Harry potter and the stone

Chapter 26: The Art of Transfiguration



The classroom was silent except for the faint scratching of quills as Professor McGonagall paced before the rows of students. Her presence demanded attention, and even the rowdiest of first-years sat upright, eyes fixed on her.

"Transfiguration," McGonagall began, her voice crisp and precise, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone found messing about in my class will leave and not return. You have been warned."

Harry glanced at Neville, who looked ready to faint. He suppressed a small grin, finding the professor's no-nonsense demeanor oddly reassuring. She wasn't trying to scare them, but she wasn't sugarcoating anything either.

"Today, we will begin with something simple: the transformation of a matchstick into a needle. This will test your concentration, wand control, and understanding of the incantation. All three are vital for success in this discipline."

McGonagall waved her wand, and a piece of chalk began writing instructions on the board. The words "Focus - Intent - Control" appeared first, followed by a detailed explanation of the wand movement and pronunciation of the spell.

She turned back to the class. "Watch closely."

With a flick of her wand and a quiet "Fera Verto," the matchstick on her desk shimmered and transformed into a perfect, gleaming silver needle.

The class erupted into murmurs of amazement.

"You will note," McGonagall said sharply, silencing the whispers, "that this is not flashy magic. Transfiguration requires precision, not flair. Now, matchsticks are in the boxes on your desks. Begin."

Harry picked up his matchstick, turning it over in his hands. It looked so ordinary, so mundane, that the idea of turning it into anything else seemed impossible. But he wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

Neville, seated next to him, was muttering the incantation under his breath. His matchstick wobbled slightly but remained stubbornly wooden.

"Try focusing on the image of the needle," Harry suggested, remembering McGonagall's emphasis on intent. "Picture it clearly in your mind."

Neville nodded, his face scrunched in concentration.

Harry took a deep breath, steadying his thoughts. He raised his wand, carefully mimicking the movement McGonagall had demonstrated, and whispered, "Fera Verto."

The matchstick shimmered faintly but stayed the same. Harry frowned, lowering his wand. The spell felt close, as if he were on the verge of unlocking it, but something wasn't clicking.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall's voice interrupted his thoughts. She stood beside him, her sharp eyes studying his matchstick. "Not bad for a first attempt, but you're hesitating. Your wand movement was correct, but your intent wasn't strong enough."

Harry looked up at her, slightly embarrassed. "I thought I was concentrating."

"Thinking is not the same as believing," she replied. "You must see the matchstick as a needle before it becomes one. Transfiguration is as much about confidence as it is skill."

Harry nodded, her words sparking a new determination. He raised his wand again, this time clearing his mind of doubt. He imagined the matchstick in his hand becoming a needle: sleek, sharp, and metallic. He could almost feel the cool weight of it in his fingers.

"Fera Verto," he whispered.

This time, the matchstick wavered and stretched. A glimmer of silver appeared along its surface before it snapped back to wood. Harry sighed but couldn't help feeling a small surge of pride. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.

"Much better," McGonagall said with a faint smile. "Keep practicing."

Around the room, the other students were making varying levels of progress. Hermione Granger, to no one's surprise, had already managed a near-perfect needle and was helping a flustered Parvati Patil. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, was glaring at his matchstick as though it had personally offended him.

Neville's matchstick had turned slightly grey but remained stubbornly wooden. He groaned, resting his forehead on the desk.

"You're getting there," Harry said encouragingly. "At least yours changed color."

Neville gave him a weak smile and picked up his wand again. "I just don't want to blow anything up."

"Don't worry," Harry said, glancing at the matchstick in his hand. "I don't think that's possible... probably."

By the end of the class, Harry had managed to transform his matchstick into something vaguely needle-shaped. It wasn't perfect—it was still slightly lumpy and had a wooden texture—but it was progress.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said as she passed his desk. "With more practice, you'll have it down in no time."

Harry felt a swell of pride at her words. Transfiguration wasn't easy, but he could tell it was going to be one of his favorite subjects.

As the students began packing up their things, McGonagall called out, "Remember, your homework is to write a foot-long essay on the basic principles of Transfiguration. Due next week."

Harry groaned along with the rest of the class but couldn't help feeling a flicker of excitement. Hogwarts was proving to be more challenging—and rewarding—than he'd ever imagined.


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