In Friday's Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall began teaching them how to turn beetles into buttons.
This was a step beyond matches into needles. It involved transforming a living creature into an inanimate object, which demanded far greater precision and a much clearer intent.
Most students were struggling with beetles that kept trying to crawl away. The classroom buzzed with faint humming and the soft popping sounds of failed attempts.
Regulus picked up his beetle, raised his wand, and spoke the incantation quietly.
The beetle stiffened slightly in his palm. The sheen of its shell began to change, shifting from dark brown to a smooth black. Its shape contracted, flattening as the transformation took hold.
In barely three seconds, a delicate button lay quietly in his hand. Its surface was jet black and glossy, etched with faint spiral patterns.
The transformation was seamless. The result was flawless. It even retained a trace of the beetle's original texture, making it more distinctive than an ordinary button.
He no longer asked questions beyond the lesson during class.
He knew Professor McGonagall regarded him with caution, so there was no need to test boundaries. Silence was sufficient.
As she made her rounds, Professor McGonagall stopped at his desk. She picked up the button and examined it carefully. A hint of satisfaction flickered across her stern expression.
"Mr. Black, a perfect transformation. Five points to Slytherin," she said with a nod before moving on.
After class, Regulus packed his things and prepared to leave, but Professor McGonagall called out to him.
"Mr. Black, a moment, please."
Once the other students had left the classroom, she approached him. Her gaze behind her spectacles was sharp and serious.
"Your talent in Transfiguration is exceptional. Far beyond that of most students your age."
"Thank you, Professor."
"I've noticed that lately you've been asking fewer questions in class," she said evenly, giving no hint of her thoughts.
Regulus felt a stir of surprise. He had not expected her to raise the point directly. He had assumed a silent understanding was preferable.
He replied calmly. "Yes, Professor."
"I reflected on your earlier guidance and felt that, at this stage, I should focus more on solidifying my foundations and mastering the curriculum, rather than delving too early into complex issues that may exceed my current level."
Professor McGonagall studied him for several seconds, as if weighing the sincerity of his words.
At last, she gave a small nod, her tone softening slightly.
"A solid foundation is essential.
However, if you do develop questions during your studies that are truly worthwhile, grounded in the coursework and carefully thought through, my office door remains open.
Hogwarts encourages thinking, but thinking must be built on sufficient knowledge."
"I understand, Professor. Thank you very much," Regulus said, genuinely surprised. He bowed politely.
As he left the classroom, he fell into thought.
Since Professor McGonagall had made her position clear, there was no reason for him to hold back.
That afternoon, after Herbology, he went straight to the Transfiguration professor's office.
He knocked, received permission, and stepped inside.
Professor McGonagall was seated behind her desk, marking papers. When she looked up and saw him, her severe expression seemed to ease by the smallest margin. She gestured for him to sit.
"Mr. Black, what question do you have?" She set her quill aside and folded her hands neatly on the desk.
"Yes, Professor. It's about some thoughts I've had regarding Transfiguration." Regulus reached into his bag and took out two objects wrapped separately in soft cloth, laying them out on the desk.
One was a piece of graphite, smooth and dark gray, soft enough to leave marks on paper.
The other was a small diamond, perfectly cut and scattering brilliant light.
"I'd like to ask about these two materials," Regulus said, his manner respectful and focused.
"From certain perspectives, graphite and diamond are thought to be closely related at the most fundamental level, even originating from the same basic element.
Their appearance, hardness, luster, and value are worlds apart, but to a master of Transfiguration, do they share some kind of internal similarity, or even the possibility of transformation between them?"
He continued, "I've tried to explore the connection through Transfiguration.
I attempted to turn graphite into diamond, and diamond into graphite. The process is extremely difficult, consumes vast amounts of magic, and is hard to stabilize.
It seems to involve more than changing shape or texture. There appears to be something deeper at play, something tied to the stability of a material's internal structure."
Regulus knew perfectly well that the difference lay in atomic arrangement and bonding orientation, but that was not something he could reasonably present to Professor McGonagall.
What he wanted to understand was how two substances with such drastically different properties, yet composed of the same base material, were perceived by a Transfiguration master. And how, in magical terms, they might be transformed.
This question clearly lay beyond the textbook. It brushed against the edges of advanced Transfiguration and even alchemy.
Professor McGonagall's eyes brightened behind her spectacles. She looked at Regulus with evident surprise, as if she had not expected a first-year to think along these lines.
"A very… profound and unusual question, Mr. Black," she said, unmistakable approval in her voice.
"Graphite and diamond. Very few people, especially at your age, consider Transfiguration from the perspective of a material's fundamental origins.
Normally, we focus on turning matches into needles or beetles into buttons, on changes of form and function, not on whether two seemingly unrelated substances might share a common source."
She picked up the graphite, rubbing it lightly between her fingers to feel its slick texture, then examined the diamond. She fell silent for a moment, thinking.
"In my own Transfiguration practice," she said at length, "different materials do present distinct magical characteristics.
Turning a feather into iron is far more difficult than turning iron into a feather, because the former requires constructing a denser and more stable structure.
The two materials you've brought are a striking contrast, yet you've pointed out a possible shared origin. That alone makes the question fascinating."
She continued, "I have not specifically studied transformations between these two.
But from a magical perception standpoint, diamond feels far more rigid, condensed, and orderly than graphite.
Graphite, by contrast, feels loose, layered, and prone to slipping.
To turn graphite into diamond may require far more than increasing hardness or altering luster.
It is more like rebuilding a pile of loose, sliding sheets into a crystal palace where every part is tightly connected.
The difficulty far exceeds ordinary changes of form."
"That's exactly what confuses me, Professor," Regulus said, picking up the thread.
"In my attempts, I sensed that they share the same most basic substance, but the way it's arranged is completely different.
As you said, graphite is loose and layered, while diamond is a fully three-dimensional structure where every point is tightly linked.
What Transfiguration must accomplish is likely not just a change in appearance.
It's a complete rewriting of that fundamental internal structure, forcing one stable state to reconstruct itself into another that is entirely different, yet equally, or even more, stable."
Professor McGonagall listened intently, a thoughtful light gleaming in her eyes.
Regulus's description offered a highly illuminating perspective, one that approached Transfiguration through the internal rules and patterns of material structure.
"An excellent insight, Mr. Black," she said at last, allowing herself a faint smile.
"It reminds me of certain advanced magic involving true material transmutation, even… the Philosopher's Stone."
She lifted her wand, and the piece of graphite rose gently from the desk.
"Let's test this idea."
She did not recite a long incantation. She simply pointed her wand, her gaze fixed on the graphite.
Regulus could feel an immense, pure, and tightly condensed magical force envelop it. Within that magic was an unmistakably clear intent.
The intent to reconstruct its internal rules of connection.
The graphite began to change at a visible pace.
The dark gray color faded rapidly. The material grew impossibly dense and increasingly transparent. Light began to refract within it.
Seconds later, a clear crystal with the unmistakable hardness and characteristics of diamond lay on the desk.
With another light tap of her wand, the crystal shifted again. Its edges were shaped by unseen forces, refracting light into brilliant fire, until it became a small diamond.
The entire process was effortless and stable, far beyond anything Regulus had achieved on his own.
This was the power of a true master.