The next morning's Transfiguration class was electric with anticipation. Professor McGonagall stood at the front, her usual stern demeanor replaced by a palpable excitement.
"Class," she began, her voice crisp. "Today, we will not be practicing spells. Instead, we will engage in an academic symposium. We will discuss a fundamental paradox raised by Mr. Zhang's demonstration yesterday."
She waved her wand. Words burned onto the blackboard:
The Law of Mass Conservation in Transfiguration.
"The foundation of all standard Transfiguration theory," she stated. "One cannot transfigure a matchstick into an elephant. The mass differential is too great. The magic fails. This is a core principle."
She paused, letting the point settle. "However." Her gaze swept to Zhang Ming. "Yesterday, Mr. Zhang transformed a matchstick—composed of wood and minor additives—into a pure silver needle. The mass of silver is significantly greater than the mass of the original matchstick."
She looked around the room. "The question, therefore, is this: Does True Transmutation violate the Law of Mass Conservation?"
The classroom erupted in murmurs.
"He's right! The needle was heavier!"
"Magic breaks the rules!"
"But… that can't be right, can it?"
A Hufflepuff student raised a hand. "But Professor… isn't magic supposed to be… unscientific?"
"Magic," McGonagall said sharply, "operates on principles. Those principles may be different from Muggle physics, but they areprinciples. If magic could truly create mass from nothing, the universe would be chaos. Mr. Zhang, if you would?"
Zhang Ming stood and walked to the front. "An excellent question, Professor. The answer is no. True Transmutation does not violate mass conservation. It simply operates on a more complete understanding of it."
He conjured a shimmering, three-dimensional projection. At its center was the famous equation: E = mc².
"This," Zhang Ming announced, "is the work of a Muggle genius named Albert Einstein. It reveals a profound truth: mass and energy are not separate. They are two forms of the same fundamental substance. They are convertible."
The class stared, bewildered.
"Convertible?"
"Mass is… energy?"
"Precisely," Zhang Ming said. "Think of mass as… congealed, frozen energy. And energy as… liberated, free mass. The equation gives the exchange rate." He picked up a matchstick. "This match has a mass of approximately 0.1 grams. If I could convert its entire mass into pure energy…"
The projection lit up with calculations. The resulting number was astronomical—equivalent to tons of TNT.
Gasps filled the room.
"A single matchstick? That much power?"
"It's… unbelievable!"
"It is the truth," Zhang Ming stated calmly. "The energy is simply locked away by the atomic bonds holding the mass together. Transmutation is the key that unlocks it."
He looked at Hermione, who had her hand raised, her eyes wide with dawning comprehension. "Miss Granger?"
"So… the 'extra' mass in the silver needle… it came from magical energy you drew from the environment and converted into new matter? The totalamount of mass-energy remained constant!"
"Ten points to Gryffindor!" Zhang Ming said, genuinely impressed. "You have grasped the essence. The process is not creation. It is conversion. I disassemble the matchstick, release a tiny amount of binding energy, draw a larger amount of ambient magical energy, and use it to 'forge' new silver atoms. The sum totalof mass and energy in the system is unchanged."
Professor McGonagall shot to her feet, a look of pure academic ecstasy on her face. "So the Law is not broken! It's expanded! It becomes the Law of Conservation of Mass-Energy!"
"Exactly," Zhang Ming nodded. "Standard Transfiguration is like moving furniture in a locked room—the total mass (the furniture) stays the same. True Transmutation is like having a door to a vast warehouse—you can bring new furniture in, but you have to pay for it with energy from outside."
To demonstrate, he held up another matchstick. Golden light enveloped it. Moments later, a solid gold ingot the size of his fist sat in his palm. The gasps this time were deafening.
"The energy for this," Zhang Ming explained, "came from the planet's magical field, solar radiation, ambient mana… it is virtually limitless for such small conversions. The limit is not the energy available, but one's ability to draw and control it efficiently."
"The efficiency…" a Ravenclaw student whispered. "Standard magic must be terribly inefficient."
"Less than one percent," Zhang Ming confirmed. "With spiritual control, efficiency exceeds eighty percent. In theory, with enough energy and control, you could transmute a grain of sand into a mountain."
The claim was so audacious it silenced the room.
"That's… that's the power of a god…" someone breathed.
"It is the power of understanding," Zhang Ming corrected. "But the energy required for such a feat is astronomical. Far beyond my current capabilities. But the principle stands. This is the power of Science and Cultivation—understanding the rules allows you to work with them on a fundamental level."
Professor McGonagall looked profoundly moved. "Forty years," she murmured. "I have taught this subject for forty years, and today I feel I am truly understanding it for the first time. Thank you, Mr. Zhang."
"The purpose of knowledge is to be shared, Professor."
"Now," Zhang Ming said, turning to the eager class. "Who would like to try a simplified version? Not full transmutation, but a simple exercise in mass-energy perception."
Dozens of hands shot up.
He activated the Resonance Array at its lowest setting. "Take a matchstick. Enter Internal Vision. Feel the magical energy around you. Not in you, but aroundyou. Then, try to guide a minuscule amount into the matchstick. Don't try to change it. Just try to… make it feel heavier. To increase its mass, just a little."
The students concentrated. Minutes passed. Then…
"I feel it!" a Gryffindor boy exclaimed. "It's… denser!"
"Me too!"
Professor McGonagall, using a precision scale, measured one student's matchstick. Her eyes widened. "By Merlin… an increase of 0.01 grams! It's working! The conversion is occurring!"
The classroom exploded in triumphant cheers. They had, in the most tiny but verifiable way, bent a fundamental law of the universe to their will.
It was at that moment of peak excitement that a silent alert flashed across Zhang Ming's consciousness.
[URGENT ALERT: Tracking Runes Active]
[Targets have reached destination: Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire]
[Scanning… Multiple high-level Dark Magic signatures detected. Council in session.]
[Recommendation: Immediate action.]
Zhang Ming's expression shifted minutely. He leaned over to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, my apologies. I must take my leave. Urgently."
McGonagall's smile vanished, replaced by sharp concern. "The… situation from last night?"
He gave a slight nod. "The targets have convened. The opportunity is now."
"Let me come with you."
"Dumbledore and the Aurors have it in hand. Your place is here, ensuring the students' safety."
She nodded grimly. "Go. And be careful."
He left the cheering classroom and moved swiftly to the Headmaster's study. Dumbledore was not alone. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, and several other Order members were there, studying a map of Wiltshire.
"Zhang Ming," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with a hard light. "Your signal?"
"The snakes are in the nest. At least fifteen dark signatures. They're gathered in the main hall."
Kingsley grinned, a predator's smile. "Perfect. We'll hit them all at once. The Minister signed the raid warrant an hour ago. 'Suspicion of Harboring Dark Artefacts and Conspiring to Commit Murder.'"
"The plan is set," Dumbledore said. "The Order creates a perimeter. Aurors breach. You and I will focus on Lucius. The moment we have evidence of Death Eater ties or Dark objects, we move."
The group moved to the Floo Network. In a whirl of green flame, they arrived at a pre-arranged point just outside the Malfoy estate's anti-apparition wards.
The manor loomed, pale and imposing. Kingsley didn't bother with stealth. He stepped into the open, his voice magically amplified.
"Lucius Malfoy! This is the Ministry of Magic! We have a warrant to search these premises for Dark Artefacts! Open the gates, or we will breach them!"
Silence. Then, the heavy iron gates creaked open. Lucius Malfoy stood there, his face a mask of cold indignation.
"Shacklebolt. Dumbledore." His eyes flickered to Zhang Ming, and a flicker of pure panic was quickly suppressed. "To what do I owe this… intrusion? A warrant? On what grounds?"
"Suspicion of plotting against a Hogwarts student, for a start," Kingsley said, brandishing the parchment. "Signed by the Minister himself."
"This is an outrage! I demand—"
"Search the premises!" Kingsley ordered. Aurors streamed past the sputtering Lucius.
"It's no use, Lucius," Moody growled, his magical eye whizzing. "We know what you are."
Zhang Ming took a step forward. "Shall I list the Dark objects on your person? The Dark Mark on your left arm? The cursed ring in your pocket? The secondary wand concealed in your cane?"
Lucius went deathly pale. "You have no proof—"
"Search him," Kingsley commanded.
The Aurors did. The Dark Mark was uncovered, stark and accusing on his pale skin. Lucius crumpled, his aristocratic composure shattering.
"It's over, Lucius," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. "Your only path now is cooperation. Tell us everything."
From within the manor, shouts echoed. "A basement! Loaded with Dark objects! And… a diary! The magic on it is… vile!"
The group rushed down to find a horrifying trove: cursed artifacts, poisons, Dark texts, and a small, innocuous-looking black diary radiating palpable malice.
"Merlin's beard…" Moody breathed.
Under the overwhelming evidence and the threat of Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy's resistance broke. He began to talk, spewing names, locations, secrets—a comprehensive map of the remaining Death Eater network and, most critically, the locations of Voldemort's horcruxes: a cup, a locket, a diadem, the snake…
Back in Dumbledore's office as the sun rose, the mood was grim but victorious.
"Zhang Ming," Dumbledore said gravely. "You have struck a blow from which the Dark Lord's forces may never recover. The intelligence you procured is… invaluable."
"The horcruxes are the priority," Zhang Ming said. "The diary is here. The others must be secured."
"Indeed. And then there is… the one in Harry." Dumbledore's face was heavy. "That will be the most delicate matter of all."
"Not necessarily," Zhang Ming said. "I believe I can remove the fragment. Safely. Without harming Harry."
Dumbledore stared at him, hope warring with disbelief. "You are certain?"
"With the right preparation, and Harry's consent, yes. It is a matter of precise soul-surgery."
"If you can do that…" Dumbledore whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You would free that boy from a burden he never asked to carry."
"Then let us schedule the procedure," Zhang Ming said. "The sooner, the better."
The hunt for Voldemort had entered its final, decisive phase.