Over the next two days, I didn’t knock anything over by looking at it.
Nobody went pale, staggered or suddenly searched for something to lean on near me.
I counted that as progress.
It didn’t mean I’d forgotten about my eye.
Several times, I felt the familiar tension when I studied magic for too long.
Now, though, I knew what to watch for.
I looked away, and that was usually enough.
The hardest part was restraining my curiosity in the first place.
Hogwarts didn’t help.
In one classroom, chalk wrote on the blackboard without anyone’s assistance.
Beside a staircase hung a painting whose frame expanded when the man inside tried to carry in an armchair.
Even the suit of armour I passed every day on the way to breakfast had something beneath its breastplate that I wanted to examine more closely.
I could try to inspect it all at once.
Or I could reach my lesson without a headache.
For now, I chose the second option.
***
In Transfiguration, we were given more pieces of wood.
This time, they were thicker than matches.
McGonagall placed one on her desk and raised her wand.
“We are returning to needles. Those who achieved a complete transformation last time will work on consistency today. The rest of you will concentrate on material and shape.”
Her gaze moved over the desks.
“We will leave decoration for later.”
She didn’t look at me as she said it.
Even so, I examined my piece of wood with the feeling that the remark might have had a particular recipient.
Beside me, Blaise turned his stick between his fingers.
“This time, I’m making a hole,” he muttered.
“In the needle?”
He looked at me.
“That’s the plan.”
“Only asking. The desk would be easier.”
He put down the wood when the professor raised her head.
I turned to my own task too.
The transformation worked immediately.
A straight, silvery needle lay on the desk.
I took another stick and repeated the spell, trying to keep the same shape.
The second came out slightly shorter.
The third was almost identical to the first.
I laid them side by side.
It still felt good.
I could know I was talented and expect a good result.
Seeing my hand actually do what I’d imagined was something else.
McGonagall stopped beside the desk.
She inspected the needles, lifting and turning one.
“Good. Pay attention to the length of the second.”
I nodded.
She left me a few more pieces of wood and moved on.
***
On the next attempt, I noticed a wisp running along the needle.
It was faint.
Against the shiny surface, it could easily have been mistaken for a reflection.
I tilted my head.
The wisp stayed in the same place.
I put down my wand.
I wasn’t going to do anything unusual.
I only wanted to check whether I could see a remnant of my own spell.
I looked more closely.
The tension came slowly.
I recognised it.
I should have looked away then, but the needle suddenly twitched.
I froze.
It was lying on a flat surface.
I wasn’t touching it.
For a moment, I thought its silvery surface had dulled.
I let go.
I had no better word for what I did.
I simply stopped trying to reach deeper with my eyes.
The needle went still.
I leaned over it.
There was a small irregularity along one side.
It hadn’t been there before.
Probably.
I looked at the other needles.
They were smooth.
Then back at the last one.
“Mr Peverell.”
I straightened so quickly that my chair creaked.
McGonagall stood beside the desk.
Of course.
“What are you working on now?”
I looked at the needle.
“I was checking whether the transformation was stable.”
The professor examined it.
“And what did you do?”
I hesitated.
I didn’t want to start discussing my eyes in the middle of a lesson.
Nor did I have an explanation ready that would let me avoid the most important part.
“I tried to affect it again.”
That, at least, was true.
McGonagall put down the needle.
“First, you must know whether you can maintain a correct result. If you start changing things immediately, you won’t know whether an error comes from the original spell or your next attempt.”
I looked at the flaw in the metal.
“I understand.”
“Then please complete the task as instructed.”
She didn’t sound angry.
But she was firm enough to leave no doubt about whether I could experiment a little longer.
I reached for the next stick.
***
By the end of the lesson, I’d made six more needles.
All ordinary.
None twitched.
As we began packing, Blaise pushed his towards me.
“There.”
I examined it.
A very small, slightly crooked hole marked one end.
“So there is.”
“Told you.”
“They should give you some thread now.”
“First, it needs to stop being wooden on this side.”
I turned the needle over.
A thin brown strip ran along the underside.
“It has character.”
“McGonagall called it an incomplete transformation.”
I handed it back and closed my bag.
I put my damaged needle away separately.
I wanted to examine it later.
***
For the rest of the day, my thoughts kept returning to that twitch.
I could look at an ordinary inkwell for ever.
The dummy hadn’t reacted either, at least not in any way I could detect.
The needle had changed.
Perhaps because I’d made it myself and knew what I was looking for.
Or because it was small.
Or the transformation had been flawed from the start, and I was building an entire theory on a crooked piece of metal.
That last possibility appealed to me least.
But I couldn’t dismiss it for that reason alone.
I ate faster than usual at dinner.
Malfoy noticed as I reached for my bag.
“Exploring again?”
“I’ve got something to check.”
“In this castle?”
“This very one.”
He shook his head.
“I still don’t know why anyone would build stairs that move away right in front of you.”
“Maybe they didn’t like visitors.”
I left them at the table and headed upstairs.
***
In the Room of Requirement, I asked for somewhere to practise Transfiguration and simple spells.
Wooden sticks, a metal rod and a clay figurine waited on the desk.
A shallow bowl of water stood beside them.
I looked them over.
Apparently, the Room expected a more varied evening than I did.
I put down my bag and took out the needle from class.
Under the lamp, the flaw was still visible.
It looked like a tiny dent.
I laid it on a clean sheet of paper.
Then I took a piece of wood and performed the transformation again.
The new needle came out smooth.
This time, at least, I knew where I was starting.
***
For a long while, nothing happened.
I stared at the metal, trying to find the same faint wisp.
It had seemed easier in McGonagall’s classroom.
Here, I had time, quiet and a prepared workspace, so naturally I couldn’t see what I wanted.
I moved the lamp.
Shifted my chair.
Stopped frowning when I realised I’d been doing it for several minutes.
At last, something flickered along the edge of the needle.
I focused.
This time, I deliberately let the tension build.
It felt like trying to press against something I had no hand for.
I knew what I wanted.
I couldn’t say exactly what I was doing.
The needle trembled.
Very slightly.
I let go at once.
Then leaned closer.
A small dull patch had appeared on the surface.
“All right, then.”
I said it quietly, though nobody was there.
I touched the needle with the end of my quill.
It remained metal.
I hadn’t turned it back into wood.
Nor had I bent it in any obvious way.
But something had happened.
This time, I’d seen it from beginning to end.
***
For the next few minutes, I compared the needles.
The one from class.
The one I’d just affected.
And a third, which I hadn’t touched since transforming it.
If I’d shown them to someone without explanation, they’d probably have said I’d made two of them less well.
That was a little disappointing.
On the other hand, I’d never made a transfiguration worse just by looking at it before.
I pulled my notebook closer.
Wrote down what I’d done, then returned to the third needle.
A brief pressure.
I stopped immediately.
The metal twitched once, almost imperceptibly.
This time, the surface stayed smooth.
I tried again.
The same thing.
I leaned back in my chair.
A smile spread across my face.
I could repeat the effect.
Small, not particularly useful and difficult to describe, but mine.
Only days earlier, I’d thought my eyes merely let me see things.
Now three needles lay in front of me, proving otherwise.
***
The metal rod came next.
I hadn’t transfigured it.
It lay on the desk exactly as the Room had provided it.
I looked.
Focused harder.
Felt the tension.
The rod stayed still.
I tried again.
Nothing.
The clay figurine showed no interest either.
It was a small owl with one wing sticking out further than the other.
For a moment, I wondered whether that was why it had ended up on the desk.
Perhaps even the Room of Requirement had a box of rejects.
I set it aside.
That left the water.
I rested my elbows on the desk, studied the surface and let the tension build.
After a moment, I saw a faint ripple.
I straightened.
The ripple spread towards the edges.
For a second, I was very pleased.
Then I looked at my hands.
My elbow had been touching the desk.
I might simply have moved it.
I shifted my chair back and tried again, this time with my hands in my lap.
The water stayed calm.
On the third attempt, something stirred, but I’d also breathed out through my mouth.
I leaned my head back.
“Brilliant idea.”
The notebook received the entry:
**Water — don’t know.**
Not a particularly impressive discovery, but an honest one.
***
I returned to the rod.
I took my wand and lifted it with a Levitation Charm.
It hovered a few centimetres above the desk.
It was heavier than a feather.
I had to spend a moment steadying it before it stopped slowly turning.
A pale thread ran along the metal.
Similar to the one beside the needle, though clearer in places.
I examined it.
The rod dipped.
I ended the spell before it struck the desk.
I couldn’t call that a success straight away.
I’d just shifted my attention from levitation to my eyes.
I might simply have failed to maintain the charm properly.
Flitwick had mentioned mistakes like that.
I sighed and started again.
This time, I looked at the rod normally.
Raised it, moved it slightly sideways, stopped it.
I could keep it in the air.
Only after several successful repetitions did I try combining the two things.
My wand stayed still.
So did the rod.
I allowed the pressure to appear briefly.
The metal jerked downwards.
I let go.
The rod rose again.
Not immediately.
First, it wobbled, as though someone had brushed it with a finger.
I watched with growing interest.
“Again.”
***
On the fourth attempt, I managed to separate the two actions clearly.
I maintained the spell.
Applied pressure.
The rod sank.
I stopped.
The levitation steadied again.
It could still have been something to do with my concentration.
I didn’t have another wizard beside me to maintain the spell on my behalf.
But I could feel the difference.
The visible wisp changed at the very moment the pressure appeared.
It didn’t vanish.
It bent, losing its even shape.
I wanted a closer look.
I moved nearer.
The tension grew.
One end of the rod dropped sharply.
Pain stabbed my temple so hard that I squeezed my eye shut.
The metal struck the desk.
I pulled back my wand.
For a moment, I sat motionless.
Then I touched my cheek.
Dry.
Good.
I looked at the clock.
Far more time had passed since I’d arrived than I’d thought.
I moved the rod to the middle of the desk.
I didn’t need another bleed to admit that was enough for today.
***
The pain eased after a few minutes.
I sat with my left eye closed, reviewing my notes.
Three needles.
A rod.
Water with a large question mark.
It didn’t look particularly impressive.
Even so, my thoughts were running faster than my quill. Find the original chapter at g.com.
If I could disrupt levitation, what about other spells?
A magically operated lock?
An enchanted object?
A shield?
At that last idea, I stopped with the quill above the page.
That could be useful.
Very useful.
I imagined a duel where my opponent raised a shield and I could affect it without speaking a counterspell.
Then I looked at the little rod lying on the desk.
So far, I’d managed to lower it a little several times and give myself a headache.
There was some work between the two.
I added the question about shields at the bottom of the page.
I didn’t want to lose it.
***
When I returned to the common room, plenty of people were still sitting by the fire.
Blaise occupied an armchair with a textbook on his knees.
He looked up.
“Did you check?”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Whatever made you run off from dinner.”
“Partly.”
“Sounds like Transfiguration homework.”
I sat in an empty chair.
“A bit.”
A sheet of parchment lay on the table, covered in crossed-out sentences.
He pointed with his quill.
“How do you distinguish a change in shape from a complete transformation of the material? I know what it means. I don’t know how to write it without repeating half the book.”
I pulled the sheet closer.
After an evening spent trying to destabilise my own needles, the question seemed particularly appropriate.
“Write about yours.”
“Mine was supposed to be metal.”
“Exactly. And part of it was still wood.”
Blaise looked at the parchment.
Crossed out the first sentence and started again.
I leaned my head against the chair.
My eye barely hurt now.
For a while, I simply sat and listened to the crackle of wood in the fireplace.
***
The next day in Transfiguration, I followed instructions.
It took more self-restraint than I cared to admit.
I saw faint remnants of magic on my own objects more often now.
Once I knew what to look for, it was harder not to notice.
I left them alone.
McGonagall was right about one thing: if I started changing everything immediately, I wouldn’t know what I’d actually achieved.
At the next desk, someone swore under his breath.
I looked over.
One boy’s needle was metal at the tip and wood at the other end.
He tightened his grip on his wand, glanced towards the professor and tried again.
The result was worse.
McGonagall approached him.
“Put down your wand for a moment.”
“But I—”
“For a moment.”
He obeyed reluctantly.
The professor told him to study the diagram, recall the movement and only then return to the spell.
This time, the transformation went further.
I watched the bright wisp around his object.
On the previous attempt, it had broken and trembled.
Now it was more even.
I didn’t need my unusual eyes to notice that an upset student performed worse.
Everyone could see the result.
I could see something else accompanying it.
I remembered the rod from the previous evening.
I didn’t know whether I was causing a similar disruption or whether it merely looked that way to me.
I noted it in the margin.
This time, I didn’t try to find the answer immediately.
***
In time, I found a slightly more comfortable way of looking.
I couldn’t have explained it to anyone.
It was like the difference between noticing movement outside a window and trying to spot a particular bird in a distant tree.
The magic remained in my field of vision, but I didn’t have to keep following it.
It didn’t always work.
Sometimes, I only realised when my left eye began to tighten.
Then I brought my attention back to what was in front of me.
The text.
The hand holding my quill.
The conversation I’d just stopped hearing.
Blaise had to repeat a question once.
The second time, he threw a crumpled scrap of parchment at me.
It hit my shoulder.
“I’m talking to you.”
“I can hear you.”
“Then answer.”
I did.
I returned the parchment just as he reached for his inkwell.
It hit his ear.
I decided the aiming practice in the Room of Requirement was beginning to have practical benefits.
***
September passed faster than I’d expected.
I learnt the way to most classrooms.
Stopped checking my timetable before every lesson.
I knew which stair to avoid and which portrait not to ask for directions if I had less than fifteen minutes.
I didn’t go to the Room every day.
Sometimes, I stayed by the fire with a book.
Sometimes, I finished homework much later than intended.
A few times, I went flying while the weather allowed.
After one of those attempts, I spent the rest of the evening pulling grass from my sleeves.
Malfoy had plenty to say about it.
The next day, he landed on his knees.
I had a few observations too.
In the Room, I returned to needles and levitation, but still spent some of my time on ordinary spells.
Disarming the moving dummy was getting easier.
The Shield Charm remained considerably less cooperative.
And the pressure?
I could bring it on faster than I wanted.
Stopping it took care.
***
Towards the end of October, the first pumpkin appeared on a corridor wall.
It hung high, near the ceiling, baring illuminated teeth at passing students.
I stopped beneath it.
A small bat dropped out, circled once and flew back through the hole where its nose should have been.
I smiled automatically.
Then I remembered what the decorations meant.
Halloween.
I adjusted my bag strap.
So far, most days had ended with homework, dinner and wondering whether I still had time for the seventh floor.
I knew that soon, that wouldn’t be enough.
***
That evening, the rod hovered almost motionless above the desk.
I focused.
A brief pressure.
The metal dipped, then returned to its previous height.
No pain.
I tried again.
This time, I overdid it.
One end dropped further, and I instinctively corrected the spell with my wand.
The whole thing twisted in the air.
I ended the levitation above the desktop.
The rod tapped against the wood.
I watched it for a moment.
I wanted to repeat the attempt until I finally got exactly the result I wanted.
Someone passed outside the door, laughing loudly.
I turned my head.
The tension in my eye vanished at once.
I looked back at the desk.
It was easy here.
A stationary object.
A familiar spell.
Quiet.
Time to sit down and start again.
I hadn’t yet mistaken that for the ability to use it when something was actually happening.
I wrote down the result and closed my notebook.
Outside, the bat was still circling the pumpkin.
This time, I walked beneath it without stopping.
Is Oliver becoming a villain?