You Two Actually Make a Good Match

The embers of Hufflepuff's victory over Gryffindor had burned through Hogwarts for three whole days without dying down.

Mostly because it was so rare. A heart-stopping comeback like that, by Hufflepuff no less—and for the second time.

Their previous match against Ravenclaw had been dramatic too, but the mood beforehand hadn't been nearly so one-sided.

Probably because Ravenclaw hadn't had the only Nimbus 2000 in the entire school.

This time, Hufflepuff had fallen behind fifty to zero in under five minutes. Everyone thought victory was already a cooked duck in Gryffindor's pot. Then Cedric, riding a Nimbus 2000 that had appeared out of nowhere, made one dive and sent that duck rocketing straight out of the pot.

It was so dramatic that after the match, people were replaying those five minutes in almost every corridor, at every long table, and in every Common Room at Hogwarts.

Gryffindor, of course, was having none of it—from every angle and in every sense.

Some said it had been pure luck, that Cedric had simply happened upon the Golden Snitch. Some said Harry had underestimated Hufflepuff's new broom and hadn't chased at full speed from the start. Others insisted that if the Quaffle play hadn't gone so smoothly earlier, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team wouldn't have grown so relaxed and given Cedric the chance to snatch the win.

Ron was firmly in the second camp.

"Harry just didn't expect him to have a Nimbus 2000 too!" he declared in the Great Hall. "It wasn't fair. At least, he wasn't mentally prepared for it."

"Discovering halfway through a match that your opponent has upgraded their equipment is usually called part of the match." Hermione fell into her usual habit of arguing with Ron.

"You're sounding more and more like Gu."

Ron had recently discovered that bringing up Gavin made Hermione a little quieter, so he had begun mentioning him every chance he got.

To his surprise, Hermione seemed to have grown used to it today. The jab didn't land.

"That isn't my problem," Hermione said calmly. "I'm just stating the facts."

Over in Hufflepuff, the mood was entirely different.

Their Quidditch discussions used to be practical: "Let's try not to lose by too much," or "Lasting a little longer would be nice," or "At least don't give Slytherin too much to laugh about." Not anymore. A group of Hufflepuff students sat in the Common Room talking, in a decidedly un-Hufflepuff way, about two words:

"The Quidditch Cup."

And they weren't joking.

"Do you think we could..." Justin lowered his voice, as though someone might overhear and wake him from a dream. "Actually start thinking about the Quidditch Cup?"

Ernie immediately sat up straight, his expression solemn.

"Based on the points, the possibility does exist," he said with considerable precision.

"Based on morale, it exists too," Herbert Fleet cut in from the side. The captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team was very pleased with the team's current spirit.

"Based on historical precedent, it doesn't," another older Hufflepuff pointed out honestly.

"History is made to be broken," Justin shot back.

"That sounds strange coming from you."

"Because I'd never heard of Snape giving Cedric a point a few days after we beat Gryffindor, either."

Everyone around them nodded at once.

The news had already spread through Hufflepuff, and nobody had believed it when they first heard it.

Cedric himself had become noticeably more popular lately.

It wasn't just Hufflepuffs greeting him unprompted. Even students from other houses couldn't help giving him a second look.

He had already been handsome. Now he had several eye-catching claims to fame: he had beaten the Chosen One to the Golden Snitch, he owned the school's second Nimbus 2000, and he was an excellent student to boot.

That was enough to turn him into a Hogwarts celebrity, a school heartthrob, overnight.

Unfortunately, Cedric's thoughts hadn't been entirely on his newfound fame.

He still remembered something else—

His bet with Cho Chang.

That evening, Cedric finally caught up with Cho Chang in a corridor.

He had clearly checked the route she took from the library back to Ravenclaw Tower, then positioned himself somewhere that didn't look too deliberate, though it was hard to call the meeting entirely accidental.

Cho tried to walk around him as soon as she saw him. After several failed attempts, she stopped and looked at him.

"You look like you have something to say."

"I do." Cedric nodded.

"Have you come to accept my revised assessment that you only won that match because you got lucky?"

"No," Cedric said. "I've come to remind you that our pre-match bet still stands."

Cho raised an eyebrow.

"You certainly remember it well."

"Because I won."

"You look rather pleased with yourself."

"As I should be," Cedric said. "It's a winner's privilege."

Cho looked at him and gave a soft huff. "How was I supposed to know your equipment upgrade was a Nimbus 2000? I wouldn't have made that bet if I'd known."

Cedric scratched his nose awkwardly.

"So?" She looked up at him. "What do you want me to do?"

Cedric had been fairly calm about it.

At least, until he walked over.

But now that the moment had come, Cho's direct gaze made him feel awkward. He cleared his throat, glanced aside, then quickly looked back.

"This summer," he said, gathering his courage, "would you like to... go out somewhere together?"

As soon as he said it, he looked at Cho to gauge her reaction, then swiftly looked away again.

Cho was visibly taken aback. She hadn't expected him to use the bet for this.

She watched him without speaking. After a while, she saw the easy confidence in his eyes, still tinged with the glow of the match, slowly turn complicated, then uncertain and hesitant.

Only when disappointment and helplessness began to show in his eyes did Cho finally speak.

"I'll think about it."

It wasn't a clear refusal, but it wasn't a clear yes, either.

Only Cedric knew how much of a reprieve it felt like. He visibly relaxed. The light returned to his eyes, and his tense shoulders loosened a little.

"All right," he said.

Cho glanced at him, said nothing more, and walked on with her books in her arms.

But after a few steps, the corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly.

Cedric was still standing there grinning foolishly, so he saw none of it.

While the afterglow of that victory still lingered, Gavin formally joined the Transfiguration Club for the first time on Wednesday afternoon, at Professor McGonagall's invitation.

They met in a spacious, tidy Transfiguration classroom used by the older students.

There weren't many people there, just a handful of older students.

As soon as Gavin entered, he spotted one familiar face and several less familiar ones.

Cedric raised a hand in greeting. "Over here."

Gavin walked over, curious. "You're in this club too?"

"I joined last year, you know." Cedric was thoroughly dissatisfied with Gavin's tone. Gavin clearly had no idea how accomplished Cedric was. "You just weren't here before."

Then he introduced the others as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Percy Weasley." He gestured with an open hand toward a tall, thin boy with bright red hair.

Percy nodded, looking serious, but said nothing.

"Penelope Clearwater." Cedric turned to a beautiful girl with curly brown hair.

Penelope gave Gavin a friendly smile, then reached out and shook his hand with easy poise.

"Gemma Farley," Cedric said last.

The Slytherin Prefect inclined her head slightly, wearing a polite smile.

Gavin nodded to each of them in turn.

"Gavin Gu." Cedric gave Gavin a hearty pat on the shoulder, sounding rather proud as he introduced him.

"We know," Percy said.

"Hard not to," Penelope added teasingly.

"Especially lately," Gemma said more succinctly.

Once they had all been introduced, Percy cleared his throat, plainly intending to say a few words. "Gu, I must warn you: don't get too close to my two younger brothers. They'll only be a bad influence on you."

Gavin couldn't help raising an eyebrow, but he didn't answer immediately.

"You've qualified for the Transfiguration Club. You ought to spend more time with good students and—"

Gavin couldn't listen to another word of that paternal lecture. He raised a hand to interrupt and gave Percy a polite smile. "But... I think they're interesting."

Percy frowned but pressed on. "You're starting from a different position than most people. The professors have high hopes for you. Those two, frankly, are wasting their considerable magical talent on Dungbombs and childish pranks. Hogwarts isn't merely a school. It's the foundation for your future in the wizarding world. If your record keeps getting stained with pointless rule violations and detentions... it will do you no good. Keep your distance, Gavin. Don't let their shortsightedness damage your prospects."

When Percy finished, he found Gavin watching him with interest rather than responding. Every so often, Gavin glanced at Penelope too.

Percy frowned. Gavin's reaction struck him as odd. "What are you looking at?"

"Ah, sorry." A playful edge entered Gavin's smile. "I just realized you two make a pretty good match."

He pointed at Percy and Penelope.

Percy's face turned scarlet.

Penelope's eyes, on the other hand, lit up. She looked delighted, as though she'd just been paid a compliment.

The two were already in a "secret relationship." Penelope didn't mind it being secret; Percy thought it would be best to wait until after the O.W.L. exams to tell anyone.

Percy looked ready to say more, but Professor McGonagall walked in just then. He had to abandon his objection for the moment and greet her with everyone else.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Take your seats."

Everyone Transfigured a chair for themselves and sat down. Then every eye turned to Gavin.

Gavin understood. It was a small test, and a welcome ritual too.

So he took out his wand, Transfigured himself a wicker chair, and settled comfortably into it.

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Very fine Transfiguration."

Her gaze then rested on Gavin, and she spoke without preamble.

"Mr. Gu," she said, "I've given some serious thought to the question you raised earlier."

The others immediately grew curious. What sort of question had Gavin been discussing with Professor McGonagall?

"I find your view quite interesting," Professor McGonagall said. "If you want to test it further, you could begin with Food Transfiguration."

The others were startled. Penelope blinked, Gemma raised an eyebrow, and Percy's frown deepened.

Only Cedric looked unsurprised.

Food Transfiguration.

That was far beyond the topics the club normally discussed. It concerned the boundaries of the Five Exceptions.

And a first-year student was discussing it with Professor McGonagall.

She continued.

"Under my supervision, of course." She looked at Gavin. "If you make real progress, I think the findings could be written up as a paper."

By then, the older students were all wearing roughly the same expression: a faintly stunned Are we at a club meeting, or have we walked into a meeting to launch a school research project?

Percy most of all.

He opened his mouth as though he had a great deal to say, but couldn't find a single suitable word.

Gavin simply nodded.

"Understood."

"I hope to see results as well," Professor McGonagall said.

She paused, then looked at Gavin intently.

"I hope to see you prove that the Five Exceptions are wrong."

"Or prove that you are."

At that, Percy's mouth fell open—a rare and complete loss of his usual Prefect composure.

After returning from the Transfiguration Club, Gavin was still visibly excited.

He felt he had gained a great deal that day.

Professor McGonagall's opening remarks had certainly stunned the other club members.

But once the discussion began, the atmosphere quickly settled.

Percy thought in an orderly way and liked to clarify the boundaries of a concept first. Penelope's questions always struck at the heart of the matter; a single sentence from her could often pin a tangle of speculation down to something concrete. Gemma said little, but each time she spoke, her point was precise, as though she had taken on the Slytherin duty of tugging flights of fancy back to earth. Cedric was more practical, naturally turning the conversation toward how they would begin if they actually tried it.

In short, everyone had been constructive, and that put Gavin in a very good mood.

Because he genuinely loved Transfiguration.

From the beginning, he had felt that Transfiguration touched on the most fundamental laws of this world.

What, exactly, did Transfiguration change? And what did it leave unchanged?

Were the so-called Five Exceptions truly boundaries of what magic couldn't do? Or were they merely patterns wizards had identified through long practice, without ever understanding the underlying reasons?

Once he started thinking deeply about questions like those, it was hard not to grow excited—and hard to sleep.

So late that night, while Ernie and Justin slept soundly, Gavin leaned against the side of his bed without the slightest trace of sleepiness.

Moonlight filtered through the window, and the dormitory was so quiet he could hear only his two roommates breathing steadily. Gavin stared at the top of his bed curtains for a while, then finally sat up.

If he couldn't sleep, he wouldn't.

He picked up a match from the desk and held it lightly between his fingers. By the dim moonlight, relying on motions he knew by heart, he began another attempt—he had lost count of how many he had made tonight.

Transfiguration.

His goal was still clear: a prawn cracker.

Not merely something that looked like one. He wanted to push it a little closer to actual food, even if only by a little.

At a touch of his wand, the match trembled. Its surface quickly swelled and curved, turning yellow and crisp-looking until it had every appearance of a cheap snack. Gavin picked it up and examined it in his hand. Visually, it was almost perfect,

and it even carried the faintest hint of a fried aroma.

Unfortunately, when he cut it open, the inside was still a match.

Once the crisp shell broke and the magic dissipated, the familiar grain of wood lay exposed again.

"Still no good," Gavin murmured.

He did not give up at once. He picked up another match and tried again, this time putting a little more Magic into it.

What if the problem was that the Transfiguration had not gone deep enough?

What if the Magic simply had not made it fully, convincingly food?

This time, the match changed faster and more completely. The "shrimp stick" looked even more natural than the last one—light, crisp, and airy, right down to the tiny cracks along its edges. Gavin carefully sliced it open with a small knife, his hand steady as though he were performing a very tiny dissection.

The result was the same.

At the instant he cut it open, it really did look like a snack.

But as soon as the Magic faded even slightly, its true nature showed through again. It was as though "shrimp stick" were merely an explanation forced over it, rather than what it had actually become.

The match was still a match. It had only made a better effort at pretending otherwise.

Gavin stared at the cut piece for a few seconds. Rather than feeling disappointed, he found his thoughts racing.

At the Transfiguration Club today, Professor McGonagall and the others had discussed an interesting point: the changes brought about by Polyjuice Potion did not, strictly speaking, belong to Transfiguration. They were achieved through Potions, though the result was much the same.

At the time, he had simply found the distinction interesting.

Now, though, he suddenly remembered a detail from the original books.

Someone who died while Polyjuice Potion was still in effect did not change back.

When he had first read that, he had taken it as just another part of the setting.

But viewed in the context of Transfiguration, it suddenly stood out.

They did not change back.

Why?

If the effect of Polyjuice Potion was only a surface disguise—or if, like Transfiguration, it did not truly alter anything fundamental—why would it persist after death? Logically, once the person died, their Magic would dissipate and the potion would stop working. At the very least, they ought to return to their original form.

Yet they did not.

What did that mean?

Perhaps Polyjuice Potion reached a level that ordinary Transfiguration did not.

Or perhaps—

At some point in the process, it really did "change" something deeper than Transfiguration could.

At the thought, Gavin's breathing quickened slightly.

"A clue..." he murmured.

Perhaps that was where the clue lay.

The question was not how to turn a match into a shrimp stick, but why Polyjuice Potion could go that far when ordinary Transfiguration could not.

If he could find the real difference between them, perhaps the hardest of the Five Exceptions would show its first crack.

The dormitory was still quiet. Ernie rolled over, and Justin mumbled something in his sleep.

Beside another bed in the same room, a first-year Hufflepuff student held half of a failed "shrimp stick" and stared into space.