Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 400 401: Transfiguration Standards

Morning.

The candles had all flickered out, leaving only the faint, pre-dawn light from the distant horizon and the silver radiance of the spectral figure to illuminate the hall.

"Good morning," Sean said softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the torches and lanterns along the corridor beginning to flare to life one by one.

"Morning, or night... it makes no difference to one such as I." The Grey Lady's gaze drifted toward the distant peaks.

Sean didn't reply immediately. He watched a few early-rising wizards hurry past in the distance, his mind turning over the nature of her existence. It seemed that ghosts were incapable of sleep. They were neither alive nor truly dead; they existed without sensation, mere echoes of thought wandering the world in a cycle that had no end.

For those who had lived for centuries, death was meant to be a final rest. But once a soul became a ghost, the option to rest was revoked forever. They were "lesser" beings—unable to eat, touch, or interfere with the world of the living. Even their cognitive processes were limited; they might know that one plus one equals two, but they lacked the depth of intellect to explain why.

To see everything but touch nothing; to witness all but change nothing—it was a grueling, agonizing form of penance. It was little wonder so few wizards chose such a path.

"Perhaps it is time you found some rest," Sean suggested.

"Sean... your head is always filled with such absurd, impossible thoughts." The Grey Lady shook her head with a faint smile. "Call me Helena, Sean. By rights, I should find you quite tiresome, but like her... you are a person one simply cannot... well. You have class, Sean."

"I have exactly five minutes and twenty-three seconds," Sean replied with a nod.

"Mmm. As I said... remarkably similar." Helena watched him intently. It was only in the presence of this young wizard that she allowed herself to mention her mother—to let herself remember anything connected to her.

"You are as well," Sean noted. He thought of the Rowena Ravenclaw he had met in the soul realm. She had said the exact same thing to him. 'Your head is always filled with such absurd thoughts...'

"Hah..." Helena let out a breathy laugh, clearly unconvinced.

To her, the idea that a shameful traitor could be compared to a name as magnificent as Ravenclaw was laughable. She gazed out at the snow-covered mountains, pure and white against the sky, and her grey eyes dimmed.

"I believe, Madam Helena, that you only truly stepped onto this path because you wanted your mother to acknowledge you," Sean said slowly. "Until then, no amount of self-reproach will change the past."

On a moral level, her betrayal was a fixed point in history. Perhaps the world no longer had a place for Helena Ravenclaw. But aside from Rowena herself, who was truly qualified to judge her soul? Everyone else was merely... an outsider.

"Sean..." Helena's smile was tragic and fleeting. "I have never heard you speak so much. You remind me of Tom Riddle in his youth—so vibrant and full of potential. Perhaps there is some logic in your words, and they do provide a small reprieve from my shameful existence... but I thank you, and I ask that you trouble yourself with my affairs no longer."

It was a polite rejection, and one Sean had anticipated.

"Madam Helena," Sean prompted.

She let out a soft sigh and looked back at him. Despite how much he "interrupted" her solitude, he was never truly annoying. It was a peculiar phenomenon.

"If you are ever willing to listen to a few stories..." Sean added.

"I will not refuse you, Sean. You know that. But do not push your luck." Helena began to drift away. "By the way... you have one minute."

Could Sean Green ever be late for class?

It was statistically near-impossible—an event as likely as a mountain troll defeating Professor Dumbledore in a duel. Consequently, when Sean arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, several students had yet to take their seats. Still, it felt "late" to him, given his habit of arriving early.

Minerva McGonagall's gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat before she announced the theme of the lesson: Transfiguring rabbits into slippers.

The classroom immediately became a hive of activity.

CRASH!

A loud explosion erupted from behind Sean. Seamus Finnigan's wand had slipped, causing one of the legs of his desk to spontaneously combust. Professor McGonagall flicked her own wand, mending the wood and reattaching it in a single motion. She turned back and instinctively looked at Sean.

He was practicing in silence. Within minutes, dozens of white rabbits were hopping across the floor near his desk. Even though his Transfiguration skill had already surpassed the curriculum, he showed none of the arrogance or haste common in young prodigies.

Perhaps that is what truly defines a genius, McGonagall mused. She gave a satisfied nod and began moving through the rows to guide the other students.

"The gesture must be decisive! You must hold a clear image of the target in your mind's eye!" she commanded sharply. "Excellent! Everyone, look here—Mr. Weasley has succeeded!"

Ron? Harry looked over in shock. He had never imagined Ron being the star pupil of the day.

The class broke into excited whispers, everyone craning their necks to see Ron's work.

"Note the lack of ears on the toe-caps. A very clean transformation, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall praised.

Ron's face turned bright red. McGonagall's praise sounded eerily familiar—it was almost exactly what Sean would say during their private study sessions: "Ron, you've got it. Very clean. I think you have a real knack for this. That's 'Adept' level for sure."

Sometimes Ron felt Sean's standards were impossibly strict. To Sean, making a stone "breathe" was merely a "Mid-Tier" feat. Making that creature run around for three minutes was only the "Adept" tier. But when Ron remembered that Sean had used Material Transfiguration to collapse the very floor of the Chamber of Secrets to trap a fifty-foot snake, he realized Sean's standards were well-earned.

Amidst the chorus of gasps and praise, Ron looked toward Sean. In the direction of Sean's gaze, dozens of snow-white rabbits were currently bounding through the air.

After class, Sean tapped his Wizard's Tome, shrinking it back into a pendant, and moved toward the door. However, he found his path blocked.

"Sean..."

Ron was standing there, fidgeting with a degree of bashfulness that was entirely unlike him. Behind him, Harry and Hermione were "hiding" behind a nearby suit of armor, clearly eavesdropping.

"Mmm?" Sean stopped, glancing briefly at the shadows where his friends were hiding.

"I've been wanting to say this for a while..." Ron blurted out, looking as though he were about to jump off a cliff. "You know... I always thought I'd never be like Fred and George. I thought I was just the 'other' one.

"But then you set those Transfiguration standards. You helped us practice, and you shared those incredible notes... I don't know how to put it properly, but I thought I was useless. Your standards gave me a path to follow so I wasn't just fumbling in the dark. That's what I wanted to say. If it wasn't for those levels you set... a part of me would still be lost."

[End of Chapter 401]

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