…original form if the shaping isn't stabilized with sustained magical effort. This requires not just precision, but stamina and continuous adjustment.
Professor McGonagall stood with her arms crossed, watching Dylan attempt to mold a flame hovering above his wand tip into the shape of a phoenix.
"Keep your focus. Let your intention guide the shape," she instructed, her tone stern but encouraging.
Dylan's brow furrowed as he channeled magic carefully, watching the flames writhe under his will. Slowly, the flickers began to stretch into wings, the edges curling into a fiery semblance of feathers. But the beak collapsed, and the whole shape shimmered uncertainly.
"Steady. The form follows belief."
"I'm trying," Dylan muttered, jaw clenched. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"You're trying too hard to control. Think about understanding instead. What is a phoenix?"
Dylan blinked, letting go of raw control and instead focusing on the idea of the phoenix — a symbol of rebirth, a majestic creature that bursts from flames, serene even in the heat. He relaxed slightly, and this time, the flame responded smoothly, reforming into a more stable, glowing bird hovering in the air.
Professor McGonagall's eyes glinted, just for a second. "Much better."
The flame slowly flickered out as Dylan released the spell, panting slightly.
"That was exhausting," he said, rubbing his temples.
"As it should be," she replied. "Magic that reshapes the world — even something as ephemeral as flame — demands more than wand movements and incantations. It demands vision."
Dylan nodded, absorbing every word.
Professor McGonagall walked to her desk and handed him a small parchment. "This contains a few advanced Transfiguration principles. Study them this week. We'll apply them to fluid-based forms next time."
"Professor," Dylan said as he packed up his notes, "can I ask you something a little… off-topic?"
"Of course."
"You… You've been Deputy Headmistress for a long time. But I always felt you could be Headmistress. Like... I don't know, it seems natural."
Professor McGonagall looked at him with surprise, and then a small smile touched her lips.
"Do you know, someone once said to me, 'I predicted you would become the headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall.'"
"Really?" Dylan grinned. "Smart person."
"Perhaps. But predicting the future isn't always about seeing clearly. Sometimes it's about seeing potential."
She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Much like in shaping magic."
Dylan stood a little taller.
"Now off you go," she said briskly. "You've earned a rest."
As he walked out of the office, the corridors of Hogwarts felt a little warmer — not because of any fire spell, but because of the way hope and belief in one's potential can light a path.
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