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Chapter 149: I Promise
🕑 Added 2025-11-26 11:40:26 +0000 UTCChapter 149: I Promise
The Weasley twins faced swift punishment for enchanting snowballs to chase Professor Quirrell around the castle, bouncing them relentlessly off the back of his turban.
Sean, witnessing the scene, was bewildered.
First, Penelope's fire-lizard, and now the Weasleys' snowballs. It seemed Hogwarts students had an instinctive knack for tormenting the Dark Lord, even unknowingly.
No wonder Voldemort was so determined to attack the school. It was personal.
As a clearly annoyed Professor Sprout dragged the twins away by their ears, Sean continued towards the castle. He had done all the preparation; now, it was time for practice.
The corridors were drafty, the wind whistling through the cracks. The fire in the Transfiguration office was low.
McGonagall stood by the window, clutching a letter, her gaze distant, as if seeing a winter from long ago. The firelight danced in the reflection of her square spectacles, illuminating a flicker of sadness she kept hidden from the world.
She set the letter down slowly, deliberately, as if merely tidying her desk. The snowy landscape of Hogwarts stretched out beyond the glass.
Knock, knock, knock.
Sean tapped gently on the heavy oak door.
"Mr. Green, I've told you many times, there's no need to knock. Come in, child," a warm voice called out.
Sean pushed the door open. Despite her permission, he had no intention of changing his habit. Personal space was sacred. Just because he had a key didn't mean he should barge in unannounced.
Inside, the fire had been stoked and was now burning brightly.
Professor McGonagall had been exceptionally busy lately. She sat perched on her high-backed chair, quill scratching ceaselessly as she graded papers and processed student disciplinary forms, moving with a focused urgency, as if preparing for something significant.
"Regarding the transformation of 'self' into an 'animate' object, Mr. Green... that requires extreme caution. Therefore, today we will focus on the transformation of 'objects' into 'magic'."
McGonagall set aside her marking. With a sharp flick of her wand, a jet of flame leaped from the hearth, licking at the air, almost reaching Sean's face. With another precise wave, the flame twisted into the shape of a lizard, which scurried back into the fireplace and vanished.
"This form of Advanced Transfiguration," she explained, "requires a stronger will and a higher level of magical power. Most importantly, when you imbue your chosen object with magic… you must believe it already possesses that magic inherently."
Her words, which he had already read in her notes, resonated more deeply now.
"Today, you will learn to imbue the fire in that hearth with such 'magic'."
Professor McGonagall's gaze softened. In just three weeks, the boy had not only memorized the two notebooks she had given him but had also read through three supplemental Transfiguration textbooks. She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen him in the corridor without a book in his hand. Most sixth-years would be lucky to finish one of those texts in three weeks.
Sean, intrigued, stepped closer to the fireplace. The flames flared suddenly, making him flinch back. He clutched his notebook, the words on the page glowing faintly in the firelight: [A clear and specific intent, unwavering belief, and sufficient willpower] – the core tenets of Transfiguration, according to McGonagall.
He raised his wand. At the 'Expert' level he was approaching, incantations were becoming less necessary. The fire leaped at his gesture. He focused, imagining the flames dancing, guiding a small tendril out from the hearth as the professor had instructed. The first step was surprisingly easy.
[You have practiced an Advanced Transfiguration to the Apprentice standard. Proficiency +30]
[You have practiced an Advanced Transfiguration to the Apprentice standard. Proficiency +30]
Within minutes, Sean could make a small flame dance and weave at the tip of his wand. It was a tiny wisp, but it made Professor McGonagall smile.
"Very good, Mr. Green. Now, try to control a larger flame..."
When Sean left the office later, he knew he had officially stepped across the threshold into Advanced Transfiguration. He was leagues behind the professor's fire-lizard, of course, but it was a start. As McGonagall had said, "Most wizards fail to elicit any response from the flames on their first attempt. It often takes a month of steady practice to achieve what you just did…"
He suspected his rapid progress was due to his title:
[Title: Transfiguration Master]
[Effect: Significantly improves unique perception of inanimate-to-magical transformations.]
That perception helped him find the "knack" for making the flames obey.
Just before he left, McGonagall approached him. The firelight softened her usually severe features as she took his hand.
"You will receive a letter this Christmas, I promise."
Sean, who could decipher the most obscure magical texts with ease, found himself baffled by the sudden emotion in her voice.
The snow deepened, and Professor Sprout's smile grew warmer.
"Come spring, the life buried beneath this snow will burst forth even stronger," she would say, leaning on her hoe.
Outside the castle, Sean, Justin, and Neville trudged through the snow towards the greenhouses. Nearby, Harry was returning from Quidditch practice.
"I do feel so sorry," drawled Draco Malfoy, standing in the snow with Crabbe and Goyle, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."
He looked pointedly at Harry. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.
Harry ignored them, his attention drawn to Ron, who had come to meet him, accompanied by Hagrid in his massive moleskin coat. Ron was holding a steaming mug of honey-lemon tea—a gift from Justin.
Ever since the Quidditch match, Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual. Furious about Slytherin's defeat, he had tried to get everyone to laugh by saying a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker. When no one found it funny—impressed as they were by Harry staying on his bucking broomstick—Malfoy, jealous and angry, had resorted to taunting Harry about not having a proper family.
"And you, Weasley, move aside, you're blocking the path," Malfoy sneered, his voice cold. "Trying to cozy up to Hagrid? Hoping to be a gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts? I suppose his hut must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."
Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape appeared on the scene.
"WEASLEY!"
Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.
"He was provoked, Professor Snape," Hagrid rumbled. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."
Neither Hagrid nor Harry held out much hope. Everyone knew Snape was unfair.
Ron seethed, bracing himself for Snape's bias. It had happened a dozen times before.
To their astonishment, Snape said nothing for a moment. He stared darkly at them, his gaze flicking briefly to a pair of green eyes disappearing into the distance towards the greenhouses.
"What… did he say?" Snape asked, a nameless fury tearing through his chest.
"Oh—I just said someone has no parents… and is laughably poor…" Malfoy smirked, oblivious to the heaving chest beneath the black robes.
"Get out of my sight—all of you!" Snape roared, directing his fury first at Harry and Ron.
Terrified by this unprecedented display of rage, they scrambled away.
"Strange," Ron panted as they ran. "Harry, did we just… get away with it?"
(End of Chapter)
