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Chapter 25 — Transfiguration
I walked into Transfiguration with my dorm buddies at my side. The room smells of polished wood and old paper. Benches are neat in rows and the light falls in straight lines across the desks. There's a little hum of nervous talking, but it quiets the moment the teacher's desk comes into view.
A tabby cat was sitting on the desk. It looked ordinary enough but it flicked its tail sitting upright, green eyes scanning the room as if it was taking attendance. After the bell rang, I barely had the time to blink before the cat gave a single bound and became Professor McGonagall.
Several students gasped. Jack's mouth fell open and his quill nearly slipped out of his hand. I don't jolt. I know her. I remember her Animagus form from the movies. It shouldn't surprise me, but it still is amazing to see it in reality.
McGonagall's voice is firm and measured "Transfiguration is the art of changing the form and appearance of an object. It is precise, it is exacting, and it will punish you if you try to rush it. Anyone fooling around in my class will leave and not come back. Understood?"
The room snapped to attention. Her eyes skim across us like she's reading the backs of our heads.
She tapped the nearest desk with her wand. The wood rippled, wobbled, and, for a breath, a small squealing pig stood where the desk was. A few people gasp. With another smooth flick the pig is a desk again, not a hair out of place.
"Simple demonstration," she says. "Precision, intent, repetition. That is Transfiguration."
She moved us through the basics. Don't try advanced work alone; always visualise what you want, not what you fear; match the movement of your wand to your thought. The explanation is clear and no nonsense. Then she set a small box on every desk.
"Your task," she says, "is to turn this matchstick into a silver needle. Begin."
Jack and I set to work. We're sitting together in the front row; Corin and Callum are behind us on the next bench, as close as we managed to get. I glance back — Corin blinks and Callum nods. We spread our fingers around the match like we're warming them.
A few rows to the side, I spot Gabriel Iglesias and Louis. Gabriel is round and cheerful, the sort of boy who laughs loudly. Louis is thin, with a warm brown complexion and fast mouth that can't seem to stop moving. He chatters so much that McGonagall warns him in the second minute. "Mr. Louis, Mr. Iglesias — less talking, more transfiguration," she says sharp and quick. They shut up, cheeks hot, and get trying again.
"I told you, it's Fera- something," says Louis.
Gabriel waves his wand with too much enthusiasm. "I'm saying it! It's just not working."
"Talk less, Mr. Iglesias," McGonagall says sharply without turning her head. "And work more."
The room snickers quietly. Gabriel blushes and lowers his wand. "Yes, Professor."
I look at my matchstick again. The truth is, I've already done this several times. Back home, I practiced almost every spell from all the first year books and made great progress. But I do not want to show that here.
I don't like being the center of attention. If you are a genius and a muggle-born, people will start watching too closely. A little notice is fine.
Time ticks by. A few students have tiny bits of metal, a few catch their matches on fire. I keep my breath slow, my hand steady and faked some tries. When the class seems stuck in a long, grumbling silence I tried for real.
I hold the matchstick steady, focus on its length, its smoothness, the shine of a polished needle. My wand feels warm in my hand. I picture the change in my mind, soft and certain, and whisper, "Feraverto."
A flash of light — soft, silver.
The match shivers once, a thin silver sheen crawls up it, and with a soft ping there's a needle on my desk.
Jack gives a barely audible whistle. Corin leans forward, eyes wide. Callum looks pleased and a little surprised.
McGonagall passes behind our bench and paused. She looked at the needle, then at me. Her mouth twitches, the faintest crease at one corner for approval, and nothing more. She said, "Very good, Mr. Dursley. Five points to Hufflepuff."
I nod and say, "Thanks, Professor".
Gabriel drops his wand in a small clatter. Louis mutters something comic under his breath and then tucks back to work. Jack leans over. "Nice one," he says, grinning and then asked "How did you do it? I am doing the same thing but my matchstick is not turning." Corin and Callum also lean in to listen.
"Just focus and steady your mind. Keep the image of the needle in your mind as well defined as possible." I said quickly, trying not to sound showy too much.
The rest of the lesson turned into a mix of small triumphs and quiet disasters. A boy near the window made his match look like a tiny fork for a second and then it melted back to wood. Someone else managed a needle but it's bent. McGonagall's moves are quick and precise when she corrects a wand flourish.
We spent the rest of the lesson practicing. Some students managed small transformations. Some had wooden sticks turning silver at the ends, or sprouting a metallic glint.
Louis and Gabriel started whispering again, this time more carefully. Gabriel's matchstick briefly turned pink, then back to brown. Louis laughed so hard he dropped his wand, earning another raised eyebrow from McGonagall.
"Mr. Iglesias, Mr. Louis," she says dryly, "if your matchsticks are to remain matchsticks, perhaps you might turn them into quiet ones." The class laughed but McGonagall's stare quickly stifled it.
When the bell rang we tuck our things away. The matchstick-needles clink softly as McGonagall collected a few of the best ones from each desk.
"Your homework," she announced, "is to practice with your concentration. After that, we shall attempt beetles into buttons. You may go."
We pack up our things quickly. The hallway outside is bright and echoing, full of the noise of other classes ending.
Jack stretches his arms. "That was mad. Did you see her turning from a cat?"
"Hard to miss," Corin says, grinning. "I thought I was seeing things."
I laugh. "You and me both. Though I'd rather not try that spell at home."
"Yeah," says Jack, "imagine explaining that to Mum. 'Sorry, I turned into a housecat. Pass the tuna.'"
We all laughed again as we headed toward the stairs.
Gabriel and Louis catch up behind us, still whispering. "We'll get it before the next class," Gabriel says, half to himself. "Mine was nearly a spoon for a second."
Louis nods earnestly. "Yeah, but I don't think spoons count."
Jack grins at them. "Maybe if we need to stir tea."
We laugh, easy now. Outside the classroom, the corridor smells of stone and warm air. We all walk out together in a small cluster, feeling the sort of tired happiness that follows doing a thing well.
I tell myself to keep steady. I'm not here to shine and dance in the spotlight. I'm here to learn and to be ready for things when Harry will start. I will keep him safe from those malicious people and also those with schemes in their head.
End of Chapter 25 — Transfiguration