The Weasley twins were in trouble again. They'd enchanted a few snowballs to chase Professor Quirrell around, smacking into the back of his turban with gleeful precision.
Sean, witnessing the chaos, was a bit stunned.
It seemed Hogwarts had more ways to torment Voldemort than just Penelope Clearwater's fiery spells—apparently, the Weasley twins' snowballs were in on it too.
No wonder Voldemort was so set on attacking Hogwarts.
There was bad blood.
As a mildly annoyed Professor Sprout dragged the Weasley brothers away, Sean headed toward the castle. He'd prepped everything he needed—now it was time to put it into practice.
A chilly breeze whipped through the corridors. In the Transfiguration office, the fireplace flickered weakly.
Professor McGonagall stood by the window, clutching a letter tightly, her knuckles pale. She seemed to be staring into last winter's snow.
The firelight danced on her square glasses, reflecting a faint sadness in her eyes she never showed anyone.
She set the letter down, her movements deliberately slow, as if she were just tidying papers. Outside, Hogwarts' snowy landscape stretched endlessly.
Until—
Knock, knock, knock.
Sean tapped lightly on the Transfiguration office door.
"Come in, child," McGonagall called.
She sat at her wooden desk.
Advanced Transfiguration was trickier and more dangerous, requiring a safe environment for practice.
Sean kept her words in mind and began today's lesson.
With a wave of his wand, a beetle started sprouting feathers…
[Clear intent, unwavering belief, sufficient willpower.]
Transfiguration always came down to those three rules. The beetle grew larger for a moment, but within seconds, it shrank back to normal.
Sean panted, staring at the beetle, puzzled.
"Child," McGonagall said softly.
She rarely saw a young wizard look so confused. Only in moments like this did he seem like an eleven-year-old.
"Try thinking—why a beetle?"
Her eyes narrowed briefly, but then something seemed to cross her mind, and she slipped back into a deep, quiet calm.
"Why… a beetle?" Sean muttered.
His eyes lit up. He quickly flipped through McGonagall's notes:
[When using advanced Transfiguration, one way to strengthen your belief is to find a corresponding connection.]
Below that line were examples:
Frogs to toads were easier, or canaries to cuckoos.
These were "living-to-living" transformations in advanced Transfiguration, simpler because of shared traits.
Sean suddenly remembered that kid who'd turned his friend into a badger—did he actually think his friend was a badger?
When Sean waved his wand again, the beetle swiftly morphed into a large, feathered bird. It still had some antennae and a shell-like texture, but it was apprentice-level work:
[You've practiced advanced Transfiguration at an apprentice standard. Proficiency +30.]
"You're an undeniable prodigy, Mr. Green!" McGonagall exclaimed.
Sean, grinning eagerly, kept practicing with his wand.
As he'd said, once progress showed on the panel, success was just a matter of time.
After a while, he'd gotten the hang of it.
Once he reached "skilled" level, he could start making "Owl Biscuits."
Before leaving the office, he saw McGonagall approach slowly. She took his hand, her face softened by the warm firelight, and said quietly, "This Christmas, you'll get a letter. I promise."
Sean could wrap his head around the obscure intricacies of magical theory, but this sudden sentiment left him a bit lost.
---
Thanks to the thickening snow, Professor Sprout's smile grew warmer.
"Come spring, all this snow will bury life that'll burst forth even stronger," she'd say, hoe in hand.
Outside the castle, Sean, Justin, and Neville trudged toward the greenhouses, their boots sinking unevenly into the snow.
Not far off, Harry was returning from Quidditch practice.
"I feel sorry for those people," Draco Malfoy drawled, standing in the snow, "who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because their families don't want them."
His eyes locked onto Harry.
Crabbe and Goyle snickered beside him.
Harry ignored them, turning to Ron, who'd come to meet him. Hagrid, bundled in a massive coat, stood behind Ron, who held a steaming mug of honey-lemon tea—courtesy of Justin.
Since the Quidditch match, Malfoy had been gloomier than ever.
He was livid about Slytherin's loss, claiming next time a big-mouthed tree frog would replace Harry as Seeker.
He'd hoped to get a laugh, but no one found it funny. Everyone was too impressed by Harry staying on his bucking broom.
Jealous and fuming, Malfoy pivoted to mocking Harry's lack of a "proper" family.
"And you—can you move? You're blocking the way," Malfoy sneered at Ron, his voice cold and drawn out.
"Trying to suck up to Hagrid, Weasley? Hoping to be a gamekeeper after Hogwarts? His hut must feel like a palace compared to your old shack!"
Ron lunged at Malfoy, but just then, Professor Snape appeared.
"Weasley!" he barked.
Ron let go of Malfoy's robes.
"Someone provoked them, Professor," Hagrid said. "Malfoy was insulting their families."
Harry and Hagrid didn't hold much hope. They knew Snape wasn't exactly fair.
Ron braced himself, expecting Snape's usual bias—he'd pulled this kind of thing before.
But, to their shock, Snape didn't speak right away. His dark eyes flicked over them, then to a fleeting glimpse of emerald-green eyes heading toward the greenhouses.
"What… did he say?" Snape asked, a nameless fury rising in his chest.
"Oh, just that some people are parentless and pathetically poor…" Malfoy said smugly, oblivious to the trembling figure beneath Snape's black robes.
"Get out of here—all of you!" Snape roared at Harry, Ron, and the others.
They'd never seen Snape so furious. Terrified, they scattered.
"That was weird, Harry. Did we just… dodge a hex?" Ron asked, baffled.
---