CHAPTER 22

"Planes?" Hannah asked, surprised. "Those big iron things with wings that fly across the sky?"

"Yes—big iron things with wings," Justin nodded, clearly unimpressed by such a description of aviation. "I had problems with flying. In principle, I understand what's necessary for flying without magic—what forces, aerodynamics, and so on. But the concept of flying with complete disregard for these forces, requirements, and conditions didn't fit into my head at all."

We weren't the first to arrive for breakfast, but we weren't the last either. Taking our places at the table, we received our portions of a slightly different breakfast—standard oatmeal was present, but instead of sausages, there was sausage, scrambled eggs, and beans in tomato sauce.

The first lesson was Transfiguration, and we all had to study it together again. A few minutes before the lesson started, when everyone had taken their seats, Anthony Goldstein—a tousled blond Ravenclaw—decided to ask a burning question:

"Professor McGonagall…" He raised his hand and stood up from his seat.

The professor, who'd been sitting at her desk filling out some paperwork, looked up at him over her glasses.

"Yes, Mr. Goldstein?"

"Why did all the houses start studying together in Potions and Transfiguration classes? They used to be divided into two groups."

"Headmaster Dumbledore's orders, Mr. Goldstein," McGonagall replied as if it were obvious.

"But the reasons?"

The quiet hum of conversation that the students had been indulging in before class finally died down, and attention focused on the professor. After all, this was a pressing question, as I understood it.

"This decision is due to the presence of Dementors in the area around the school," McGonagall began, speaking clearly as if from notes. "The schedule has been introduced across all years and will allow students to be in as large groups as possible as often as possible, neutralizing the negative influence of the Dementors."

"But they're far away, Professor!" an unknown Ravenclaw girl protested indignantly.

"Certainly, Miss Turpin," McGonagall nodded in agreement. "But even at this distance, their presence has an effect. I'm sure you've already noticed subtle changes—it's as if the colors have become less vibrant, the usual amusements less enjoyable, and your morning porridge even more bland."

McGonagall's last sentence drew timid smiles from some of those present.

"Won't that overload you? Working with so many students at once…" Goldstein continued asking questions.

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Goldstein," McGonagall smiled faintly at the corners of her lips, "but I've often had to work with a large number of students studying in only two houses."

The professor glanced at the table clock.

"It's time to start the lesson."

Everyone immediately fell silent and focused, and I began to think about the situation. Dementors do affect the mind, but too insignificantly. On the other hand, if they stay here for six months or a year, the cumulative effect might become significant. Maybe it's worth considering protection from such influence? But in such matters, specifics are crucial—good foundational knowledge paired with more specialized, well-formed understanding. No matter how hard I tried to stretch the threads of association through the memory fragments—not just the elf's—I hit a void; there was nothing to recall. Though there were moments when it seemed the memories should lead somewhere, they broke off abruptly.

"Don't yawn," Ernie Macmillan, who'd sat next to me, nudged me with his elbow. "We haven't practiced Transfiguration spells yet, have we?"

There was merit to Ernie's remark, since we hadn't yet covered Transfiguration in our impromptu course to address my ignorance of magical practice.

"Mr. Granger, Mr. Macmillan," Professor McGonagall interrupted her explanation of the lesson's topic, turning her gaze from the board—with its complex formulas and diagrams—to us. "Would you mind sharing with us a topic so important that you considered it possible to ignore my lecture?"

"I beg your pardon, Professor," Ernie said modestly, lowering his eyes, prompting quiet laughter from those around him.

Nothing changes—dwarf, elf, human—students always find it amusing when a peer lands in such minor trouble.

"Mr. Granger?"

McGonagall fixed me with her stern gaze, which almost imperceptibly hinted, "Perhaps you'll answer?"

"We, Madam Professor, are concerned about my lack of any practice in Transfiguration."

"It's good that you raised this topic yourself, Mr. Granger."

McGonagall waved her wand, and various objects flew out of the door into the adjacent room one after another—matches, glasses, pieces of wood, a mouse, a beetle, and other small items. Before they landed on the desk in front of me, I already knew what was happening.

"As I understand it," McGonagall said as the objects settled behind my desk, "you know the theory very well. Since Transfiguration is a very dangerous branch of magic, you'll practice the material we've covered here, in my presence, and no other way."

Nodding at the logic of this approach, I mentally agreed with the professor—the consequences of an unsuccessful Transfiguration, if you believe the textbooks and basic logic, could, even if not kill, seriously injure, impair mobility, and leave you unable to reach the hospital wing on your own. All that'd remain would be to lie there and slowly succumb to your failed experiments.

"If you manage, without outside help," a faint smile appeared on the professor's face, "to demonstrate all the spells we've already covered during this lesson, as well as master the topic of today's lesson, then you and your house will receive twenty points."

The other students immediately began to whisper, and the main theme of this unrest was the unprecedented generosity paired with the incredible difficulty of the task. I couldn't help but notice the mocking glances from some students across all houses.

"In case of failure?" I couldn't resist asking about the other side of the coin.

"You and your house will lose five points," the professor replied, maintaining a stern expression but smiling only with her eyes.

Nodding, I settled more comfortably at the desk, took out my wand, and aimed at the very first training spell—turning a wooden match into a silver needle. The professor, ensuring I'd started, continued the lesson, the topic of which I'd been half-listening to: the obligatory repetition of Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration, the knowledge and understanding of which a wizard simply must possess. Making the correct wand movement and holding the necessary Transfiguration formula in my mind, I pointed my wand at the match. A thin trail of magic reached out, enveloped it, flowed along and inside it—but nothing happened.

I waved again, adding the image of a silver needle to the formula in my head. Again, nothing. The quiet chuckles from the Slytherins caught my attention—Malfoy and his bulky comrades were snickering, casting furtive glances at my attempts.

"What, Granger, not doing magic?" he asked quietly, trying not to attract McGonagall's notice. "A match is too much for the likes of you to carry."

Chuckling to myself, I did what I knew how to do—without tools or wands, I sent a clot of neutral magic at Malfoy, carrying a simple intent to change his hair color to red. I figured something like this would hit him where it hurt—it's not for nothing he constantly pesters the red-haired Weasley.

My trick worked, and Malfoy's almost white hair immediately began to take on a rich red hue, which couldn't help but bewilder those who saw him.