Hogwarts' most exceptional students in decades.
The best, really—nearly every professor who'd taught him thought so.
Dudley glanced at his wand, satisfied, and tucked it away.
In the past, let alone pulling off advanced Transfiguration like this, he couldn't even cast a simple Aguamenti. Despite having magic within him, for some reason, he couldn't channel it. He'd tried countless times, to no avail.
He'd scoured books and records, which labeled his condition as that of a Squib. But Dudley knew he wasn't a Squib—there was a fundamental difference.
Now, with this wand, he could cast spells as smoothly as he just had.
The modified wand had one critical addition: guidance.
Through magical enhancements, the wand could draw out his inner magic bit by bit, enabling him to cast spells. The key lay in the magical arrays etched along the wand's side.
One of those arrays handled the guidance.
The knowledge granted by the system, combined with the core of magical modification, was at play here. Even the Poké Ball at his waist had similar arrays etched inside, though they worked on different principles.
This kind of modification was a godsend for those with magic in their veins but no way to release it.
Dudley thought of the wizarding world's overlooked group—Squibs.
From Mrs. Figg, whom he'd known since childhood, to Filch, the castle caretaker, they were all Squibs. According to Dudley's research and the insights from his magical eye, Squibs did have magic within them. So, could they use a wand like his to cast spells?
It was a crucial question. If it was possible, it would be a groundbreaking achievement—and it could earn Dudley a fiercely loyal following.
He'd have to study it further when he had the time.
Back to the wand: its benefits went beyond guidance. The sapphire-like magical crystal embedded in it could supply a steady stream of energy when Dudley's own magic ran low.
Even high-cost spells could be cast with ease.
Of course, once the stored magic in the crystal was depleted, it would need recharging before it could be used again.
Then there was the emerald from the diadem—a rare gem called the Stone of Wisdom. Under the scrutiny of his magical eye, Dudley discovered it slightly enhanced the user's mental clarity.
No wonder Ravenclaw's diadem was said to boost intelligence—it was likely tied to this gem.
But the wand's most critical feature was its loyalty.
Some wands crafted by Ollivander rejected users other than their owner, depending on the materials used. That rejection, though, was usually mild and didn't always prevent use.
Dudley's wand was different. If someone else tried to use it, they'd be in for a nasty surprise—forget casting spells.
He'd wanted to add more features, but materials were limited for now. He'd upgrade it later when the opportunity arose.
Finally, he could cast spells.
He'd thought he'd be thrilled—casting magic had been his dream, after all. But now that he'd done it, it felt… fine. Not as exciting as when he'd mastered Ripple Effect.
Maybe because this wasn't true spellcasting?
It relied on a tool, which didn't quite match the image of a spellcaster he'd always had in his mind.
Still, to the outside world, he was now a proper wizard.
I can do magic too, Dudley thought to himself with a quiet smile.