The first day of enrollment had been so incredibly busy that it completely swept away any lingering sense of unfamiliarity Charlie felt toward Hogwarts.
It was true—staying busy was always for the best.
The first class the next morning was Transfiguration, shared with the Gryffindors.
When Charlie walked into the Transfiguration classroom, Anthony's eyes immediately landed on the professor's desk.
Sure enough, a tabby cat sat quietly on top of it. Hearing them enter, it flicked its amber eyes toward the door before raising a paw to groom its whiskers.
"Shoo," Anthony said, waving a hand at the cat to push it aside so he could wipe down the desk.
"Well, it's not too bad. At least it didn't track muddy paw prints all over the professor's desk," he muttered.
"Off you go now. Class is about to start."
To his credit, Anthony was actually being quite gentle and polite, genuinely trying to do the professor a favor.
Of course, that assumed the cat wasn't the professor herself.
Just as Anthony reached out to scoop the cat up and toss it out into the corridor, Charlie's hand shot out, clamping down hard on his roommate's shoulder.
"Let's just find our seats. It's going to fill up soon."
With that, Charlie steered Hector to the front row. Anthony nodded, losing interest in the cat, and followed them. "Budge up a bit."
The long desks in the Transfiguration classroom sat four students each.
A moment later, Hermione arrived. Harry and Ron straggled in slightly later, while Neville and Seamus were the very last to show up.
"Morning, mate," Seamus called out, waving at Charlie.
"Morning," Charlie waved back.
Looks like those two hit it off, Charlie noted, watching Neville and Seamus head toward the back of the room.
Class soon began. The students sat up straight, waiting for their notoriously strict professor to arrive.
The tabby cat stood up on the desk. It surveyed the room, confirming there were no latecomers, and leaped off the edge.
Mid-air, its body twisted and stretched. A sharp, rushing sound whipped through the air.
With a sharp pop, Professor McGonagall stood in its place.
She walked slowly down the aisle, stopping right in front of the first row.
The entire class was absolutely dumbstruck. More than a few first-years had their mouths hanging wide enough to catch flies.
Professor McGonagall slowly rested her hand on Anthony's shoulder.
"No one is late," she began.
No roll call? Charlie thought, looking at her profile. Or did she already take attendance while scanning the room as a cat?
"I understand you all managed a successful piece of magic in Professor Flitwick's class yesterday."
"And I know every single one of you is itching to try your hand at Transfiguration."
"But there are a few things I must make absolutely clear first."
She finally lifted her hand from the petrified Anthony's shoulder and walked back to the front of the room, her stern gaze sweeping over the students.
"Unlike a simple Wand-Lighting Charm, I need you to banish any notion that this will be easy."
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts."
"Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
She drew her wand and pointed it at the desk. "Vera Verto."
Instantly, the desk transformed into a pig.
Charlie leaned forward involuntarily.
Vera Verto. It was basic Transfiguration—a spell he had already tested himself. It was, without a doubt, the spell with the highest ceiling he currently had access to.
He wanted nothing more than to raise his hand right then and there to ask her exactly how far the limits of Vera Verto could be pushed.
Of course, it was just a fleeting thought. Interrupting would be horribly rude, and Professor McGonagall wasn't there to put on a magic show.
Unlike Charlie, the rest of the first-years weren't caught up in the mechanical limits of the spell. Turning a desk into a pig was more than enough to blow their minds and completely hook their interest in Transfiguration.
Following that, Professor McGonagall took a page out of Professor Flitwick's book and began with magical theory: the incantation, the wand movement, and the intent.
Though when it came to the "desire" behind Transfiguration, she kept her explanation rather brief.
Half an hour flew by, and it was time for the practical portion of the lesson.
Just as Charlie remembered, Professor McGonagall handed each student a single match and instructed them to turn it into a needle.
Charlie had no intention of hiding his abilities. About five minutes in, he pointed his wand at the match on his desk.
"Vera Verto!"
The head of the match quickly faded. The pale wooden stick took on a sharp, metallic sheen.
In seconds, it had reshaped itself into a perfect silver needle.
"A brilliant piece of Transfiguration, Mr. Wonka," Professor McGonagall said, stepping up to his desk. She had been keeping a close eye on everyone in the room.
"Take two points for Ravenclaw for your excellent work."
"Thank you, Professor. But I actually have a few questions."
This was what Charlie truly wanted.
Professor McGonagall glanced around the room. Harry Potter looked thoroughly confused, while Ron Weasley beside him was growing increasingly frustrated. Other students were scratching their heads or staring at their matches in silent desperation.
The first-years were still in the experimental phase. They were meant to struggle a bit before she stepped in with individual corrections.
"Of course. Go ahead," she said, stepping closer.
"To be completely honest, Professor, I managed to turn a match into a needle before the term even started. But I have absolutely no idea how to progress my practice from here."
Professor McGonagall nodded slowly.
"There are two main reasons," Charlie continued. "First, I don't know what my target should be. Should I be trying to turn the match into a more complex, intricate needle? Or should I be scaling up the mass—say, trying to turn a rolling pin into a baseball bat?"
"The second issue I've run into concerns the 'desire' or intent required for Transfiguration. I can feel it when I cast, but my desire to transform the object always feels a bit..."
He paused, searching for the right word.
"Intangible," Professor McGonagall provided.
"Perfectly said. Yes, intangible." Charlie looked at her gratefully. It was the exact right word.
"If I'm hungry, I desire food. If I'm in the dark, I crave light. If I'm freezing, I want the Fire-Making Spell to warm me up. Those desires are directly linked to my primal instincts and actual needs."
"But turning one random object into another? I don't feel like I'm using desire to drive the spell. It feels more like I'm just aggressively ordering my magic to do it. I know I can cast better, but I can't seem to break through this mental block."
As Charlie spoke, Professor McGonagall's eyes grew brighter.
It was incredibly rare for a young wizard to truly grasp how desire drove spellwork. Yes, every professor taught the concept, but most students merely jotted it down in their notebooks as a fact to memorize for an exam, rather than fully comprehending it on an instinctual level.
To actually understand it and then critically analyze one's own casting was exceptional.
She glanced around the classroom again. There was plenty of time left to give Charlie a proper answer—but not right there in the middle of the aisles.
"Come up to the front desk, Mr. Wonka," she said.
Charlie glanced at Hector and Anthony beside him. Neither of them was practicing anymore; they were both completely eavesdropping on the conversation.
He was clearly distracting them.
Professor McGonagall returned to her desk and sat down, while Charlie stood off to the side.
"Let us address your first question: how to progress your practice step-by-step. In truth, both of the methods you suggested are valid."
"When I say Transfiguration is the most complex, difficult, and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts, I am not merely trying to frighten you. Even for this one simple spell, true mastery is measured by precision, completeness, scale, and eventually, vitality."
"Choosing to dive deeply into any of those metrics is a perfectly sound way to practice. However, I suspect the reason you are struggling with this choice ties directly into your second problem, does it not?"
Charlie nodded.
He wasn't an idiot; he had obviously tried transfiguring larger objects and making the needle more intricate before. But that was exactly where he hit a wall.
Back then, he hadn't understood what was holding him back. It wasn't until Professor Flitwick's lecture on intent the previous day that he finally pinpointed the issue.
His desire when casting Transfiguration was completely ungrounded.
"Regarding the issue of desire in Transfiguration... many years ago, another student faced the exact same dilemma you are experiencing now. After much research and debate between the two of us, we published a paper on the subject in Transfiguration Today."
She raised her hand, pointing her wand at the small bookcase beside her desk. A moment later, a magazine came zooming toward them.
It was issue 108 of Transfiguration Today. The cover featured a teapot that had sprouted wings, flapping around like a miniature Dumbo.
Professor McGonagall flipped to a specific page and handed the magazine to Charlie.
"Read this first, and try not to disturb your classmates. Once you have finished, stay after class and share your thoughts with me."
"Thank you, Professor." Thrilled, Charlie nodded eagerly and hurried back to his seat.
"What did she say?" Anthony asked, practically vibrating with curiosity.
Before Charlie could answer, Professor McGonagall stood up, walked down the aisle, and gave a pointed, warning cough directly at Anthony.
Turning his attention to the magazine, the bold title immediately caught his eye.
Commanded Desire? Or Need-Driven Magic? By Elsa Clarkson and Minerva McGonagall.
Two different casting philosophies? Intrigued, Charlie quickly began to read.
The article opened with a short anecdote from the co-author, Elsa Clarkson. During a summer holiday at her grandmother's house, she was attacked by a pack of wolves that had wandered out of the forest.
Charlie could only shake his head. Leave it to isolated wizarding families to have 'getting attacked by a wolf pack' as a casual countryside experience. It certainly wasn't a common occurrence for most people.
He kept reading.
In a moment of pure desperation, she had used her strongest subject—Transfiguration—to turn a large boulder into a ferocious lion, driving the wolves away.
Turning a stone into a living lion was a monumental feat that even many highly trained, adult wizards couldn't pull off.
The author admitted she had been shocked it actually worked. In that life-or-death crisis, she had seemingly tapped into a power far beyond her normal capabilities.
Once the danger had passed, the source of that sudden power became an obsession. Upon returning to Hogwarts, she interviewed her peers and professors, ultimately categorizing two distinct methods of spellcasting.
The first method, she called "Commanded Desire."
The second, she termed "Need-Driven Magic."
Charlie read on, completely absorbed. Time slipped away rapidly, and before he knew it, class was over.
He had read the paper three times back-to-back, yet he still felt like he hadn't absorbed enough.
"Class is over, Charlie," Anthony said, tapping his shoulder.
"You guys go ahead. I still have some questions for Professor McGonagall."
"Alright," Anthony nodded. "We'll wait for you outside."
The room slowly emptied out. Magazine in hand, Charlie hurried up to the professor's desk.
"Did you find it insightful, Mr. Wonka?" Professor McGonagall asked with a small smile. She had noticed how utterly engrossed he had been in the text.
To be fair, her first impression of Charlie at the start of term had been that he was a bit of a troublemaker. Now, she had to revise that to "scholar"—a troublemaking scholar.
"I've read it all the way through, Professor," Charlie nodded.
"'Commanded Desire' demands absolute, unadulterated focus. If I want to turn a match into a needle, my sole thought must be turning the match into a needle. Not doing it to complete a class assignment, not doing it to earn your praise, and not doing it for House points. It requires zero ulterior motives. Absolute mental purity."
"Very well put. And an excellent, practical example to illustrate the point," Professor McGonagall nodded, looking immensely pleased. "And the other?"
Charlie took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts before continuing.
"'Need-Driven Magic' is the exact opposite. I inherently have no personal desire to turn a match into a needle. But you told me to do it, and I want your praise, I want House points, and I want to look impressive in front of my classmates. Those are my needs, and those needs fuel my desire to cast the spell."
"In the paper, Elsa Clarkson was attacked by wolves in the forest. She needed to turn that boulder into a lion to survive. That was her need—a pure, intense survival instinct. Driven by that overwhelming need, she accomplished something she could never have managed in a safe classroom."
Finishing his summary, Charlie scratched his head. "But Professor, I still have a few questions."
"I would be quite surprised if you didn't," Professor McGonagall smiled.
"I want to know which casting method is actually better. From what I've gathered, Commanded Desire is highly stable, but incredibly difficult to practice and master. Need-Driven Magic is the opposite; it seems capable of pushing us to achieve miraculous, unexpected results."
Clearly, Charlie leaned heavily toward the second method.
Professor McGonagall fell silent for a moment.
Typically, these were philosophical discussions she reserved entirely for her N.E.W.T.-level students. In those classes, she could use complex terminology and blunt examples without worrying it would go over their heads.
Having this level of academic debate with a first-year... was a remarkably novel experience for her.
After a moment, she spoke, a trace of reminiscence in her eyes. "Mr. Wonka, do you personally find turning a match into a needle difficult?"
"Not really. When I practiced it on my own at home, it took me about half an hour."
"Then why do you think so many of your peers fail to manage it at all?"
Charlie glanced around the empty classroom. If he remembered correctly, Hermione was the only other student who had even managed to make her match slightly pointy by the end of the lesson.
"I don't know," Charlie shook his head.
"Because their need is not strong enough," Professor McGonagall sighed.
"House points? If they don't earn them, life goes on. A professor's praise? It's nice, but ultimately unnecessary—so long as they aren't being scolded, they are content. If you rely on Need-Driven Magic, what happens when you have no actual need?"
"Er... treat it like practicing other charms? Fabricate a need, or use a memory to coax the desire out? Basically—hypnotize yourself?"
"'Hypnotize yourself'—a very apt phrase. But Mr. Wonka, Transfiguration is not Charms."
"The vast majority of charms were born from human necessity. They were invented because someone needed them. The Wand-Lighting Charm, the Fire-Making Spell, Unlocking Charms, Anti-Alohomora Charms... everyone naturally experiences those needs, so we can reliably use them to fuel our spellcasting."
"But if you rely on 'need' for Transfiguration, you are putting the cart before the horse. Studying Transfiguration is like running a marathon. Relying on Need-Driven Magic is like paying someone to push you from behind while you run."
"What happens on the day your 'need' isn't particularly strong? What happens on the day you can no longer successfully trick your own mind? How will you keep running that marathon?"
"Mr. Wonka, true Transfiguration cannot rely on 'need'. It requires a clear, intense, fiercely rational, and entirely pure desire."
"Strip away the pre-packaged charms, and Transfiguration fundamentally boils down to a single incantation: Vera Verto! And in the lifelong marathon of mastering Vera Verto, you must run under your own power. No matter how exhausted you get, you must draw strength from within yourself. You can never rely on someone else to push you forward."