Zhang San's First Experience in Transfiguration Class

Pleasant weekends were always short. Before the Hogwarts students had gotten their fill of fun, Zhang San's temple had closed for business.

Some students with no classes on Monday morning eagerly arrived at the game arcade outside the castle, ready to go all out, only to find the little temple's courtyard gate tightly locked. A sign stood at the entrance, reading:

This temple is only open during holidays. Students, please study hard and make progress every day. (This temple only open in holiday. Students, please good good study, day day up.)

This was the unspoken understanding between Zhang San and the school. If his little temple remained open on ordinary days, students would definitely skip class to play games. Never underestimate how low young wizards' self-control could go. To avoid causing Headmaster Dumbledore trouble—and to avoid being blocked at the door and hunted down by the Heads of House—Zhang San voluntarily made a rule that the temple would only operate on rest days.

Gryffindor had two of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classes on Monday morning. This was Zhang San's first time attending the subject—during last week's Transfiguration class, he had still been playing the deceased at his own funeral.

Although it was rather regrettable that he had missed the famous scene of Professor McGonagall transforming into a tabby cat, being able to receive her guidance was excellent as well.

This elderly lady was recognized throughout the wizarding world as a top master of Transfiguration. The last person to earn that title was Hogwarts' current headmaster, the greatest white wizard—Albus Dumbledore.

"Welcome, Third Zhang." Professor McGonagall kindly invited Zhang San to take a seat. Though Zhang San was not alive, he was still a Gryffindor student, and Professor McGonagall treated him with complete impartiality.

"Today, we will continue practicing the Transfiguration of inanimate objects. Please remember one thing: either be precise, or be useless," Professor McGonagall said meticulously.

She then turned her gaze to Zhang San. "Mr. Third Zhang missed the previous Transfiguration lessons for certain reasons. I will briefly review what we covered before, and I ask the other students to follow my train of thought and revise along with us."

Zhang San sat upright in his chair and listened attentively. Daoist arts also included transformation techniques, but those were closer to tricks of the eye and did not involve changes to the essence of matter.

Transfiguration in magic was far more outrageous. As long as the Transfiguration spell remained in effect, the transformed object's properties changed completely.

Before class, Zhang San had already previewed the theoretical portions of Transfiguration. In particular, he had memorized Gamp's Law of Transfiguration by heart:

Food could not be created from nothing;

True life could not be created;

Magical objects could not be conjured;

Unknown or nonexistent things could not be conjured;

The quantity of something could not be changed through a single transformation.

Only by following these five laws of Transfiguration could wizards safely learn and use Transfiguration magic.

"The wand movement requires a clean, decisive downward arc, and the wand must be aimed precisely at the target." Professor McGonagall demonstrated it herself. "Ve-ra, ve-to!"

Under Professor McGonagall's demonstration, a thick matchstick turned into a slender wooden strip. This was the simplest form-changing spell involving the same material, as well as the content they had learned and practiced in the previous class.

Professor McGonagall continued reinforcing the lesson. "The key to pronouncing this spell is to place the stress on the first syllable, V. The final 'to' must be short and decisive. Do not drag it out into 'toh—oh—.' I have heard far too many people turn a spell into an aria. Remember the essence of Transfiguration: your will must be firm, and your casting must be decisive."

Having gone through the fierce grind of twenty-first-century nine-year compulsory education, Zhang San's learning ability was exceptionally strong. Before class, he had already taught himself the entire first-year Transfiguration curriculum.

The first half of the year covered transformations between inanimate objects, while the second half covered turning living things into inanimate objects. The final exam involved turning a mouse into a snuffbox—truly a timeless classic.

"Third Zhang, pick up your wand." Seeing that Zhang San had been listening with empty hands, Professor McGonagall immediately asked him to try it himself.

Zhang San said apologetically, "Sorry, Professor. I'm a ghost. I don't have a wand."

Professor McGonagall frowned. "Impossible. Your elders must have burned a wand for you. Did you not properly search through your offerings?"

Zhang San said, "Huh?"

That was a thing? Zhang San went numb. Could his senior brother be any less reliable? He had left without even mentioning something this important?

The China research delegation had held Zhang San's funeral outside the castle. At that time, Zhang San could only float around inside the castle, so he had no idea what the big shots had burned for him.

Because there had been too many offerings of too many different kinds, he had shoved all of them into his Qiankun bags. He had two such bags: one for items from the world of the living, and one for offerings from the underworld.

Zhang San hurriedly searched through them and finally found his wand inside the paper villa. This was not one of Ollivanders Wand Shop's mass-produced wands. Its shaft was made from spirit bamboo from Mount Longhu, its core was a qilin whisker, and it had an ancient, simple appearance and a tough texture. Besides casting spells, it could also be used as a short club to crack someone over the head.

Unfortunately, its owner had died before ever using it even once. In the end, it could only be tossed into the brazier and burned for Zhang San as a burial offering.

Zhang San's wand was the same thickness from end to end, with tiny bamboo joints along its shaft. Its shape was completely unlike the baton-like wands used by his classmates.

"Ve-ra~ ve-to!" Zhang San swung his wand with the intent of a sword, and the sharp whooshing sound of it cutting through the air made the surrounding students' scalps tingle.

Yet something awkward happened. The matchstick in front of Zhang San stubbornly lay there without changing in the slightest.

This time, Professor McGonagall was the one left bewildered. She felt as though her standing in the education world was on the verge of collapse—his incantation was accurate, his gaze resolute, his attitude decisive, and his wand movement swift... This was clearly the most standard possible demonstration. Why had it had no effect whatsoever?

Could it truly be because Third Zhang was a ghost and therefore unable to use magic? But that made no sense! Since Zhang San could cultivate China's mystical arts, he should naturally be able to learn Hogwarts magic.

So where exactly was the problem?

After pondering for a long time, Professor McGonagall finally said to Zhang San, "Let us skip the incantation and gestures. For now, you only need to firmly imagine what this matchstick will look like after it becomes a slender wooden strip..."

Zhang San's mouth fell open, and he was speechless for a long while. Professor McGonagall, wasn't this Transfiguration teaching a little too casual? Could incantations and gestures simply be skipped whenever one pleased?

Wasn't this wandless, wordless casting? The difficulty of this technique was already comparable to forming a talisman with a wave of one's hand in Daoism.

Since Professor McGonagall was teaching him this way, Zhang San cast aside his reservations and frantically imagined the matchstick turning into a slender wooden strip.

Professor McGonagall patiently guided him. "Point your wand at it!"

Zhang San swung his wand with tremendous force, but the matchstick still showed no change at all.

Professor McGonagall was not in a hurry. She continued guiding him. "Command this piece of wood with your most resolute attitude... Say whatever you like, as long as you mean it."

"Change! Change! Change! Change for your daddy! [hometown accent]" Zhang San blurted out the refined dialect of his homeland, and something magical happened—the thick matchstick truly turned into a long, slender wooden strip.

The Transfiguration had succeeded!

Professor McGonagall let out a sigh of relief—her standing in the education world had finally been preserved.

She nodded approvingly at Zhang San. "From now on, use that phrase whenever you perform Transfiguration. It will be your personal Transfiguration incantation."

Zhang San: ...

Was this really right? Everyone else's Transfiguration incantation was the distinctly British-sounding "Vera Verto," while his was "Change, change, change..." in his hometown accent.

His aura had instantly become ridiculously weak!