The match began to change.
The wooden texture faded, replaced by a silvery metallic luster.
It slowly elongated and thinned, one end growing as sharp as a thorn, while the other bulged slightly, as if conceiving something.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on Alvin’s forehead.
He could feel his spiritual energy depleting rapidly, but the will to “create” grew clearer.
He saw the complete needle, saw it lying quietly in his palm—
*Clink.*
A soft, metallic ring.
The match was gone.
A silver, gleaming sewing needle lay quietly on his desk.
The point was sharp, the eye round, and the surface as smooth as a mirror.
He picked it up and pressed his fingertip gently against it.
Hard, cold—it was indeed metal.
He had succeeded.
Alvin let out a slow breath and set the needle down, only to realize his back was drenched in sweat.
In those few seconds, the intensity of his spiritual energy output was almost equivalent to half an hour of his usual Tuna breathing.
“Merlin’s beard…”
A voice came from nearby.
Alvin looked up and saw Draco staring at the needle on his desk, his grey-blue eyes filled with utter disbelief.
His own match still lay completely untouched on his desk, showing not even a hint of smoke.
“How…
how did you do that?”
Draco lowered his voice, but the shock in his tone was impossible to hide.
Before Alvin could answer, a figure appeared by his desk.
Professor McGonagall had approached silently at some point and was now leaning over to inspect the needle.
A rare, almost gentle expression appeared on her normally stern face.
She picked up the needle, examined it closely against the light for a moment, and then looked at Alvin.
“Mr.
Selwyn,” she said.
Her voice was still steady, but her tempo was slightly slower than usual.
“Did you do this yourself?”
“Yes, Professor,” Alvin said.
“I failed twice, but succeeded on the third try.”
Professor McGonagall nodded, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment, as if trying to read something beneath his calm expression.
“Do you know what this means?” she asked.
Alvin thought for a moment.
“That I succeeded?”
“You did more than just succeed,” Professor McGonagall said, a hint of pride—which even she didn’t seem to notice—creeping into her voice.
“In the entire history of Hogwarts, the number of students who managed a first-time success in their very first Transfiguration class can be counted on one hand.
Without exception, those who achieved this went on to become outstanding wizards.”
She placed the needle back on Alvin’s desk and waved her wand.
The needle turned back into a match, but this time, Alvin could feel a faint, lingering metallic essence within its nature.
“Ten points to Slytherin,” Professor McGonagall announced, her eyes sweeping over the other students still struggling with their matches.
“For a rare talent in Transfiguration.”
A low wave of gasps and envious whispers swept through the classroom.
Hermione bit her lip, staring at her own stubbornly unchanged match, a fiercer determination igniting in her eyes.
Draco’s expression was a complicated mix of emotions—happy for the house points, frustrated by his own lack of progress, and slightly bewildered: *Just what kind of monster is my roommate?*
Alvin looked down at the match on his desk, but his mind was on something else.
It wasn’t just about changing shape; it was rewriting the very essence of existence.
If he could one day combine this art with Eastern Daoist magic…
A vague thought flashed through his mind, but he didn’t dwell on it.
Transfiguration class wasn’t over, and he was already exhausted.
For the rest of the class, sounds of “puff,” “bang,” and “crack” of failures echoed through the room one after another.
Near the end of the lesson, Hermione finally managed to turn her match into a silver, blunt-ended rod that barely resembled a needle, earning an “improvement” praise from Professor McGonagall and five points for Gryffindor.
Draco failed to succeed by the end.
With a dark face, he packed away his unchanged match, muttering, “My father said Transfiguration isn’t suited for first-years anyway.”
Alvin said nothing.
He quietly packed his things, and as he walked out of the classroom, he cast a glance back at Professor McGonagall behind the lectern.
She had transformed back into the tabby cat and was basking in the sun on the windowsill, her amber eyes half-closed, as if none of this had ever happened.
Magic, Alvin thought, was truly wondrous and awe-inspiring.
…
Night.
The stairs of the Astronomy Tower were long and steep.
When Alvin counted the two hundred and seventy-third step, he finally saw the door leading to the top.
The Astronomy classroom was located on the highest level of the Astronomy Tower, a completely open-air circular platform.
The night breeze was cool, carrying the fresh scent of flora unique to the Scottish Highlands.
Giant astronomical telescopes were lined up, pointing toward the star-studded sky.
Professor Aurora Sinistra was a witch of gentle temperament.
She wore deep blue robes, her hair was as dark as the night sky, and her eyes were as bright as stars.
Her voice was soft, yet it carried clearly across the platform.
“Welcome to Astronomy,” she said.
“This is one of the oldest disciplines at Hogwarts.
Wizards have studied the movements of the stars for thousands of years.
Stars do not only guide our way; they also hold magic, and even foretell destiny.”
She began to explain how to identify constellations, the orbits of the planets, and specific celestial alignments related to magic.
Alvin stood in front of his telescope, gazing up at the magnificent starry sky.
For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he felt a genuine sense of familiarity.
On Mount Qingcheng, stargazing was a part of night cultivation.
His father had taught him the division of the Twenty-Eight Mansions, the alignment of the Big Dipper, how to determine seasons and directions through the stars, and even—though only briefly mentioned—how to sense the energy of starlight.
Daoist cultivation emphasized “harmony between heaven and humanity,” believing there was a subtle connection between humans, heaven, earth, and the stars.
Observing the stars at night was not just for seeking knowledge, but also for nurturing qi, cultivating the mind, and realizing the Dao.
So, when Professor Sinistra began asking questions, Alvin raised his hand almost instinctively.
“Mr.
Selwyn?” Professor Sinistra was a bit surprised.
Few first-years took the initiative to answer questions in Astronomy.
“The brightest star there is Sirius,” Alvin said, pointing toward the southwest.
“The primary star of Canis Major, and also the brightest star in the winter night sky.
In ancient Egypt, it was used to predict the flooding of the Nile.
In Eastern astrology, it belongs to the Well Mansion.
It is regarded as an important guiding star.”
Professor Sinistra blinked, clearly not expecting a first-year to know so much.
“Very…
very accurate,” she said.
“Five points to Ravenc—oh, no, I almost forgot you’re in Slytherin!
You look so much like a Ravenclaw…
Oh, I’m getting sidetracked…
Yes!
Five points to Slytherin!
And another question, Mr.
Selwyn: can you identify any other stars?”
Alvin turned his gaze to another part of the sky and quickly locked onto a star glowing with an orange-red light.
“Arcturus, the alpha star of Boötes,” he said.
“One of the brightest stars in the Northern Hemisphere.
In ancient China, it was called ‘Dajiao,’ the marker star of the Horn Mansion, which is one of the Seven Mansions of the Azure Dragon.”
Professor Sinistra remained silent for two seconds before letting out an appreciative smile.
“Mr.
Selwyn,” she said, “have you studied astronomy before?”
“I have learned some…
stargazing knowledge,” Alvin said.
“Passed down through my family.”
Professor Sinistra nodded and didn’t press further.
But there was a look of admiration in her eyes as she looked at Alvin.
“Another five points to Slytherin,” she said, “for excellent observation and knowledge.
I hope the rest of you will learn to look up at this starry sky in future classes, just like Mr.
Selwyn.”
Draco’s eyes widened next to him, his expression screaming, *You know how to do this too?!* Blaise whistled and nudged Draco with his elbow:
“Draco, where on earth did your roommate come from?
He plays chess better than you, does Transfiguration better than you, and even knows the stars better than you—”
“Shut up,” Draco spat through gritted teeth, his face as dark as the night sky outside the tower.
Alvin ignored the whispering behind him.
He pressed his eye to the telescope again, focusing on Sirius, watching it twinkle silently.
The starlight had traveled millions of years to reach his eyes, no different from the starlight that fell on Mount Qingcheng.
He remembered the stargazing platform at the temple, and what his father had said while pointing at the Big Dipper:
“Stars shift and seasons change, the affairs of the world fluctuate, but only the starry sky above remains eternal.”
His father was right.
No matter where one was, the stars remained.
…
By the time they climbed down from the Astronomy Tower, it was very late.
Alvin followed the Slytherin queue back to the dungeon common room.
The fire in the fireplace had already burned out, leaving only dull red embers.
Draco had been silent all the way back.
It wasn’t until they entered their dorm room that he finally burst out:
“Selwyn, who on earth are you?”
Alvin was making his bed and looked back at him.
“Your roommate,” he said.
Draco choked on his words, stared at him for a few seconds, then let out a heavy huff and drew his bed curtains shut.
A small smile touched the corners of Alvin’s lips.
He lay down in the darkness and closed his eyes.
Outside the window, the waters of the Black Lake remained deep and dark, with bioluminescent creatures occasionally swimming past.
High above the distant surface of the lake, the stars still twinkled, exactly as they had thousands of years ago, thousands of miles away.
Tomorrow was Potions class.
Professor Snape, their Head of House.
With that thought, Alvin’s breathing gradually slowed, and he drifted into sleep.