Professor McGonagall took a paper from the drawer and handed it to Loren, motioning for him to read.
Puzzled, Loren accepted the paper and worked through it page by page. With his Reader talent, the thick manuscript went by quickly—and its content surprised him. Professor McGonagall had proposed a graded standard for Transfiguration.
Her scale drew on experiments Loren had designed and on her own experience. The structure was simple: beginner, intermediate, advanced, and master.
Beginner-level Transfiguration required the caster to turn inanimate objects into other inanimate objects with fine workmanship and no obvious flaws, with no restriction on the size of the original material.
Intermediate required turning an inanimate object perfectly into a living creature that could act normally—and demanded the caster be able to work on a wooden block smaller than one cubic centimeter.
Advanced required that the transformed living creature move fluidly and accept a degree of control; the casting material changed from wood to water, with the water's volume strictly under one cubic centimeter.
As for master-level, Professor McGonagall clearly didn't expect many to reach it. On top of the previous demands, the caster had to transform a volume of water nearly invisible to the naked eye—on the order of a cubic millimeter—into a living being whose size far exceeded the original material, and then flexibly command multiple transformed living creatures at once.
Loren read the standard and silently shook his head. Doing the math in his heart, he judged that with raw magical power and precise control, he could barely scrape into "master" requirements. The larger the gap between the original material and the creature's volume, the more magic it burned—and the finer the control it demanded.
After he finished, he asked, "Professor McGonagall, where do you place yourself on this scale?"
She wasn't surprised by the question. "Only advanced. I'm still a long way from master."
This was what Loren really wanted—to gauge Dumbledore from the side. "And Professor Dumbledore?"
"Also just short," she said. "He can work with as much as a cubic meter of water, but he can't coordinate the transformed beings in concert."
Loren exhaled, relieved. It seemed Dumbledore wasn't ahead of him in this area—though, to be fair, Loren's edge leaned on brute force and delicate control.
In truth, most adult wizards barely counted as beginners, and many didn't even rate that. Dumbledore was very nearly the ceiling of Transfiguration as it was practiced. The "master" bar wasn't something the average wizard could even think about—it was the carrot hung in front of the donkey; visible, forever out of reach.
"Loren, your 'air transfiguration' idea is a good topic," McGonagall added, "but Transfiguration hasn't reached the stage to meet your requirements. We'll need a real breakthrough first."
"I understand," Loren said. "It was a sudden idea. Since it can't be done now, please publish it in Today's Transfiguration anyway—give independent researchers a direction."
He hesitated, then added, "One more request: on this paper and on that topic, don't put my name—or at least don't put it prominently. I don't want to be famous as a child and get hounded by all sorts of people. It'll wreck my studies."
She wasn't surprised; he'd said similar things before. She wouldn't steal her student's credit either. In the end she offered a compromise. "If you don't want your name, use a pen name. After you graduate, I'll help you claim it. How about that?"
"No problem," Loren said. "In that case, I'll use 'Bubble.'"
There was meaning in the choice: some people affectionately used that nickname while whispering another title—"the master of space-time and the All-in-One, Yog-Sothoth (Outer God created by HP Lovecraft)." Loren's final aim was to approach that ideal—to edge as close to omniscience and omnipotence as a mortal could. To truly reach it… even he didn't dare imagine.
Once they'd settled that he'd contribute under a pseudonym, Loren joined in with real suggestions. He proposed slicing each tier into early, mid, and late phases, with three separate metrics: Transfiguration proficiency, finesse of magical control, and raw magical magnitude. Meet one metric for early; two for mid; all three for late.
He suggested McGonagall gather recognized Transfiguration experts to form a body dedicated to assessment—issue certificates and badges for each rank, and publish results in Today's Transfiguration.
By her original scheme, few would bother to test themselves; it would just circulate among researchers. But if you gave out certificates and badges and printed names in a professional journal, ordinary wizards would care. Getting your name into a journal was hard.
With certificates and badges in the mix, most wizards would gladly spend some time testing their Transfiguration. And once enough people took the test, comparison would kick in: if I'm beginner-early and my neighbor is beginner-mid or late, I'll want to catch up. That competition would drive growth—and who knew, a flash of insight from a "普通" wizard might give the whole field a step forward.
The logic persuaded McGonagall. She decided to rewrite the grading per Loren's plan, contact friends, and build the organization. She dove into revising her paper and drafting letters.
As Loren walked the corridors of Hogwarts, he turned over their discussion. The magical notebook could roll out in summer with real-name verification, and, working with Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration ranks could be certified through it—a neat way to promote both.
He planned to write to Mrs. Longbottom that night so she could coordinate with McGonagall early.
Another thought surfaced: the catnip extract plan he'd pitched to distract McGonagall. Thinking it through again, using a magical catnip extract to pacify transformed werewolves on full moons seemed workable—best to test on a few subjects first.
He immediately sent Peter a note in the small world: have Numbers One, Two, and Three fetch several werewolves as soon as possible, and grab a few boars and the like for comparative study.
"One," "Two," and "Three" were codenames Loren had given the experimental subjects he'd taken in Knockturn Alley. They'd had names once; here, they were just experimental stock—original names unnecessary. After he'd brainwashed them and taken them in, it was only natural he renamed them for convenience.
The small world under Peter's hand ran like clockwork. Though Peter had been brainwashed, his original wits and memory remained. Compared to working for others, serving Loren was the easiest job of his life; the tasks weren't difficult, and he commanded plenty of people. At first he'd only overseen a batch of Farm Tools and felt a little slighted; after a dozen experimental subjects were assigned under him, he felt his life had climbed to its peak. In the first half of his life he'd always been a tag-along, the managed one. With Loren, he held power, men—and a crowd of Farm Tools to boot.
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