Preserving One's Essence

The feeling of casting Transfiguration was wonderfully strange.

With the help of the incantation, Wizet's consciousness spread across the surface of the matchstick, as though it had become a pair of hands that could knead and shape it however he wished.

It gave him a strangely familiar feeling, like he had returned in a dream to his childhood in his previous life, playing with mud.

A clear goal.

A silver needle appeared in Wizet's mind. He guided his consciousness to shape the matchstick, and it really began to lengthen and sharpen.

It still needed more details...

He recreated every detail of the silver needle as closely as possible.

It needed a gleaming metallic sheen... The point had to be more refined... It needed an eye for threading...

The matchstick on the desk constantly changed shape. Its edges became smoother, while the red and woody colors on its surface gradually faded away.

The bright luster unique to metal became more and more apparent. The matchstick also grew longer, its end continuously narrowing into a sharp needle point...

"This is only his first time casting the spell, and he already succeeded?" Anthony glanced at the matchstick before him and could not help praising him. "That was way too fast, wasn't it?"

Minerva McGonagall nodded gently, agreeing with Anthony's words.

Transfiguration required not only caution, but also sufficient patience and imagination.

Wizet had begun by closing his eyes and imagining the result instead of rushing into action. That was a sign of caution.

Minerva McGonagall saw an orderly process of transformation. Every step was steady and deliberate; he had not rushed for results, but changed it bit by bit. That was a sign of patience.

Wizet had not stopped casting yet, clearly because the magic was not truly complete.

An eye for threading appeared at the end of the silver needle, while fine patterns emerged across its surface.

Minerva McGonagall bent down for a closer look and discovered they were Mistletoe patterns.

The Mistletoe patterns were the finishing touch, turning the silver needle from a mere everyday object into something of greater value.

Creating intricate patterns through sheer will was where imagination came into play, an advantage unique to wizards.

She pinched the silver needle between her fingers and announced loudly, "Mr. Lovegood has completed the spell and successfully transformed the matchstick into a silver needle! Five points to Ravenclaw!"

The students all looked up and turned their eyes toward her.

"Engorgio!" Minerva McGonagall cast the spell, and the tiny silver needle rapidly lengthened and thickened, becoming a beautifully carved awl.

She held the awl high for the students to see. "Everyone, take a look. This is an exceptionally successful Transfiguration! Aside from the needle's eye, Mr. Lovegood also created beautiful patterns!"

"Not only did you make a silver needle, you even put patterns on it..." Anthony gave Wizet a heavy pat on the shoulder. "Seeing you like this... really puts me under a lot of pressure!"

"Finite Incantatem!" Minerva McGonagall restored the silver needle to its original size. "Well done, Wizet!"

"Thank you!" Wizet accepted the silver needle, then suddenly thought of a question. "Professor McGonagall, is this needle considered wood now, or metal?"

"An interesting question." Minerva McGonagall smiled. "You merely changed the matchstick's appearance, so it is still wood."

Wizet asked, "Can Transfiguration change the matchstick's essence and turn it into a real silver needle?"

"Of course it can, but I would not advise you to do so." Minerva McGonagall patiently explained, "That is precisely where the danger of Transfiguration lies."

"For inanimate objects, changing their essence may simply make them less fragile and more useful to people. But what if you changed your own essence?"

"After your essence has changed, are you still yourself? Possessing a true body of steel means that your essence must also become steel, and your original essence will be lost."

"Your essence will be lost?" Wizet parted his lips, feeling a chill rise down his back.

Seeing his lingering fear, Minerva McGonagall nodded gently. "That is essence. In my view, a wizard's essence comes from his thoughts, his wishes—in other words, his soul."

"When your body becomes powerful but your soul is replaced by another, are you still the same person? If not, then who are you? These are all questions that must be considered."

"The soul is a marvelous subject. If you wish to explore the mysteries of magic, deepening your understanding of the soul is an indispensable step."

"Quite a few wizards have gone astray because of it and become Dark wizards, taking pleasure in toying with souls..." Minerva McGonagall suddenly shook her head. "It seems I have said too much."

"You only need to remember this: if you want to go farther down the path of Transfiguration, you must recognize and preserve your essence. If you are interested, look for information on 'Animagus'!"

What Minerva McGonagall had said was undoubtedly beyond the curriculum, but it benefited Wizet greatly.

The magical world was like an enormous treasure trove, with far too many secrets waiting to be explored!

He hurriedly picked up his Notebook and wrote down everything Minerva McGonagall had said.

There was still plenty of time left in the lesson. Quite a few students gathered around Wizet, asking him for advice on Transfiguration.

Wizet did not hold back either, sharing everything he had learned.

In his view, answering other people's questions could also reinforce the knowledge he had acquired.

"You do not need to demand so much of yourself. First, try sharpening one end of the matchstick, one step at a time."

"Can't you see it? The matchstick's color has lightened. That is a good start. Changing the color first is also a fine choice!"

"You do not have to be so nervous. Hold your wand a little farther away. That explosion just now was an accident. If you are really afraid, you can snap off the red phosphorus at the end. The most important thing is to try..."

Watching Wizet surrounded by students, Minerva McGonagall sighed softly.

She was truly envious of Flitwick now. How had such an outstanding student ended up choosing Ravenclaw?

Hermione had performed quite well too and could give her matchstick the rudimentary shape of a needle.

Unfortunately, the girl did not quite know how to get along with others. Whenever she answered questions, she always sounded as if she were lecturing them.

Minerva McGonagall finally understood why Dumbledore admired Wizet so much.

To endure the torment of Dark wizards and still cultivate such a calm, unassuming temperament, one that allowed him to get along harmoniously with those around him, was truly rare.

Wizet also seemed to have potential for Occlumency. To develop that potential, what was Dumbledore planning? Whom would he find to guide him?

Hogsmeade Village.

Dumbledore stepped out of the flames and appeared on the second floor of the Hog's Head Inn.

Before long, hurried footsteps rang out.

A tall, lean old man with a long gray-white beard appeared before him.

The old man raised his eyebrows and asked gruffly, "Why have you come here?"

Dumbledore said softly, "Aberforth, I would like to ask you for a favor."