Breeze's Transfiguration

Thank Merlin, the Slytherin Common Room had returned to normal. Still, no one wanted to stay there. The Little Snakes had all retreated to their dormitories to recover.

After dinner, Breeze instinctively cast a few deodorizing charms before returning to his dormitory. Zabini seemed to be in a terrible state, lying stiffly on his bed as if he had suffered a tremendous blow.

Breeze didn't make a fuss. He quickly washed up, then sat down at his desk to read. Once he was engrossed in his book, he barely paid attention to the sounds behind him.

"It was you, wasn't it? Who else would hate us enough to do something like this?"

It was Zabini's voice. Breeze had something to do with what had happened, but not much, and he couldn't possibly take responsibility for the whole thing.

"I wouldn't do something like that," Breeze said without looking back, continuing to read Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, the textbook they needed for tomorrow's Transfiguration class.

Zabini said nothing more and turned back to his blankets. He understood that Breeze wasn't powerful enough to command Peeves, but seeing that Breeze had escaped the mistreatment had naturally made him take out his anger on him.

Breeze rubbed his brow, put the book down, switched off his bedside lamp, and settled beneath his comfortable blankets.

Breeze thought, The Weasley Twins really are a bit too reckless...

The next morning, they had Transfiguration with Gryffindor. The Little Snakes had regained their composure—or, at least, they were determined not to lose to Gryffindor, even if they had to force themselves to keep it together!

Breeze sat quietly in the front row. He felt confident about Professor McGonagall. She looked very meticulous, certainly no incompetent teacher like Quirrell. Still, Breeze had a feeling Quirrell wasn't weak; it was as if he was hiding something.

The enormous turban wrapped around Quirrell's head, he claimed, had been given to him by an African prince in gratitude for helping drive away a troublesome Inferius. The garlic smell was meant to ward off vampires.

Even an eleven-year-old like Breeze didn't believe that. He had no idea how Dumbledore managed to be so childlike.

"Bang!" The classroom door flew open!

"Phew, we made it at last. Look, Harry, that old woman isn't here yet," Ron Weasley said to Harry Potter with relief. Potter finally relaxed.

They were late.

Class had already been underway for several minutes, but Professor McGonagall hadn't appeared. Breeze knew, however, that the tabby cat sitting on the lectern was Professor McGonagall. It was a powerful form of Transfiguration called an Animagus: a person could transform completely into an animal, and the transformation couldn't be detected by magic.

Powerful magic was also dangerous. It was difficult to perform and required a long time to prepare. The slightest mistake could leave someone as a half-human, half-beast monster—or make it impossible for them to ever turn back into a human. So far, the Ministry of Magic had registered only seven Animagi, and Professor McGonagall was one of them.

Meanwhile, Malfoy, not far from Breeze, wore a dark expression. Yesterday must have hit him hard, because today he didn't taunt them excitedly. He merely said under his breath, "Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Potter and poor Weasley. Did the famous Savior get held up signing autographs for trolls on the way here?"

"Haha..." The Slytherin students nearby laughed, though none of them seemed very lively.

The Gryffindors were furious. They glared at the Slytherins, especially Malfoy. But this really was Harry and Ron's fault, and remembering what they'd heard yesterday, they were about to fire back—

The tabby cat on the lectern leaped up, landed on the floor, and transformed into McGonagall.

In an instant, the entire noisy classroom fell silent.

"Oh, Merlin's socks!" Ron Weasley and Harry Potter swallowed hard as McGonagall stared at them.

Ron Weasley said guiltily, "Hello, Professor McGonagall. We got lost. Those stairs keep taking us where we don't need to go."

Poor Ron Weasley really had terrible luck.

Breeze looked at Ron Weasley with amusement and hoped he'd know what to do. In any case, McGonagall had now committed the name Ron Weasley to memory.

McGonagall seemed willing to accept the explanation, but she wasn't going to forgive Ron for calling her an old woman. Talking about a professor behind her back wasn't good behavior. So she said, "I won't show favoritism to anyone, even if you're young wizards from my own House. So, Gryffindor loses two points. Now, you may return to your seats. I hope I won't have to give you a map to find them—or perhaps I should turn you into one."

McGonagall wore green robes that day and was as stern and serious as ever.

At McGonagall's direction, Harry and Ron sat beside Breeze. Those were the only open seats left. Ron looked uncomfortable sitting so close to Slytherin, while Harry greeted Breeze, saying, "I saw you in Diagon Alley—"

But before Harry could finish, he quickly sat properly. This was Professor McGonagall's classroom, and Breeze was in Slytherin. House loyalty was already starting to influence Harry Potter; he didn't want to get too close to a Slytherin.

Breeze gave a slight nod and turned his attention to McGonagall's lesson.

"Transfiguration is the most complex and dangerous magic you will study at Hogwarts."

"If anyone misbehaves in my class, I will ask them to leave and never allow them back. Consider yourselves warned."

McGonagall looked sternly at the class. Breeze watched as she transformed the lectern into a pig. It seemed completely real, right down to its grunts. Then McGonagall changed it back.

"Wow!"

The Transfiguration had clearly captured all the young wizards' interest.

Breeze's eyes shone, too. He wanted to delve into the subject. Compared with slimy slugs, he preferred the straightforward nature of Transfiguration. The feeling of being able to change things at will was captivating—though that was an illusion, since the magic always needed constraints to keep it in check.

Next, McGonagall wrote a long list of magical precautions, the dangers of failure, and ways to save oneself on the blackboard. It was all rather complicated. Transfiguration wasn't as straightforward as it seemed; it involved an astonishing number of conditions. That was why Breeze didn't dare try it on his own. Without a guide, learning this magic would be difficult and dangerous.

After Breeze finished taking notes, McGonagall began to explain the finer points in great detail, including how to channel one's emotions. Once she had finished, she told the class:

"Transfiguration is the power of imagination, but it must also be grounded in reality..."

It wasn't until more than half the lesson had passed that McGonagall waved her wand and handed each student a matchstick.

"You need to turn this matchstick into a silver needle."

All the young wizards began trying, but for now, none of them could change the matchstick at all. Transfiguration required both talent and effort.

Breeze touched his wand and thought over the points McGonagall had taught them. Then he carefully pictured a silver needle in his mind and waved his wand at the matchstick.

The matchstick changed slowly, but steadily. Breeze made a point of watching its transformation closely, hoping it would help him with his studies.

That was a key part of the lesson hidden in the exercise, one that many young wizards overlooked.

Harry, sitting beside Breeze, soon noticed the silver needle taking shape on the desk. He stared at Breeze, his face turning slightly red, and muttered, "That's amazing."

"What did you say, Harry? This matchstick must be defective, right? Or it's deliberately going against me." Ron waved his wand furiously beside him, stubbornly trying to make it work. Not far away, Hermione had already managed to change her matchstick a little, and Professor McGonagall was praising her.

"Keep trying, Miss Granger. I can see it changing."

With Professor McGonagall's encouragement, Hermione managed to make the matchstick's tip sharper, and its surface took on a speckled silver sheen.

"Very good. That's excellent. I can give you two points."

Professor McGonagall smiled faintly, then noticed Ron, who looked as though he was about to snap his wand in half. She frowned, about to say something, when a clear, crisp ding rang out.

The matchstick on Breeze's desk had completely transformed into a silver needle. It even gave a playful little hop before landing on the desk with a crisp sound.

What a mischievous wand.

"Oh, I'll have to take a closer look at this."

Professor McGonagall hurried over to Breeze and gently picked up the silver needle. She noticed the delicate vine patterns at its end, and couldn't hide her smile.

"Excellent. You're the most naturally gifted young wizard at Transfiguration I've ever seen." McGonagall examined Breeze's wand but couldn't tell what it was made of.

"It's Mithril and Green Vine Wood. Mr. Ollivander doesn't know what special properties it has, either."

McGonagall nodded, then said, "Ten points to Mr. Order."

"Wow." The other young wizards exclaimed at McGonagall's generous award.

McGonagall continued, "That's the most points I can award a young wizard in a single class. I hope I'll be able to do it again in future lessons."

She kept her expression stern, but joy gleamed in her eyes. Then she asked Breeze, "How did you think to change its structure? Young wizards rarely think of that. If I were to break this needle in half, you'd see that the inside is silver, too."

"Never judge by appearances. That lesson has helped me a lot ever since I was little." Breeze narrowed his eyes with a smile. Ten points all at once—Professor McGonagall was generous.

"Hmph." Not far away, Pansy gave a quiet snort. She set her wand on the desk and stopped waving it foolishly at the matchstick.

All the Little Snakes and Little Lions were now focused on Breeze. Malfoy wore a complicated expression. Seeing that his matchstick had only developed a few silver spots and changed shape a little, he immediately hid it in his pocket. Then he lifted his chin proudly and glanced at Breeze's black head.

Hermione's expression was complicated, too. Her eyes blazed with excitement she hadn't expected, and she cried out indignantly in her heart, Not again! Breeze has beaten me again. No, I must not be working hard enough. Breeze must have been studying behind my back, too. I'll have to turn down their invitation after class. What I need is the library, not small talk!

Ron looked at Breeze jealously, then silently lowered his wand and muttered:

"He's just a Slytherin. They're all bad wizards anyway."

His voice was so quiet that even he could barely hear it, let alone anyone else. Harry was unhappy, too. His excitement from the start of term was fading little by little. There was so much pressure here, especially with the title of Savior hanging over him. He only wanted to be an ordinary person, and he might not even have much talent. He had tried hard, but with little to show for it.

What Harry didn't know was that the reason he kept failing was that he lacked conviction. Magic was born from conviction. If he didn't understand that, he would never become a powerful wizard, even though both his parents had been quite capable.