CHAPTER 24

"Several sheets? Shouldn't the object be single and separate?" the professor smirked, and some students shot me mocking glances.

"It depends on the type of manipulation. Technically, one spell requires one object, and a single spell won't work on multiple objects. However…" I paused dramatically, and the professor seemed to catch my drift, showing a hint of surprise. "You can use the Mayer-Turner formula to combine several spells and objects into one cascading Transfiguration spell. In practice, you get one spell affecting multiple objects—a little trick."

"Excellent. Seventh-year material. I see you've read the supplementary literature and, importantly, understood it." McGonagall's smile became more pronounced. "What about the rest of the requirements?"

"With a separate object, it's simple. You can't transfigure something like a nail firmly driven into a wall. But a nail loose inside it—no problem. Understanding the exceptions, shall we say?"

"Of course, Mr. Granger. I—and I hope others—are extremely interested in your findings."

A couple of students snorted dismissively, but under McGonagall's stern gaze, they quickly adopted the demeanor of diligent listeners.

"Well… You can't create food out of nothing—an old formulation, in my opinion, that doesn't quite capture the essence. The object of Transfiguration can't be 'nothing' in principle."

And yes, I know perfectly well that matter is a form of energy, meaning everything can theoretically be transfigured into anything. But in local realities, there's no basis for this, and the depth of knowledge about the universe—both mundane and magical—lags far behind the elven understanding. Simply put, there's no point in discussing this or proving it in practice.

"As for food, I think I know the issue. Food is an object with an extremely complex structure, and creating it requires profound knowledge of matter and spatial theory, alongside an understanding of bodily functions and metabolism. Transfiguring food that fully performs its function is a colossally costly endeavor—both magically and mentally. But there's another problem."

I tore out two sheets and, with a wave of my wand, turned them one by one into glass cups.

"*Aguamenti**," I said, filling one cup with water, then repeated the maneuver for the second.

"The second problem is the duration of Transfiguration."

To illustrate, I turned the water in the cups into two apples. No, they weren't real.

"Not food, of course—similar in structure," I said, cooling the enthusiasm of several students who'd begun whispering excitedly.

"According to my estimates, the magic invested was enough for five minutes of Transfiguration. What do you think, Professor? Am I right?"

McGonagall waved her wand over one apple, then the other, with an air of authority, and nodded, confirming my own senses. It seemed I'd indeed found the key to Transfiguration—this discipline was no longer a mystery to me. I picked up one of the apples.

"So—duration of Transfiguration. Drawing conclusions from various materials on the subject, I reached a clear and disappointing realization. If you divide the result of Transfiguration in two, the duration halves. This, I believe, is because the spell splits between objects, dividing the invested magic. And as we know, the cost of magic isn't affected by an object's size or density, but by its structural complexity. What happens if you divide it into many parts?"

I slammed the apple hard against the desk, shattering it into countless pieces. The smallest bits turned back into water almost instantly, while the larger ones lasted a few moments longer—until only the five largest chunks remained in a puddle. Just as I was about to speak, the smallest of those pieces reverted to water.

"No need to explain what might happen if you transfigured this apple from a chair or table and started using it."

"A very striking example," the professor nodded, clearing the remnants of my demonstration with a wave of her wand. "Did the other exceptions yield to your extraordinary mind?"

"Of course, Professor," I nodded with a slight smile, prompting one student to gnash their teeth. "You can't turn anything into a human. It's simple. Just as any transfigured creature won't be alive—only a golem—the same applies to a human. Theoretically, like with the apple, you could recreate a body with unimaginable effort, but a human isn't just a body; it's a soul too. That's where the problems lie."

"These, Mr. Granger, touch on aspects of Dark Magic," the professor said sternly. "I strongly advise against practicing them, and it's not merely a matter of legality."

"I know, Professor—I'm just stating a fact. What we all understand as a person truly can't be transfigured. As for turning something into a magical object or creating something magical—here, unfortunately, I don't fully grasp the reasons for failure. I suppose it's possible to enchant a transfigured object, then fix it with an eternal Transfiguration formula. I think the point is that Transfiguration is the science of transforming material objects. Magic and charms are immaterial."

"That's correct, Mr. Granger."

"Money… Hm," I mused. "Depends on the type. Muggle money is made from ordinary materials and could theoretically be transfigured, but the DMLE keeps a close eye on such things—if I recall the conversations I've overheard correctly."

"You've touched on a very important point," McGonagall nodded, addressing the class. "This exception emerged at the end of the seventeenth century. At that time, both Muggles and wizards used money made of precious metals and their alloys. That's why their Transfiguration is considered impossible. By the way, Mr. Granger, what's the reason for the impossibility of transfiguring precious metals and stones?"

"Dispersal of magic," I shrugged.

Now the entire class was diligently taking notes, albeit reluctantly.

"More details?" the professor prompted.

"Gold, platinum, and pure silver have unique properties that prevent any magic from taking hold. Theoretically, when we try to transfigure an object into gold, the Transfiguration almost works—but the moment it becomes gold, it sheds the magic, reverting to its original state. This moment is so fleeting in time that it seems the Transfiguration doesn't work at all."

Neither Professor McGonagall nor I could miss Hermione's raised hand.

"Miss Granger?" the professor turned to her immediately.

"I'd like to add and correct. Silver successfully undergoes Transfiguration."

"Not at all," I shook my head, sparking displeasure from Hermione, Ron Weasley, and Potter. "You mean low-grade silver—eight hundred, eight hundred thirty, and so on. They have extremely low cost and minimal magical value due to high impurity content, making Transfiguration possible precisely because of the reduced silver. Even then, such silver content negatively affects the duration of Transfiguration."

"You could use a formula to fix the Transfiguration, creating an alloy with a small amount of silver," Hermione countered.