Ron, of course, knew the spell was useless. That kind of segmented incantation, claiming to use daisies and sweet cream as offerings, was practically ritual magic. How could it possibly be a modern Transfiguration spell?
Ron had either been pranked by his brothers or was trying to show off with a joke to lighten the mood. But when a girl caught him in the act, he couldn't back down and ended up blurting out a made-up spell.
In truth, Transfiguration spells didn't require such long incantations. With a bit of practice, most could be cast without even speaking.
Transfiguration was an ancient art in the wizarding world. In mythical times, the witch Circe, who lived on the Greek island of Aeaea (and was Medea's aunt), was infamous for turning lost sailors into pigs, a feat immortalized in Homer's epic.
She could even weave Transfiguration magic into food, transforming those who ate it into pigs. Some said she achieved this through a potion akin to an enhanced version of Polyjuice, capable of permanently turning people into swine.
It was clear her fondness for pigs surpassed Neville's love for his toad or Ron's affection for Scabbers.
Debating the mechanics of her Transfiguration, however, was pointless. As a goddess of witchcraft in Greek mythology, the daughter of the sun god Helios and an ocean nymph, Circe likely wielded not just magical power but divine energy. She probably didn't even adhere to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.
What Harry didn't know was that, in the story written about him, the first three Transfiguration spells in the original books were Professor McGonagall's Animagus transformation into a cat, Hagrid's attempt to turn Dudley into a pig, and McGonagall turning her desk into a pig. Aside from the Animagus transformation, they all involved pigs—likely a deliberate nod to that ancient goddess of witchcraft.
For now, Harry only knew that this peculiar rat was extraordinarily difficult to transfigure, nearly making a fool of him in front of Ron.
Despite being just a fat rat, it had remarkable resistance. Even changing its fur color was a challenge, and Harry had to brute-force it with his overwhelming charisma.
He practically overpowered it, convincing Scabbers it was an ordinary rat, not some king among rodents.
When the rat's fur finally turned yellow, the little girl watching was stunned.
The textbooks she'd studied ahead of time hadn't mentioned such a simple spell. She turned to Harry. "That's actually a real spell? I'll remember it. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. What's your name?"
"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mumbled, but Hermione ignored him.
Harry didn't answer right away. "Before I tell you, I want to ask—why didn't you knock before coming in, Miss Granger? The boy next to you is the one who lost something, isn't he? Even he remembered to knock the first time he entered the compartment."
Harry had heard her footsteps long before she arrived. He wasn't particularly hung up on etiquette, but he wanted to teach this haughty little girl a lesson.
High and mighty, are we?
"Oh, I…" Hermione's face flushed. She wanted to explain that she was only trying to help, but under Harry's commanding presence, she lowered her head.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just in a hurry. Neville's pet is missing, and we couldn't find it anywhere."
Harry nodded, accepting her apology, then sighed. "He still hasn't found it?"
That toad couldn't be dead, could it?
No, it's probably still alive. Wizard pets often have a faint trace of magic—maybe a fraction of a percent. They're not like ordinary animals. If it hasn't been found, it's likely just good at hiding—unless it stumbled upon some scandalous sibling affair and got silenced by a senior student on the train.
"Does it have a name?" Harry asked, turning to the boy called Neville.
"Trevor, sir. My toad's name is Trevor," Neville said, overwhelmed by Harry's radiant charisma, which shone like the sun.
He, too, lowered his head, unable to meet Harry's gaze.
"Trevor? Sounds like a good name for a dog." Harry paused. "Alright, then—Trevor, come!"
He waved his wand.
Magic was wonderfully convenient at times like these.
There was a faint resistance—apparently, that toad did have some hidden magical ability, though it was far weaker than Ron's rat.
Scabbers had been subdued by Harry's charisma, kneeling before it. A toad with even less magical strength stood no chance. Its feeble resistance only excited Harry further.
The next moment, a toad flew into Harry's hand, where he caught it.
Well, "caught" wasn't quite accurate. He enveloped it in a cushion of air, avoiding direct contact with his skin.
Harry wasn't afraid of ordinary toxins—pet toads were likely harmless anyway—but he found it a bit gross.
He handed the toad to a profusely grateful Neville and glanced at the girl named Hermione. "Potter. Harry Potter."
"You're really him?" Hermione asked, lifting her head. "I know all about you, of course. I bought some extra reference books—Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. They all mention you."
"Mention me? Because of Voldemort? Alright," Harry said, unfazed. The victories in this world weren't truly his, and that always felt a bit strange.
In contrast, the songs of bards in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire would make him laugh heartily and drink deeply.
Hermione sensed that Harry didn't seem to take the infamous Dark Lord seriously, which made his presence even more awe-inspiring, almost suffocating. She led Neville out of the compartment.
Ron, belatedly realizing he'd lost face—especially in front of Harry—muttered, "We're about to be sorted into houses when we get to school. No matter which house I'm in, I don't want to be with her. That spell… maybe I just wasn't practiced enough, and that's why it failed—"
"It's not your fault. That spell was useless to begin with. It's better to cast without incantations. I was just teasing her," Harry said.
Ron froze. Even he, dense as he was, realized Harry had been protecting his dignity.
Would someone as great as him really consider a nobody like me a friend?
A profound sense of being truly respected filled his heart.
Especially when he recalled how much effort Harry had put into casting that spell on Scabbers, Ron didn't think it was Harry's fault. It had to be that fake spell.
A thought struck him: He saved my pride. I'd give my life for him… I swear loyalty to Lord Potter!
Ron stared at Harry for a long moment before stammering, "So… that spell was fake? George told me about it… he must've known it was a dud."
"Which house are your brothers in?" Harry asked.
"Gryffindor," Ron said. His whole family was Gryffindor. It'd be strange if he wasn't sorted there too.
Ron added that Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad either—just not Slytherin.
Harry looked at Ron's innocent, untainted smile and said nothing more.
Then Ron brought up the latest news in the wizarding world: the Gringotts heist.
The Daily Prophet was full of it. Several long-sealed vaults in the upper levels had been blasted open (likely with a Blasting Curse), and the gold inside was swept clean.
Someone had also tried to rob the heavily guarded lower vaults but left empty-handed, escaping unscathed.
Everyone said only the most powerful dark wizards could evade Gringotts' pursuit.
Harry gave an awkward smile, unwilling to continue the topic.
He didn't know who his accomplice was in abandoning the lower vault heist.
But the one who successfully robbed the upper vaults? That was none other than him.
"Let's change the subject," Harry said.
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