Dispelling Illusions and the Success of Living Transfiguration

As for Professor McGonagall... If she hadn't known before that this hairpin harbored a spirit—an embodiment of her lingering thoughts of her late husband—she might not have felt anything unusual.

But now that she knew, now that she had personally performed the transfiguration herself—

Looking at the adorable ginger cat grooming itself on the desk, she couldn't understand why this time felt different, even though she had performed similar transfigurations countless times before.

It was as if—

As if she had twisted her own longing for her departed husband, or perhaps even toyed with it. The realization left Professor McGonagall with complicated emotions.

Even though she could not perceive the spirits Harry described—the ones that only a shaman could see—she could now somewhat understand why he had used the word "twisted."

If a spirit were like a person, then what she had just done was akin to forcibly altering that person's form by her own will—giving them cat ears, beastly claws, or perhaps even an extra mouth or multiple noses. No wonder "twisting" was the word Harry had chosen.

It certainly wasn't a pleasant thought.

"...Let's continue, Harry." Pressing her fingers against her temples, Professor McGonagall sighed. "Next, I will revert it to its original form. I want you to observe the changes in its spirit during the process."

"Yes, Professor."

Once again, she counted down from three. The moment the final count ended, Professor McGonagall swished her wand, and in an instant, the obedient little ginger cat transformed back into a brown hairpin, lying silently on the desk.

The only evidence of what had just occurred was the faint scratch marks left on a nearby student's parchment.

"And this time?" Professor McGonagall exhaled and asked, "During the reversal, did the hairpin's spirit undergo any changes?"

"It reverted," Harry said, sounding a little surprised. "It no longer feels like a cat. That liveliness, that curiosity—it's all gone."

"Are you certain?" Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow slightly. "Completely reverted? Exactly the same?"

"Well… that's hard to say, Professor." Harry chuckled awkwardly. "Most spirits can't speak, after all. Unless they've gathered enough energy to manifest in the physical world, it's nearly impossible to observe such subtle changes. I can only get a general sense of it."

"I see." Leaning back in her chair, Professor McGonagall fell into deep thought.

The knowledge she had just gained from Harry, the events that had just unfolded, and her own feelings all swirled in her mind.

Spirits... Transfiguring spirits born from longing... Humans... Twisting...

The office fell silent again as Harry, too, was lost in thought, contemplating what Transfiguration truly meant to a shaman.

"Harry?" Professor McGonagall suddenly broke the silence. "Have you ever spoken with the ghosts in the castle?"

"I have," Harry replied. "I've listened to them talk about Hogwarts in the past—it's quite fascinating."

"Yes, in a way, they are vessels of bygone knowledge. But that's not what I want to discuss right now." Her eyes grew brighter as she spoke. "What I want to ask is—have you ever noticed how they died?"

"Their cause of death?" Harry was puzzled.

"That's right. Take Sir Nicholas, for example—Gryffindor's house ghost." Professor McGonagall added, "I imagine he was more than eager to show you his... head."

"Oh, right—Nearly Headless Nick," Harry chuckled.

Sir Nicholas loved nothing more than tugging his head to the side and complaining about how the executioner who had tried to behead him had done such a poor job, leaving his head barely attached by a strip of flesh.

"He doesn't particularly like that nickname," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. "In fact, as far as I know, Sir Nicholas has long been applying to join a ghostly club—the Headless Hunt—but has been repeatedly denied because his head wasn't fully severed."

"That's a real shame," Harry said sincerely.

"It is. But the point isn't the executioner's lack of skill—it's the fact that a wizard's cause of death remains imprinted on their ghostly form," McGonagall continued, shaking her head.

"...I remember the Bloody Baron of Slytherin," Harry murmured as he recalled. "His robes are still stained with blood from the moment he died."

"Exactly!" McGonagall said excitedly. "When the body is damaged, the soul is altered accordingly, even affecting the form a ghost takes—do you understand now, Harry?"

"You are too fixated on the intangible nature of spirits," she said sharply. "But spirits are influenced by the physical world. Didn't you just say that if people irrationally worship or fear something, that very belief can give rise to a spirit?"

"...Yes." Harry couldn't deny it.

"And that is precisely the issue, isn't it?" McGonagall stated clearly. "You expect something that is inherently shaped by people's actions and beliefs to remain unchanged forever—but how could that possibly be?"

A sudden realization struck him.

Harry's eyes widened as he stared into Professor McGonagall's gaze. It was like swallowing an ice cube on a sweltering summer day—so clear, so vast.

"I admire your perspective on the world, Harry," she said gently. "You have a kind heart, and you strive to treat everything around you with fairness—even the unseen."

"But you must understand this, Harry—nothing in this world remains unchanged," McGonagall said, her voice steady. "Just as grass sprouts and withers, as people grow and pass away, thoughts, too, evolve with experience and exposure. That is growth."

"When that growth is reflected in the soul, it makes each of our spirits unique—just as our physical forms distinguish us in the real world."

"Even wizards, wielders of magic—this miraculous force—cannot escape this fundamental truth."

As she spoke, McGonagall waved her wand. The hairpin on the table began shifting forms.

It became a mouse.

A cat.

A beetle.

And in Harry's eyes, its spirit changed as well, before finally returning to its original form.

Though its form had altered repeatedly, one thing remained constant—the radiant, gentle warmth he had sensed from the beginning, filled with a deep blessing.

"I admire your ideals," McGonagall said earnestly. "You aspire to become a balancer of elemental forces—that is commendable. But Harry, you are not separate from this world. You exist within it."

"And because of that, everything you do—your thoughts, your actions, your magic—will inevitably affect those around you. How could you ever remove yourself from that equation?" She shook her head. "That would be arrogance, Harry. Pure arrogance."

"So, in my view, Transfiguration isn't about distorting an object. To be honest, the term itself feels a bit too harsh," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. She gestured toward the hairpin on the table and continued, "It remains what it is, doesn't it? This was a gift from my husband, and my thoughts of him... have not changed in the slightest."

As she spoke, Harry drew his wand, glanced around, and then pointed it at a student's submitted essay, casting a Transfiguration spell.

"You were right, Professor." Closing his eyes, Harry let out a long breath, his voice sincere. "I was too arrogant. I had been caught in my own stubborn thinking."

The next second, the essay began to shift—curling, folding, reshaping itself into the form of a cat. Unlike the struggles and halts he had encountered before, this time the transformation was seamless, flowing without the slightest pause.

When Harry finally lowered his wand, a tabby cat sat atop the desk, calmly grooming its fur. The markings around its eyes bore a striking resemblance to the spectacles Professor McGonagall wore—precisely the Animagus form she had demonstrated to the first-year students in their very first Transfiguration lesson.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Congratulations, Harry, you did it." Professor McGonagall applauded, her eyes filled with approval. She glanced at the cat, then back at Harry with a teasing note in her voice. "It's a remarkable likeness—your observational skills are almost too keen. If only this were during class, I'd be giving you ten points for it."

"May the Mother of the Land watch over you, Professor." Harry tapped his chest with his right hand in an ancient gesture of respect, his tone filled with gratitude. "Thank you for your guidance."

"As a professor, it's my duty to help students overcome their doubts and difficulties." McGonagall's expression softened. "I imagine this time, you've truly felt the essence of Transfiguration?"

Teaching students, Quidditch, and Transfiguration—these were the three things Professor McGonagall cherished most.

"Yes, I believe I finally understand the allure of Transfiguration, and everything you've said just now." Harry spoke with enthusiasm. "No form of spirit is born from nothing, and the essence of an object is shaped by the foundation of its existence—just as our own spirit is rooted in our bodies."

"When I transformed that piece of parchment into a cat just now, I could feel the entire process clearly. It was completely different from what I had imagined before."

His expression turned thoughtful as he reached out to pick up the tabby cat, scratching its chin. The cat purred contentedly, rubbing against his fingers with unmistakable affection.

Then, Harry looked up—only to find Professor McGonagall watching him with a peculiar expression. He gave a slightly awkward chuckle and hastily placed the cat back on the desk.

He had nearly forgotten—this cat bore an uncanny resemblance to McGonagall's Animagus form.

That was close. Very close.

"Fascinating!" Harry exclaimed, still savoring the sensation of casting the spell. "I didn't need to consciously control its legs or body movements. The transformation wasn't just about changing its shape—the parchment didn't remain a lifeless thing, it became a living creature!"

"I gave it everything a cat should have—the internal structure, the temperament, the voice. I turned it from an ordinary piece of parchment into an actual cat." Harry analyzed his own spell carefully.

"But it's only temporary," McGonagall interjected. "Once your magic dissipates, it will revert to parchment."

"Exactly." Harry nodded. "It's as if I placed a label on the parchment, and for as long as the label remains, it becomes what the label says. But once the label is removed, the parchment is still parchment—it never truly changed."

"It's incredible," Harry murmured in wonder. "When I transfigured the parchment into a cat, it felt like I was redefining its existence. Magic filled in all the missing details based on my understanding of what a cat should be. Yet, it didn't create a false or temporary spirit—at its core, it remains parchment."

"It's like digging a deep pit in the ground," Harry continued, "and the moment it connects to the sea, the water naturally flows in to fill it. It's amazing. Is this what magic truly is?"

Wizards only needed to take the first step—magic and magical energy would take care of the rest.

"I believe you've truly stepped onto the path of Transfiguration now, Harry. Keep exploring." McGonagall smiled. "I recommend subscribing to Today's Transfiguration—it features many fascinating stories and the latest research in the field."

"As for past issues, you may borrow them from me." With a flick of her wand, a stack of magazines flew out from a nearby cabinet and landed beside Harry. "I've included my own notes and insights on each article—you may find them useful for your studies."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said earnestly. "I will cherish them."

Professor McGonagall had always shown him great care, but these annotated magazines were a particularly generous gift. They would be invaluable in helping him master Transfiguration—this was knowledge that couldn't simply be bought with money.

No matter where one was, knowledge was always the most precious treasure.

Harry would remember this kindness.

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