Chapter Thirteen: Transforming into All Things

At Dumbledore’s command, the young wizards eagerly set about the practical exercise, waving their wands at the matchsticks in a chaotic flurry of incantations.

Beside Siwen, Eltheona could hardly contain her excitement and was already trying her luck. Pointing her wand at the matchstick, she recited the spell—“Facti Acus!”

Nothing seemed to happen.

Eltheona pouted in disappointment.

“Remember,” Dumbledore called out to the students, “as you cast the spell, you must clearly visualize the object you wish to transform the matchstick into—the clearer and more detailed your imagination, the more likely you are to succeed!”

Eltheona glanced at Siwen, who was smirking at her failed attempt, and, not to be outdone, aimed her wand at the matchstick again. Determined to picture the needle perfectly, she even closed her eyes.

“Facti Acus!”

To Siwen’s surprise, a faint glimmer of light flickered from the tip of her wand toward the matchstick—

The matchstick changed, but not completely. The end of it merely seemed to have narrowed a little.

Unlike Siwen and Eltheona, who were disappointed, Dumbledore appeared delighted. “Miss Greengrass has managed to effect a change in her matchstick—three points to Slytherin! Keep it up, everyone!”

The room filled with even more raucous incantations.

Eltheona, emboldened by Dumbledore’s praise, shot Siwen a proud look and asked, “Why aren’t you giving it a try?”

Siwen glanced at his own matchstick and, imitating Eltheona, closed his eyes and tried to picture the shape of a needle.

“Facti Acus!” he intoned.

To his astonishment, he felt his mental energy extend outward, enveloping the matchstick. It was as if the matchstick had become pliable dough in his hands, soft and malleable.

Experimenting, he squeezed the end of the matchstick and easily altered its shape.

Siwen grew interested and began kneading the matchstick with his mind as though working dough, quickly forming a sharp point at one end. The other end, with its black combustible tip, seemed out of place, so he scraped it off and then rolled the entire matchstick into a slender cylinder.

When Siwen opened his eyes, he found Eltheona staring at him in shock, and Dumbledore had already descended from the platform, eyeing him curiously.

“How did you do that?” Eltheona shook his arm, demanding an answer.

Dumbledore, equally intrigued, asked, “Are you sure you cast the spell as I instructed, Mr. Rosier?”

“I don’t think so, Professor…” Siwen admitted sheepishly, realizing he had been too caught up in the sensation of molding the matchstick to follow the professor’s instructions.

Dumbledore’s expression remained peculiar. After a pause, he said, “Mr. Rosier, as I see it, what you just did was less Transfiguration and more a matter of imposing your will to forcibly reshape the object, without altering its essential properties. In my opinion, this approach is laborious and inefficient. It is generally not advisable—indeed, most wizards would find it impossible.”

Siwen’s mouth twitched. Was Dumbledore implying he wasn’t a normal wizard?

Dumbledore restored the matchstick to its original form with a wave and patted Siwen’s shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t worry. Once you learn to control and harness that power, it will be a great asset to your Transfiguration studies.”

…

By the end of class, Siwen still hadn’t grasped the proper feeling for Transfiguration. He motioned for his roommates to go ahead to lunch and sent off a disgruntled Eltheona to join her friends. Then he hurried out of the classroom and caught up with Dumbledore in the corridor.

“Is there something else, Mr. Rosier?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

“Professor, I want to understand what my problem is,” replied Siwen.

“In truth, your situation is rare, and I can’t be certain where the problem lies. But there’s plenty of time—perhaps you can discuss it with your friends,” Dumbledore suggested. “Your desk mate has already managed to alter the material at the tip of her needle, hasn’t she? And Mr. Malfoy has also changed the shape of his matchstick. You might learn from their experiences.”

Siwen nodded silently. Seeing this, Dumbledore patted his shoulder and turned toward the castle stairs.

“Professor Dumbledore!”

Just as Dumbledore was about to reach the stairs, Siwen’s voice called out from behind. Dumbledore stopped and turned to see Siwen running toward him with a matchstick in hand.

“Professor, there’s one more question I can’t let go unanswered,” he said earnestly.

“Go on, then,” Dumbledore replied with a resigned nod.

“I want to know—how thoroughly should one understand the target object for Transfiguration to be considered detailed enough?” Siwen asked, holding up his matchstick and touching it with his wand. He recited the incantation, “Facti Acus!”

But the matchstick didn’t change in the slightest.

Dumbledore immediately grasped the issue and grew serious. “Then, how much do you know about needles, Mr. Rosier?”

“For me, the shape of a needle is easy to reproduce, so let’s put that aside,” said Siwen. “As for materials, needles are mainly made of copper, iron, or silver, each with different properties. In Muggle chemistry, I have some knowledge of the molecular structures of iron, copper, and silver…”

This was what frustrated Siwen the most—he doubted any wizard in the magical world knew more about the structure of matter than he did. With a knack for drawing analogies, he’d pored over all sorts of scientific journals and treatises from the twenty-first century during his healing studies, gaining insights into many areas of science.

“The threshold for Transfiguration can’t really be this high, can it?” he thought.

Dumbledore suddenly smiled. “Mr. Rosier, I must say, your breadth of knowledge is truly impressive.”

“Thank you for your compliment, Professor,” Siwen replied evenly, suspecting Dumbledore was actually teasing him.

“Do you know what magic is truly for?” Dumbledore suddenly asked, seemingly changing the topic.

Siwen frowned, but answered, “It can do so much—daily life, combat, self-defense—countless things.”

Dumbledore nodded, then shook his head. “Yes, and no. Magic is a wondrous force, an unbelievable power,” he mused.

Siwen nodded in agreement; that much was indisputable.

Dumbledore continued, “Wizards grow up immersed in magic; it permeates our lives, and few ever have thoughts like yours. Rosier, I believe I’ve pinpointed your problem—one that might occasionally appear among Muggle-born wizards, though it’s very rare.”

Siwen’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Having too much knowledge is both a blessing and a curse. Other young wizards would never try to analyze Transfiguration by dissecting the nature of matter as you do. So how do they accomplish such complex spells? The answer is simple: they learn to let go.”

“Let go?” Siwen asked in confusion.

“Precisely—let go. Do not concern yourself with the nature of things. Simply entrust the outcome you desire to magic itself,” Dumbledore explained. “The true wonder of magic lies not in daily life, nor in battle, but in its most fundamental and essential trait—the power to become anything!”

“To become—anything?” Siwen’s mouth fell open in speechless astonishment. This was utterly at odds with how he’d learned to understand spells at Kamar-Taj.

Dumbledore gave Siwen a penetrating look and continued, “Transfiguration is more about channeling magic to alter the properties of things, to manipulate magic in creating or erasing objects. When your magical power reaches a certain level, you may even feel as if you can do anything, make anything around you serve your will. That is the true power of magic.”

“Professor, have you reached that level yourself?” Siwen asked hopefully.

Dumbledore smiled and brushed the question aside. “Wouldn’t you like to try your Transfiguration again?”

Siwen smiled in return, aimed his wand at the matchstick, and softly intoned, “Facti Acus.”

A flash of light—and the matchstick instantly transformed into an exquisite silver needle, delicate patterns blossoming upon its surface.

“A splendid piece of Transfiguration!” Dumbledore exclaimed, applauding with delight.

Siwen bowed deeply to him. “It’s all thanks to your guidance, Professor!”

“No need to thank me. If you really want to show your gratitude, let me get to the Great Hall—perhaps there’s still a bowl of milk and honey pudding waiting for me,” Dumbledore said with a playful wink.

…

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