October was about to end in wind and rain. November loomed. Hogwarts felt cold as forged iron; each morning brought a hard rime, and the icy wind cut hands and cheeks.
The sky—and the Hall's enchanted ceiling—had faded to a pale blue-gray. Snow capped the mountains around Hogwarts. With the castle so much colder, many students wore thick dragon-hide gloves when they loitered in the corridors between classes.
Sean stood outside the office; his breath turned to white mist as he rapped lightly on the door.
"Mr. Green, I've told you many times—no need to knock. Come in, child," came a gentle voice from within.
He pushed the door open. The professor had said it often, but he never meant to change. A private space is delicate and inviolable; being given a key doesn't mean he should always let himself in.
Inside, the fireplace was, as ever, cheerfully ablaze.
These days the professor was always busy—perched on a tall chair, endlessly marking papers or addressing students' missteps. It was as if she were preparing something larger.
"As for the shift from 'self' to 'living creature,' Mr. Green—that requires greater caution. So today we'll study the change from object to magic."
Professor McGonagall paused her grading. With a flick of her wand, the fire surged out of the hearth; the tongues of flame nearly licked Sean's cheek. Another wave, and the flames shaped themselves into a lizard and scampered back into the fireplace.
"This advanced transfiguration needs stronger will and higher power. Most importantly, when you infuse your chosen object with magic… you must believe it possessed magic to begin with."
She'd written those words in the notes she'd given Sean; hearing them now only deepened his understanding.
"Today, you'll learn to imbue the hearth fire with that magic."
Her expression softened. After all, the student before her had memorized two notebooks she'd assigned—and finished three Transfiguration texts—in just three weeks. In the corridor, she had never seen Green without a book in hand. For most sixth-years, finishing even one in three weeks would be an achievement.
Curious, Sean leaned closer to the fire; it flared, and he stepped back. He cradled a notebook; the ink near the hearthlight had taken on a faint yellow tint:
[Specific, clear intent; steadfast conviction; sufficient will]
—lines from McGonagall's notes, and the abiding essence of Transfiguration.
Sean swept his wand. At Expert level, he no longer needed to speak the spell. That level matched a fully fledged adult wizard; a few upper-years might reach it, but very few.
The flames leapt more keenly to his motion. He pictured them dancing; following the professor's guidance, he drew them out. That step came easily.
[You practiced an advanced transfiguration once at an Apprentice standard. Proficiency +30]
[You practiced an advanced transfiguration once at an Apprentice standard. Proficiency +30]
…
In short order the flames began to answer his wand—just a slim tongue of fire, but enough to delight McGonagall.
"Very good, Mr. Green. Next, try to command more of the fire…"
Leaving the Transfiguration office, Sean knew he now had one foot through the door of advanced Transfiguration. He was still far from the professor's fire-lizard—but it was, in any case, a fine start.
As McGonagall had said:
"Most witches and wizards get no reaction at all from the fire on their first attempts. It takes at least a month of uninterrupted practice to manage even that…"
Sean guessed his title-granted aptitude helped:
[Title: Master of Transfiguration]
[Greatly enhances unique perception of transitions from non-magic to magic within the Transfiguration domain]
That perception kept helping him find the knack for making the flames "obey."
After he left, firelight still filled the classroom. The professor flicked her wand; a drawer became a piglet, which politely handed her an envelope stuffed with thick stationery. Seeing the pages, her eyes grew even gentler.
In the corridor,
Sean pulled on thick gloves and tugged his scarf higher so he could read the notebook in his hands.
—A pure-black cover. The first page crammed with warnings—this was Professor Flitwick's notes on the Dark Arts.
The Dark Arts might easily make Headmaster Dumbledore… uneasy.
But that didn't mean Sean would abandon them. As Flitwick had said:
"The Dark Arts are a blade. The ill-willed wield it foully—but in the end, it follows the wielder's purpose."
One reason: Dark Arts progress climbs very fast—after all, you can never have too many trumps, and the more spells a wizard knows, the stronger he is.
Another reason: Professor Flitwick himself was supervising Sean's Dark Arts work.
"Excellent! Oh—what astonishing talent…"
In the Charms classroom, Flitwick paced, muttering, "Oh, I'll handle this," "I need to keep a closer eye on this child," "Thank goodness it's young Green," while mending the books Sean had blasted away. Lately, almost every practice had taken place under the professor's nose, with him setting the bounds.
[You practiced the Knockback Jinx once at an Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
[You practiced the Knockback Jinx once at a Master standard. Proficiency +300]
…
"Goodbye, Professor."
With the sunset slanting, Sean left the Charms classroom and, in the corridor, quietly opened his panel:
[You are a historically rare genius in the Dark Arts; the Dark Arts will actively embrace you; you are a born king of the Dark Arts]
Sean quickly skimmed past the nonsense.
[Knockback Jinx: Expert (10/30000)]
At Expert, the Knockback Jinx was instantaneous and nonverbal. Paired with Levitation's many applications, Sean's practical prowess even surprised Flitwick—underestimate him, and he might just make an adult wizard take a nasty spill.
"Filius—an unsettling gift, isn't it?" an aged voice sounded in the room.
"And yet, a wizard who puts one at ease," Flitwick replied—his moustache quirked with his smile.
The elderly wizard beside him didn't disagree; he only nodded, very slightly.