"Sixth floor, Classroom 21?"
Albert consulted the crisp parchment slipped to him by Professor McGonagall and scanned the empty corridor on the sixth floor. He had already walked the entire length of the floor, checked every door, and confirmed with a few of the grumbling portraits that no such room, numbered 21, officially existed.
This is a practical puzzle, then, he concluded. He knew he hadn't been tricked; McGonagall simply wouldn't waste her time on such a juvenile prank. The key, then, had to be in the single line of cryptic instruction at the bottom of the note: "Remember Gamp's Basic Law of Transfiguration."
Albert walked back and forth, searching for any tapestry, stone carving, or painting that mentioned the law directly. Nothing. If there was a connection, it had to be a conceptual one. He paused in front of a particularly vibrant portrait.
This painting featured a rather round, cheerful witch gleefully conjuring a massive feast. The tables were overflowing with steaming roasts, towering cakes, and silver goblets. The key law of Transfiguration states that a wizard cannot conjure up delicious food out of thin air, but the wizard in the painting seemed to be doing exactly that.
Albert cautiously pushed the portrait aside, but there was only solid stone wall behind it. No secret passage. So, the connection must be the exception to the rule, not the rule itself.
He was on the verge of giving up and waiting for an official escort—which he rated as highly probable—when a few minutes later, the sound of footsteps signaled the end of his solitary wait.
A girl with flaming red hair and a quick, intelligent gaze walked directly toward him. She assessed Albert with a frank, up-and-down look. "You must be the new member Professor McGonagall mentioned," she stated, confirming his suspicions. "She thought you might be lost. She sent me to collect you."
"I couldn't locate Classroom 21, nor could I find anything referencing the 'basic law of Transfiguration,'" Albert said, shrugging helplessly.
"You didn't figure it out?" The red-haired girl paused, then pointed a chin at the portrait behind Albert. "Magic can't create delicious food out of thin air."
"I initially thought that was the point of the portrait—a magical summoning spell," Albert confessed, glancing at the feast the painted witch was still conjuring. "But that doesn't tell me where the door is."
"You were right about the principle, just not the mechanism," the girl corrected, turning to address the witch in the frame. "We need to enter Classroom 21."
The painted witch nodded understandingly. With a sudden, jarring scrape of stone against stone, the entire portrait slid sideways, revealing a rough, irregular hole in the wall, only half a person's height.
"Go on," the red-haired girl instructed. "You have to notify the witch, and she opens the door for you. It's the club's little entrance requirement."
A hidden room accessible by password to a painting... like the Fat Lady, but less demanding, Albert thought. He ducked through the hole. The short passage led to a narrow, spiraling staircase. After a brief climb, he arrived at a polished wooden door with a small, unassuming brass plaque engraved with: "Classroom No. 21."
He stepped inside, expecting a standard lecture hall, but what greeted him was anything but.
The room was large, warm, and decidedly not a classroom. It felt more like a professor's private sitting room or a cozy study. Twelve plush, mismatched sofas and armchairs of various styles were arranged around a low central table, giving the space an air of relaxed, slightly formal scholarly debate.
"They say this used to be an old professor's private office," the red-haired girl explained, stepping into the room behind him. "When it became vacant, Professor McGonagall requisitioned it as the Transfiguration Club's meeting space."
Albert felt a sudden, familiar tingle of recognition. "I was only counting twelve seats. The original club only had ten members?"
"Eleven," she corrected with a challenging smile. "And there isn't a seat for you. You need to Transfigure your own chair. That's the rule of the club."
"That's a rather elegant entrance exam," Albert murmured approvingly. He pulled out the parchment McGonagall had given him, placed it on the floor, and tapped it with his wand.
"Vera Verto!"
The parchment stiffened and swelled, the intricate instructions within reforming the material into a perfectly functional, if plain, wooden chair. Albert set the chair down, then—going one step further—pulled a small, silver foil sweet wrapper from his pocket. He tapped it, whispering the incantation again.
The foil wrapper softened, expanding and thickening into a comfortable, checkered cushion that settled neatly onto his newly formed chair. He pressed it once for firmness, clearly satisfied.
"Now I see why Professor McGonagall invited you to join the club," the red-haired girl said, her smile broadening. "I'm Isobel MacDougal."
"Albert Anderson," he replied, introducing himself. A thought struck him: "Excuse me, is Katrina MacDougal...?"
"My sister," Isobel finished. "She's also a first-year, in your Charms and DADA classes."
"Ah, that explains it. You both share a... rather intense focus," Albert said, realizing why she looked so familiar.
More club members began to arrive. A senior boy walked in and paused, looking at Albert and his freshly conjured wooden chair with clear curiosity. "Hello there! I heard we had a new member joining the ranks. That must be you, then. I must say, that's a very tidy chair!"
"Thank you," Albert replied.
"I bet you lot didn't perform quite that well when you started in the first year!" a lazy voice drawled, as another senior entered. He examined Albert's creation before adding, "Yes, a surprisingly solid piece of work."
A senior girl, who had the vibrant red and gold scarf of his House tied around her neck, called out, "Come over here! You're Gryffindor, aren't you? I'm from Gryffindor, and these two fellows next to me are also members."
They smiled warmly and shuffled their seats to make space. Albert picked up his chair and moved to join the Gryffindor cluster. Just as he was about to start chatting, the room quieted as Professor McGonagall swept in. Her first action was, predictably, to pause and regard Albert's chair and cushion.
"Mr. Anderson," she said, her lips barely twitching. "Your chair is exceptionally well-executed."
That must be the highest praise I can expect from her, Albert thought, feeling a small surge of pride.
"Our topic of discussion this evening is a paper that just won the 'Most Promising Newcomer Award' in Transfiguration Today," Professor McGonagall announced, handing a copy of the specialized magazine to Albert. "I strongly advise you spend a few Galleons and secure a personal subscription to this periodical, Mr. Anderson."
"I plan to," Albert confirmed.
A senior student next to him leaned in. "Professor McGonagall often helps edit and revise the manuscripts for Transfiguration Today. It's a huge honour to be mentioned here."
"First, let us congratulate Mr. Selwyn on his award," Professor McGonagall continued, raising her hands for applause.
Everyone stood and clapped for a thin, nervous-looking boy sitting a few chairs away from Isobel.
"Secondly, we welcome our new member, Mr. Albert Anderson," McGonagall said, her gaze returning to Albert. "As you can see from the impressive quality of his self-Transfigured seating, Mr. Anderson's talent is indeed quite remarkable, justifying an exception to our usual age requirement."
Polite applause followed, though Albert detected a noticeably quiet patch from one corner of the room—the Slytherin contingent, no doubt, maintaining their House rivalry.
"Now, open your magazines," McGonagall instructed, her tone becoming businesslike. "Our primary focus tonight will be the theoretical principles discussed in Mr. Selwyn's paper: Animagi..."
Albert felt his stomach drop slightly. He had only just successfully turned a match into a match. He looked down at the dense, theoretical writing about irreversible and reversible human Transfiguration and the advanced principles behind self-metamorphosis.
He was suddenly and acutely aware that he was entirely out of his depth. He could barely understand the jargon. The material wasn't just hard; it was a giant, shimmering wall of advanced magic theory.
Okay, maybe waiting for Harry Potter isn't the only solution. I might need to unlock a few more skill points before I can even understand this conversation.
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Given the advanced material being discussed, do you think Albert should try to participate in the theoretical discussion, or focus on taking detailed notes and researching the foundational texts later?