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"What if I transfigure a button that's already sewn onto clothing into a beetle?" Anthony asked. "Since the button's already interacting with the thread, what happens to the beetle?"
"No, that's not how it works," Professor McGonagall said.
She transfigured the small square table before Anthony into a pig, then—as he hurriedly moved the wobbling teapot off the pig's back—changed it back into a pale yellow round wooden table.
She explained: "No matter how much it looks like a pig, it's still just a table. Transfiguration only changes shape and appearance, not the nature of the enchanted object."
Anthony nodded. "The difference between living and non-living." Now this was familiar territory.
"Exactly. No matter how many animals Transfiguration can simulate, we can never create complete life. It might be hard to understand the difference at first..." Professor McGonagall seemed to suddenly remember her colleague was a necromancer. Paused. "But I imagine that's not a problem for you."
Anthony solemnly pointed his wand at the table. Concentrated. Told himself that no matter what it became, it would still be a 36-inch round table.
Even if it looked like a pig, sounded like a pig, oinked and snorted—it would forever be the practical, plain table in the staff room. Never mind how strange that sounded. This was magic.
Then it became a pig with wood grain. Four legs showed faint seam marks where they joined the body, as if forcibly attached. The wood-grain pig lowered its head, snuffling at the staff room floor. The tip of its snout still had pale yellow paint.
"Good attempt," Professor McGonagall encouraged calmly, picking up the student essay again. "Enjoy your time with your pig-shaped table."
Anthony was trying to stop the pig from chewing his robes. "Minerva!" He wasn't quite sure how to communicate with pigs. Could only stare warningly at the transfigured product before him.
Professor McGonagall looked up at her colleague facing off with a pig. A flash of amusement crossed her stern face. She raised her wand, waved it, undid Anthony's clumsy transfiguration.
Anthony looked at the table before him, brushed off his robes. Recalled the wood grain on the pig's back—identical to the table's. Sighed slightly. "That was the most obviously vegan pig I've ever seen."
"Nowhere near the worst transfiguration I've witnessed," Professor McGonagall consoled him. "Imagine a desk trying to roll on the ground, Henry. Then imagine four such desks in one lesson. Also, no matter how vegan it looks, please don't try eating it. Transfiguration isn't meant for food."
"Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Anthony said. Though his practice kept failing, at least he'd mastered basic transfiguration theory.
Professor McGonagall said with satisfaction, "Quite right."
Anthony took a deep breath. Raised his wand. Continued trying to transfigure a convincing pig in this leisurely holiday. Across from him, Professor McGonagall lowered her head, marked a P on the essay.
"Can Transfiguration create things that don't exist?" Anthony asked.
All seven years' worth of Transfiguration essays were graded. Professor McGonagall held a thick record book, cross-referencing something—fulfilling her Deputy Headmistress duties. Now she had leisure to drink tea while efficiently turning pages, chatting with Anthony.
"How non-existent?" she asked.
"Hm?"
Professor McGonagall looked up. Explained: "Depends how you define existence, Henry. Does this pig exist?" Her pointed hat nodded toward the pig trying to pry open the storage cabinet.
Anthony laughed. "All right. Let me ask this way—can Transfiguration create a horse with a horn on its head and wings on its sides?"
Professor McGonagall thought for a moment. Raised her wand, drew a complex pattern in the air. Then before Anthony appeared the animal he'd described—a non-existent unicorn.
The beautiful creature tapped the staff room floor with its front hoof. Neighed. Spread its wings. Nearly knocked over the tea tin and milk bottle beside it.
"A combination of unicorn and Abraxan, I suppose," Professor McGonagall said, still seated behind the table. "At least I can manage this much, but without any magical creature abilities. What animal is this, Henry?"
Anthony had already stood. He put the bottles and tins back in the cabinet. Stared at the transfigured product. Wouldn't look away for a moment.
"A unicorn. A non-existent unicorn," he said. "I've wanted to try this for ages. Thank you, Minerva."
This was the unicorn from his first storybook's illustrations. Unlike real magical world unicorns, the illustrator believed they should have wings. So young Anthony also believed these elegant, majestic animals flew freely.
He gazed in wonder at this fake unicorn made from a dining chair. Its silken mane, smooth horn, powerful muscles, strong wings, calm and gentle eyes.
"You're a genius, Minerva. You're a genius," Anthony said. "This is exactly what I imagined."
Because it took up too much space, Anthony reluctantly had Professor McGonagall undo the magic.
"So Transfiguration really can create things that don't exist at all," he marveled. "Magic is truly... magical."
Professor McGonagall shook her head. Discussing Transfiguration clearly raised her spirits. "That's because you described something we think is possible, Henry. If you wanted to transfigure... say, a three-eared rabbit—arranging the extra ear would be more complex, because it's even more contrary to common sense and imagination than an Abraxan. If you wanted a blue robe that's only red, no one could do it."
"Round square sugar," Anthony muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing," Anthony said. "So if I can't imagine something, I can't transfigure it?"
Professor McGonagall confirmed: "Yes."
"What if I only have a vague imagination?" Anthony pressed. "Like I can't specifically picture what a pig should look like—just have a rough impression. Would that affect transfiguring a table into a pig?"
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Our Wofflin school has corresponding explanations... Some effect, but not obvious, because most people know what pigs are, believe they truly exist. This common knowledge flows through magic, helping those unclear about pig appearance transfigure something matching public perception—a normal pig." She said approvingly, "If you were a student, I'd award points now."
Anthony smiled. "You could award Gryffindor points, Minerva, for your excellent patient explanation."
He considered. Had to admit this explanation made sense—at least matched his current transfiguration experience.
But on the other hand, he couldn't help shaking his head. "Marvelous. Collective unconscious..."
This made him better understand why wizards took such pride in their magic. From one angle, he quite understood why wizards thought themselves from a different world than Muggles.
In fact, Anthony now felt the whole world was like a jigsaw puzzle forced together. One side: the Muggle world believing everything could be explained by physical matter and interactions—leaning toward materialism. The other: the wizarding world heavily emphasizing emotion and confidence—leaning toward subjective idealism. Plus necromancy, whose theory approached pluralism.
If this world truly had a creator, he'd imagine them like a toddler who didn't know how to play with clay—randomly grabbed a few colors, brazenly mashed them together, called it a work.
After Easter holiday, Anthony welcomed his second Apparition lesson.
Several students had been laughing loudly, discussing what they'd done during break. Seeing Anthony stand beside them, they exchanged what they thought were subtle glances—more like grimaces—suddenly got stomach aches.
By the time they returned from the bathroom, most people receiving Apparition training had arrived. They could only regretfully abandon front positions, found an empty spot at the hall's rear.
With a soft crack, the Ministry instructor, Wilkie Twycross, appeared punctually before everyone.
He repeated the importance of the three Ds again. Waved his wand. Had everyone practice with the appearing wooden hoops. The trainees looked at each other. Saw bewilderment on each face. If every lesson would be like this, Anthony sincerely felt Filch could be assistant instructor.
After last time's strange splinching, Twycross had prepared a wooden hoop for Anthony too. Sat quietly before him.
Anthony glanced at him. The instructor still didn't spare this side half a look. Only when the student beside Anthony got dizzy from nerves and low blood sugar, spinning himself to the ground, did Twycross lightly wave his wand, sent the person to rest aside.
All right. Destination, Determination, Deliberation.
Anthony carefully examined the wooden hoop opposite him. After repeating observation and looking away several times, he closed his eyes. Confirmed he'd clearly memorized its appearance and distance. Then spread his arms, began spinning—
He saw with peripheral vision that nearby people had stopped practicing. Were nervously staring at him. Anthony exhaled. Concentrated on recalling the hoop. Imagined himself standing in the hoop, head and all—
Then came familiar compression. He felt his whole self being squeezed flat, stretched long, twisted, extended. His eyeballs, eardrums, nose all seemed pressed inward. He wondered if Dumbledore's nose got broken during interrupted Apparition—after all, Anthony could imagine him frequently needing business trips for meetings—
Finally, applause. Anthony's ears still rang. Took a moment to realize what happened.
He looked down. He stood inside the wooden hoop. Not exactly his planned position, but still in the hoop. Arms and legs completely connected to his torso. Anthony raised his hand. Touched his head. Then his neck.
"Professor Anthony, don't worry—nothing's missing!" a student shouted.
Another yelled: "We were all watching!"
Anthony relaxed. He really didn't want to scare away more Stan Shunpikes.
Twycross said quietly, "Well done. The first success, everyone."
Anthony walked back to the starting point. Several nearby students cautiously approached, asking for successful Apparition secrets. Anthony roughly explained his thinking. But when they pressed further, he nearly blurted out the three Ds like Twycross.
Only after actually Apparating did he realize these three points were absolutely brilliant—completely summarized the entire process.
He tried again. This time compression came faster. He appeared closer to his expected position. But the awkward compression feeling hadn't diminished at all.
More students surrounded him when he returned. Anthony had to describe his Apparition process again, give advice based on his pitiful experience.
"Try spinning more smoothly, lad." He steadied a Slytherin student who nearly fell backward. "Don't rush. No need to treat yourself like a top." This student had impatiently started spinning during his explanation. Left foot immediately tripped over right foot.
He demonstratively spun once, signaled the student to try again.
But even following his method exactly, the student still couldn't feel the "compression" Anthony described.
A Gryffindor sixth-year did manage—with a loud crack, appeared wobbling three feet outside the corresponding hoop. Fortunately, he hadn't splinched at all.
Others in the hall seemed focused on that too.
Before cheers and applause, the hall briefly fell silent. Anthony noticed not just himself—almost everyone was rapidly scanning where the student had been, trying to find if he'd left behind something he shouldn't lose.
A head, for instance.
Anthony applauded while suspecting he'd taught other students a vivid Apparition safety lesson last time.
He heard the student beside him whisper, "What if I splinch..."
"I'm a special case." To dispel his doubts, Anthony helplessly replied. "Splinching like that isn't easy."
He probably knew why the student kept failing Apparition. Too worried about splinching—severely lacked determination for Apparition.
Anthony saw him fearfully preparing to apologize. Waved his hand, signaled him to relax. "Have more confidence in yourself. Or more confidence in me. I dare say no one in this hall could splinch that terrifyingly."
He'd researched after returning. Aside from emergency Apparition causing splinching, most splinching came from insufficient attention to that body part.
And Anthony had relatively good reason to believe he was the person in this entire hall who cared least about his head.
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