Eyes in the Dark

Hogwarts' magical courses came in all shapes and sizes.

There was Herbology, where young wizards had to outwit mischievous Bouncing Bulbs, History of Magic, taught by a ghost, and Potions class, where the slightest lapse in concentration meant points would be harshly deducted.

But the most beloved—and most difficult—class for young wizards was undoubtedly Transfiguration Class.

In this class, young wizards could freely unleash their magic to alter the matches before them, with hardly any harsh procedures or complicated gestures and incantations required.

Professor McGonagall looked rather formidable, but her marvelous Transfiguration captivated the young wizards.

No one could dislike turning a teapot into an elephant that sprayed water from its trunk, and no one could refuse to make a quill stand up and dance.

Yet contrary to the young wizards' enthusiasm, few could achieve results quickly in Transfiguration Class.

Even Hermione, who progressed the fastest, had only managed to give her match the rounded head of a needle.

So when Sean turned a running mouse into a snuffbox, then made it run again, most of the young wizards gathered around and let out a chorus of "Waaah—"

You practiced Intermediate Transfiguration once to the Proficient standard. Proficiency +100

Sean had still underestimated his Transfiguration Talent. After only two weeks of practice, he had already reached the Proficient standard in Intermediate Transfiguration.

Sean was not the only one surprised. Professor McGonagall was as well.

The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes smoothed out, and a gratified gleam flashed behind her square spectacles.

"Very good, Mr. Green—an excellent Transfiguration! Five points to Ravenclaw!"

She strode quickly over to Sean, ignoring the cries of surprise from the young wizards around them.

Her eyes held only Sean, who looked slightly bashful in his concentration.

"Come with me after class."

She spoke softly.

Sean paused for a moment, then quietly answered in the affirmative.

Transfiguration Class ended quickly.

The young wizards streamed out of the classroom, leaving only Sean and Professor McGonagall behind.

Professor McGonagall watched Sean, while the young wizards' whispers still echoed in her ears:

—Rumor had it that a certain Ravenclaw had earned the most House points, supposedly even twice as many as the runner-up.

The usual sternness in her eyes gradually softened.

She had brought a seed out of barren ground, and now, she was watching it grow and sprout.

"Come with me, Mr. Green."

She promptly strode out of the Transfiguration classroom.

Professor McGonagall's office was not far away. After pushing open the wooden door, Sean took a few seconds to look around.

It was a small study beside the second-floor corridor, with a roaring fireplace inside and a view of the Quidditch pitch outside the window.

Young wizards were gradually gathering there, because Gryffindor and Slytherin's Flying Class would begin shortly.

"Demonstrate your Transfiguration again."

Professor McGonagall's stern voice had unconsciously softened somewhat.

Sean quickly realized that this was extra tutoring from Professor McGonagall.

By the time he left the professor's office, his Intermediate Transfiguration had improved considerably, and he had an extra copy of Transfiguration Notes in his hands.

Professor McGonagall had answered many of his questions and pointed out the direction of Transfiguration: a wizard's will.

Like other magic, Transfiguration was also affected by a wizard's emotions.

Strong emotions, such as grief or shock, could affect this ability. Even Animagi and Metamorphmagi were no exception.

For instance, after Sirius died, Tonks found it difficult to control her transformation ability.

Her changes included her hair turning grayish-brown and thin, while her body became thinner as well.

In the corridor.

Sean was hurrying to the dungeon. Like the other Ravenclaws, he had not gone to the Quidditch pitch to watch Gryffindor and the others' Flying Class.

Though he was interested in it as well, he always knew what he needed to do, rather than what he wanted to do.

At dusk, Hogwarts' corridors seemed as though they had been placed under some kind of Slowing Charm.

Torches flickered in their iron brackets, stretching their swaying shadows long, while the dozing portraits on the stone walls let out steady snores.

As the footsteps passed through the Arcade and extended westward, the sunlight vanished completely behind the glass windows, and the air suddenly turned damp and heavy.

A spiraling stone staircase appeared in a recess concealed by a Tapestry, cold air creeping up along the steps.

Sean stepped onto the stairs with practiced ease, silently thinking, If I run into Professor Snape, how should I explain myself so I can get out safely?

Fortunately, Sean saw nothing, and his green eyes instantly lit up.

He quickly went to the Cauldron, lit it, prepared the ingredients, and took out his notes in one smooth sequence.

He had brewed at least ten batches of Scurvy Paste already; in his simulations, that number had to be multiplied by ten.

As a result, he was incomparably familiar with every step involved and could even make minor improvements.

The liquid in the Cauldron gave off a reassuring bubbling sound to Sean. Its thick, ink green surface constantly swelled with bubbles that burst one after another.

Dried Nettle and Snake Fang powder had been ground into a jade green powder.

Sean carefully poured them into the Cauldron in batches. Each addition made the liquid boil far more violently.

At that point, he had to stir clockwise exactly three times—half a turn too much or too little could ruin everything.

But he did not do that.

When it came to magic, he had always understood one principle.

It was a miracle of the mind, yet it could also accommodate reason.

His study of spells had taught him that while a wizard's mental state was certainly important, proper pronunciation and gestures could also make casting a spell easier.

Yet Young Wizards—or rather, even professors—had not truly realized this.

If they had, the textbook's instructions for the Levitation Charm would not merely say: pronounce clearly, swish and flick.

Instead, they should explain what counted as clear pronunciation and precisely how one should move the wand—left or right, with a large motion or a small one?

Unfortunately, the Magical World adhered to a survival-of-the-fittest mindset.

Wizards with talent practiced according to instinct and intuition until they succeeded.

Those without much talent could only repeat the exercises until Merlin blessed them with that intuition.

During Transfiguration Class, Sean had noticed more than once that Michael was simply waving his wand around at random. He would even repeat the same incorrect motion ten times.

As for Sean, he not only recorded the right and wrong aspects of his posture and pronunciation during Transfiguration, but also analyzed the differences in depth. Sometimes, he even conducted comparative experiments until he was utterly exhausted.

Combined with a certain ancient intuition, his progress in Transfiguration could be described as astonishingly fast.

The same was true for potion-making. This intuition did not appear often, but whenever it did, Sean was always unwilling to let it slip away.

Just like now, Sean changed the range of his stirring motion, following that intuition instead, and even increased the heat slightly.

The candlelight flickered in the Dungeon. Somewhere Sean could not see, a pair of gloomy eyes emerged from the darkness.