CHAPTER 23

If someone knew that it was my manipulations causing this, yet I couldn't transfigure a match, they'd be very surprised. The thing is, the local school of magic is vastly different from the one I'm accustomed to. In a way that's completely incomprehensible to me, a combination of words, gestures, thought-forms, and formulas forces the wizard's neutral magic to perform a specific function embedded in that combination—yet the magical energy itself doesn't undergo any structural changes, so to speak. On one hand, this isn't surprising, because one facet of witchcraft through internal energy is exactly this: causing a specific effect, altering reality or its individual aspects, using only magical energy without powering various structures and such. But there's a huge, utterly baffling paradox here—why do all wizards achieve the same result?

Simply put, it's quite easy to embody an image or fantasy through neutral magic. Essentially, it's enough to pass the magic through the prism of consciousness containing the necessary image and direct it to the target with an effort of will. But the crux is that just as no two people have identical consciousnesses, there shouldn't be absolutely identical magic based on this principle. Here lies an obvious contradiction—a group of wizards with internal neutral energy creates absolutely identical charms and spells from completely unstructured magic. Well, not accounting for the "designer" aspects, so to speak. In general, much remains unclear.

While I was pondering magic and simultaneously searching for the key to successful Transfiguration, Malfoy began to panic and tried to cancel my magic with *Finite**—unsuccessfully.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, not overlooking such a flagrant breach of discipline, "minus one point from Slytherin for trying to emulate Mr. Weasley."

The almost invisible grin on the professor's face suggested, "The prank was a success." Her manner of deducting points reminded me of Snape, hinting that the rivalry wasn't just between Gryffindor and Slytherin houses but also between their Heads.

Ignoring the quiet laughter of the students, I waved my wand again, but this time I added not just an image of the match suddenly becoming a needle, but one where it gradually transformed into it. I even included a mental illusion of the needle's sensations in my hands, though I didn't go further into molecular changes. The match turned into a needle in a split second.

"I get the point," I nodded to myself with a smile.

"What?" Ernie looked up from his futile—and nearly imperceptible—attempts to watch Malfoy and his cronies fix the hair situation.

"I'm saying I understood the essence of Transfiguration. It seems so."

"Well, well," Ernie expressed deep skepticism, returning to copying more diagrams from the board.

Quickly scanning the remaining textbooks, I pulled the necessary formulas from memory, compared them with the required images—making them as complete as possible to convey the essence of the objects—and began to conjure, transforming items one after another with the desired results. Ernie watched with wide eyes as a button emerged from a beetle, followed by a snuffbox, a glass, and other small objects as required by the past years' curriculum.

"Really…" he exhaled. "I mean, really."

"Really?" I grinned, looking at the boy.

"It's all Justin and his words. You hear them a couple of times, and they stick…"

My successes didn't go unnoticed by McGonagall. The professor approached us and carefully examined the products of my magical manipulations.

"Excellent Transfiguration, Mr. Granger. Perhaps you've already grasped the topic of today's lesson?"

"Gamp's Laws with their exceptions, Professor?"

"Exactly."

Standing up from my seat and looking at the students—who were watching my every move with rapt attention—I declared:

"Transfiguration or creation from thin air applies to all material, non-magical, quantifiable, single, and separate objects, the change or creation of which doesn't contradict the laws established by the Ministry of Magic. As for exceptions, there are five."

"List them?"

"You can't create food out of nothing," I began, counting on my fingers, "or turn something into a person, or turn an ordinary object into a magical one, or create something magical. You can't transfigure money, precious metals, or stones. You can't transfigure time."

"Very well," McGonagall nodded. "But here's an important question for you and everyone else. How do you understand these laws and their exceptions?"

McGonagall surveyed the class; everyone looked thoughtful.

"It seems to me that you're old enough to move beyond memorization to meaningful understanding—at least regarding the basic material. Anyone care to answer? Mr. Granger?"

I hadn't yet sat down, so I decided to share several conclusions and assumptions based on both the material I'd read and a vague, incomplete—but still present—understanding of such transformations from memory fragments.

"I can't say for sure or confirm anything, but I have some thoughts on this topic."

McGonagall nodded approvingly, as if granting permission to continue.

"The law itself has a certain duality. It states that some types of Transfiguration are simply impossible to perform, and also that some of those that are possible are already punishable by Ministry law."

"Go on, Mr. Granger," the professor encouraged.

"The object of Transfiguration must satisfy several conditions. It must be singular, an independent numerical unit, not in a rigid, immobile connection with other objects that prevents mutual mobility—and most importantly, it must not have magical properties."

"A very articulate explanation, Mr. Granger," McGonagall nodded again. "I recommend that those unable to decipher the essence of the law for themselves write down these words. Mr. Granger, I'd like to hear examples of objects that satisfy one or more of these requirements."

Quite a few students from our class immediately began scribbling on their parchment.

"I think, Professor, with a non-magical object it's simple—anything that doesn't have magic, a magical property, isn't enchanted, and doesn't bear an activated runic engraving or similar. Quantifiable—something that can be mentally and physically separated from a group of similar objects. For example…"

I took my usual notebook from the desk.

"A notebook. One unit. Separable from other notebooks. It can be transfigured. However, it's impossible to transfigure just a part of the notebook by targeting the effect specifically on that part. But it's possible to transfigure a separately selected sheet or several sheets."