Chapter 121: The Transfiguration Club
"Hey, Russell."
Cedric strode in through the doorway with an easy, relaxed gait. Spotting Russell, he greeted him without the slightest hint of surprise.
"I knew you'd be invited too," Cedric said as he dropped into the seat beside him.
Once most of the members had arrived, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat twice. The room fell silent at once.
"First, let us welcome two new members," she announced. "Some of you may already know them—Cedric Diggory and Russell Fison."
Applause rippled through the room, followed by brief self-introductions.
Russell quickly took stock of the group. Including himself, there were barely ten people in total: one Slytherin, three Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and four Gryffindors.
Most were fourth-years or above. Only Cedric and Russell were third and second year .
"First, some good news," Professor McGonagall said as she handed out a magazine to each of them.
"Angelo's paper has been selected for publication in Transfiguration Weekly."
The room erupted in applause.
Angelo was a fifth-year Gryffindor—tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that looked perpetually honest and good-natured. When everyone turned to look at him, he scratched his head and smiled shyly.
"You may read it first," Professor McGonagall said. "Afterwards, Angelo will explain his ideas in more detail."
Russell opened the magazine titled Transfiguration Weekly. It featured cutting-edge research and theoretical advances in the field of Transfiguration.
Angelo's paper appeared in the middle-to-late section. It wasn't long, and its focus was food Transfiguration.
According to Angelo's theory, under Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, food cannot be conjured from nothing, nor can objects be turned into food—because they would revert to their original form once inside the body.
But what if food were transformed into other food?
Russell read with growing interest. The practical applications might be limited, but the idea itself opened a new direction of thought.
As Angelo explained, he was British-American.
He hadn't attended Ilvermorny because his parents believed Hogwarts' long history, combined with the presence of the greatest living white wizard—Albus Dumbledore—made it the better choice.
After spending years at Hogwarts, Angelo had grown accustomed to British cuisine. Whenever he returned home, however, he found that his parents' cooking no longer suited his palate.
That sparked an idea.
What if he could transform his parents' food into British dishes?
At first, he encountered many failures. While the appearance of the food changed, the flavor stubbornly remained the same, which frustrated him greatly.
Later, during another attempt, he focused not just on the shape of the target dish, but on its taste, replaying the flavor vividly in his mind as he cast the spell.
That was when he succeeded for the first time—perfectly transforming one food into another, in both form and flavor.
Through relentless practice, Angelo had reached the point where he could flawlessly transform one food into another—appearance, texture, and even flavor were perfectly replicated. He could even fine-tune the saltiness and spiciness to his liking.
With that skill alone, he'd never go hungry, Russell thought. Worst case, he could always make a living as a chef in some tavern.
The club session wasn't very long. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" Cedric said dreamily as they left. "Once I master this, I'll be able to make dishes from all over the world for Cho."
"Come on," Russell said mercilessly, shattering the fantasy. "You've barely left Britain. What other countries have you even been to?"
"You'd be better off teaching Cho instead. Let her make some proper Chinese food—and let me benefit too."
"You're right," Cedric nodded solemnly. "I need to show her this journal immediately."
Russell, however, felt a faint sense of disappointment. What he really wanted to explore was how Transfiguration could be used more effectively in combat.
___
"Using Transfiguration in combat?" Morgan perked up the moment she heard that.
"Oh, you've asked the right person," she said excitedly. "Once, during a duel, I used human Transfiguration to turn into a bird, dodged my opponent's spell, then transformed back midair and defeated him in one move."
"I can't perform Animagus transformations yet," Russell said helplessly. "Isn't there something ordinary Transfiguration can do? Like turning an opponent's robe into a snake?"
"You can," Morgan replied, "but there's no real point. You need to remember—Transfiguration spells can also be deflected by Shield Charms."
"Oh…" Russell sighed.
"I think you're stuck in the wrong mindset," Morgan added. "Are you talking about dueling, or battle? Those are completely different."
"How so?" Russell asked.
"In a duel, all you have is your wand. There isn't much Transfiguration can do. But in real combat? That's different. Say you're ambushed outdoors—you could turn nearby trees into beasts to harass the enemy. In a duel, though, you don't have materials to work with."
Russell nodded thoughtfully. She was right. He'd been overthinking it—battle and formal duels weren't the same thing at all.
"Of course," Morgan added dryly, "if your Transfiguration is strong enough to turn a single strand of hair into a dragon, then forget everything I just said."
"If I could do that," Russell laughed, "I'd probably be able to Transfigure someone's Shield Charm directly."
---
At breakfast on Sunday morning, Russell turned to Wednesday.
"Want to come with me to visit Hagrid?"
He was attempting to turn a bowl of wriggling purple oatmeal into a fried dough stick.
"Hagrid?" Wednesday shook her head. "Not interested."
"Fair enough," Russell said. "I'll bring back some of Hagrid's signature cooking for you to try."
After breakfast, Russell left the castle alone and headed toward Hagrid's hut.
On the way, he spotted Hermione. He tried to greet her, but she rushed past as if she hadn't seen him at all. Was she wiping her eyes?
He wasn't entirely sure—but it seemed likely she was being isolated by the Gryffindors already.
That didn't surprise him. As a Muggle-born with a sensitive personality, Hermione desperately wanted to prove herself—studying obsessively, showing her brilliance, determined to prove that she was no worse than anyone else.
Unfortunately, she was trying too hard. What she intended as proof often came across as bragging, and it naturally pushed people away.
They were too young to understand, Russell thought. With someone like that around, you clung tightly—otherwise, when exam season came, you'd regret it.
"Hagrid, good morning."
The moment Russell pushed open the door, a massive shape burst out and lunged at him.
"—Hey, long time no—"
He spread his arms instinctively, but the creature skidded to a halt, baring its teeth and growling.
Only then did Russell realize—it wasn't Fang.
Fang was still inside the hut, peeking out pitifully.
So… Hagrid got a new cat? A very fat one?
The cat seemed to hear his thoughts and exploded into furious meowing, leaping forward and swiping at him. Russell reacted just in time, casting a Shield Charm.
Its claws screeched against the barrier, making a nails-on-blackboard sound.
"Hagrid! Help! Your cat's gone mad!"
"Russell, you're here!" Hagrid said cheerfully. "That's your cat, Ice Cream. Don't tell me you don't recognize her?"
"…What?"
Russell stared for a full five minutes before reluctantly finding a trace of familiarity in her face.
"Hagrid, how did you turn my cat into a walking stomach?!"
"Oh, don't blame me," Hagrid muttered guiltily. "I can't exactly starve her."
"Sorry, Ice Cream," Russell said quickly. "No wonder you were angry."
He pulled out a bag of dried fish. "Look—brought these back from the Soviet Union."
Ice Cream finally withdrew her claws.
Russell struggled to lift her and carry her inside. The already cramped hut became even more crowded.
Fang stared longingly at the fish, drool pooling at his mouth. He tried to inch closer—Ice Cream hissed once, and Fang immediately whimpered and retreated.
"You're already this fat and still guarding your food," Russell muttered, smacking her head lightly. He opened another bag for Fang.
Fang's eyes filled with gratitude as he clung to Russell like a lifeline.
"Still," Russell said, "she's doing well here. Thanks, Hagrid."
"No trouble at all," Hagrid grinned. "She's been a big help."
They chatted idly as Hagrid brewed tea.
"Oh—this is for you," Russell suddenly remembered, pulling out a massive curved blade from his dragonhide pouch.
In Hagrid's hands, it looked like a dagger.
"Careful—it's sharp."
"Thank you, Russell. I love it."
Just then, Harry's voice came from outside.
"Hagrid—about that package… was it in the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor?"
Harry and Ron entered.
"Oh—uh, hello," Harry said awkwardly when he saw Russell.
"Morning," Ron said cheerfully.
Hagrid poured tea for everyone. "Don't guess, Harry. You won't get it right."
The tea, at least, was excellent.
"What package?" Russell asked casually.
"Nothing!" Hagrid said quickly, shooting Harry a look.
Too bad the wrong people already knew.
"Oh, Ron," Russell added, "did you bring Scabbers?"
"No, he's asleep in the dorm," Ron replied—then lit up. "Is it time?"
"Not yet," Russell said. "Next week."
As Russell left, he began planning how to get shiny ornaments for Ailene the centaur—probably Aunt Morticia's help.
He tossed Cedric a rock cake on the way back.
Hagrid had been too generous.
The cakes looked harmless.
They were not.
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