When he came out of the Forbidden Forest, a thick swath of snow blanketed the entire lawn that linked to the Quidditch pitch.
Amid the white expanse, Sean didn't feel stifled—he felt at peace.
In the Transfiguration office, the hearth's heat melted the stray snow on him. A tabby cat sat high on a chair; her gaze toward Sean was deeply gentle.
Even perceiving in her kneazle form, she could only sense a profound closeness and goodwill.
This was a boy even owls were willing to linger on a little longer.
As Sean's fire-salamanders skittered about, the tabby leapt and became a tall witch.
"Mr. Green, I think it's time. Come with me."
The professor in black robes led the way out. Sean, in matching black robes, followed; wind and snow dusted both their cloaks the same white.
Quidditch practice was never canceled for weather. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were training the most these days.
Wood had nearly come to blows with Roger over pitch time.
Tensions between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were running high.
Professor McGonagall's destination didn't seem to be the pitch itself; she stopped beneath several stone statues along its edge.
In truth, statues were everywhere at Hogwarts—the wild boars above the great doors, the one-eyed witch, and more. But nowhere was as open and statue-filled as the grounds around the Quidditch pitch.
Seeing them, Sean had a guess what she was going to discuss.
"For elements with a definite image—especially those symbolizing magical beasts—transfiguration isn't so difficult," McGonagall said warmly. "But for elements that appear to have no innate magic, wizards often struggle to find a way to use them."
Sean listened carefully; he understood.
In his "object to magic" transfigurations, he could harness the magical aspect of salamanders, fire-crabs, or snowmen. But truly animating a fireplace was far harder. So far he could only make a small part of a hearth hop and scuttle about.
"Magic seems to favor certain elements. But working with what magic does not favor… that is the true test of a wizard's skill in Transfiguration."
McGonagall flicked her wand—the statue stirred to life.
The knight brandished his sword twice in the snow, then bowed to Sean.
Curious, Sean laid a hand on the hilt; a cold bite ran up his palm as ice and snow soon glazed it.
"The key is shaping your magical circuit. Try it, child," McGonagall said gently, a note of expectation in her eyes.
She didn't mention that building a wizard's own circuit is a formidable challenge.
Sean flicked his wand; the massive statue raised an arm slightly… then nothing.
He fell into thought. Magical beasts do give an element a form—say, a fire salamander. A wizard knows how its magic flows and how it moves; more importantly, he believes in flame come alive in that form.
"Clear intent, firm conviction, sufficient will."
Those Transfiguration tenets—a salamander fulfills most of them.
So how to make a statue move?
By next day's practice, he was still wrestling with it.
—Of course: imagine the statue as a living magical creature, and build its current of magic accordingly.
The knight statue shivered under his wand again.
Sean failed once more.
Conjuring a circuit from nothing was still too hard.
McGonagall didn't blink, watching him; not even the pitch's clamor drew off a sliver of her attention.
It was rare to see the boy frustrated…
Forging one's own circuit matters; it convinces a wizard he can do it. McGonagall patiently waited for him to work. Even for the gifted, this takes two or three months.
The days that followed were hard practice, but:
[You practiced an advanced Transfiguration at Initiate standard. Proficiency +10]
[You practiced an advanced Transfiguration at Initiate standard. Proficiency +10]
[You practiced an advanced Transfiguration at Journeyman standard. Proficiency +30]
Inspiration is fleeting; the panel makes it concrete.
Sean compared relentlessly; his progress surged.
When he was spent, Sean shrank into a black cat.
It was the wizard who tired; the cat had nothing to do with it.
In feline form, he trained bodily control; now he could slip through the Transfiguration office door's gap.
It was a dim, tense Tuesday.
Tomorrow was Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff.
Pitch bookings were full; outside the pitch—
[You practiced an advanced Transfiguration at Expert standard. Proficiency +1000]
A stone plinth moved to Sean's will—only a meter high, but enough to elate him.
"Incredible progress, child!"
McGonagall stood in the snow; after her usual surprise, pride always followed.
Sensing a looming mana dip, Sean had already turned into a black cat.
A notebook slipped from his neck, floated up:
[Yes, Professor.]
"An amusing invention…" McGonagall hadn't expected that.
A quill wrote on the floating book while the cat bobbed its head. When the writing faded, they drifted back to the cat's neck and became a small pendant.
McGonagall glanced, belatedly, at her own wrist. So the "necklace" the child gave her yesterday…?
[While transformed, it detaches automatically; afterward it reattaches to the wizard.]
Sean explained with a craftsman's pride.
A cat expounding its invention in the snow—no wonder McGonagall had to fight a smile.
The air at the pitch's edge was light; inside, it was anything but.
"Beat Hufflepuff, then crush Gryffindor!"
Roger punched the air from atop a chair in the Ravenclaw locker room.
"For the first time in seven years, smash Ravenclaw to pieces! We'll give it everything—we'll make Professor McGonagall take notice!"
Wood was roaring in the Gryffindor locker room not far away.