Chapter 14: Charms Class

Magic was nearly a power of thought made real. Transfiguration was the purest expression of this truth. Many students believed that failure in transfiguration stemmed from an unclear incantation or an uncertain wand motion, so they endlessly experimented with different gestures and pronunciations. But just moments ago, Professor McGonagall had turned a table into a pig with nothing more than a gentle tap of her wand—no elaborate movements, no dramatic spellwork.

Wade raised his wand, aiming it at the matchstick.

In his mind—a crystal-clear image;

A unshakable belief;

And absolute confidence.

If the mental image of a needle was blurred, or if doubt crept in—"This is too hard," "Can magic really do this?" "I can’t possibly do it," "I’ll fail at first, that’s normal..."—then the spell would falter.

The wand was merely a conduit, channeling the wizard’s inner magic, making it more responsive, more harmonious. Meanwhile, the incantation, the gesture, the ritual—these were not magical requirements, but tools to strengthen belief. They were, in essence, self-hypnosis performed by the wizard upon themselves.

A true master needed no flourish, no excess. The world bent to their will with a single thought.

“Excellent, Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall suddenly exclaimed. “A clear transformation—Gryffindor gains one point!”

Students leaned forward, craning their necks to look. Hermione’s matchstick had not only sharpened at one end, but its color had shifted slightly toward silvery-white—almost resembling a needle.

The brown-haired girl fought hard to keep her expression neutral, but her eyes sparkled with quiet triumph.

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall continued, “would you care to demonstrate the process for the class? Given the… remarkable progress…”

Before she could finish, a gasp rippled through the room.

Wade’s matchstick had transformed—elongated, slender, and sharply pointed, with a tiny hole at its base. Its surface shimmered with a metallic luster.

Professor McGonagall hurried over, levitated the needle with her wand, and examined it closely. A satisfied, almost proud smile spread across her face. “Perfect transfiguration. Ravenclaw gains three points!”

She returned the needle to its original form and gestured for the students to gather around. Under their watchful eyes, Wade murmured the incantation and gave a delicate tap of his wand.

The matchstick stretched instantly, changed color, and in the blink of an eye, a slender silver needle lay on the desk.

A collective “Wow!” burst from the class.

Wade lifted his gaze, scanning the faces around him. His eyes met Hermione’s—her expression tinged with reluctant admiration. Then, they locked with a pair of bright green eyes.

The messy-haired boy beside her offered a friendly smile, his eyes wide with wonder. Next to him, the red-haired boy with freckles stared in dumbfounded awe.

“Everyone says Ravenclaw is the smartest house,” Ron said quietly as class ended, nudging Harry. “Now I actually get it.”

…

After Transfiguration, Charms Class followed immediately—only ten minutes to switch classrooms. Professor McGonagall assigned homework, and the students surged toward the Charms classroom, a mix of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor once again.

“Wade,” Hermione said, ignoring house lines, and sat down beside him. “You got any plans after class?”

“I’m heading to the Practice Room,” Wade replied.

“Good,” she said, exhaling in relief. “I was going to practice Transfiguration there too. How did you do it so perfectly on the first try? Any tricks?”

“The trick,” Wade began, “is to believe—with absolute certainty—that you will succeed. That’s the most important part—”

He was cut off by the arrival of Professor Flitwick.

Professor Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw House, was only a little over a meter tall—about the size of a three- or four-year-old child. He had long, flowing white hair and a thick, fluffy white beard. To teach students who sat taller than he was, he had stacked several books into a makeshift staircase, and now stood at the very top.

A few students stifled giggles.

“Alright, alright, children,” Professor Flitwick said, holding his short wand in tiny hands. “Perhaps some of you are wondering—why does this tiny professor get to teach us?”

The students chuckled, and Flitwick didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy their laughter.

“Or—maybe you’re thinking—what could he possibly teach me?”

With a flick of his wand, a flock of birds burst from the tip, circling above the students’ heads. Then, with another gesture, two books sprouted bamboo-like arms and legs and began dancing in midair.

The class erupted in applause—genuine, delighted, and thoroughly convinced.

In just two minutes, they had fallen in love with their professor. He wasn’t timid like Quirrell, nor dull like Professor Binns. He wasn’t as stern as McGonagall or Snape.

The Ravenclaw students silently puffed their chests—Our Head of House is surely the best professor in Hogwarts!

“Thank you, thank you,” Professor Flitwick said in his soft, high voice. “I believe that charms are the most delightful subject. A wizard without charm magic isn’t a wizard at all. Before we begin, though, I must take attendance—after all, I simply love all my students…”

The roll call went smoothly—until—

“Harry Potter!”

Before anyone could answer, Professor Flitwick let out a sharp cry and tumbled off the stack of books, landing with a soft thud.

The class froze. Heads turned toward the black-haired boy.

Harry Potter raised his hand hesitantly. “I’m here—Professor.”

From behind the stack came a tiny, flustered squeak. After a moment, the professor emerged, hair wild, beard askew, muttering to himself. “Oh, of course—you’re here, of course I should’ve known—”

He ran a quick Scourgify over himself, smoothed his beard, and stared at Harry with warm, almost reverent eyes. “It’s a pleasure to see you, young man.”

Harry nodded shyly, offering a small smile.

Wade wondered if Professor Flitwick saw something familiar in Harry—some memory, some echo. The professor paused, then continued the roll call, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

The first Charms class began with theory, and the only spell taught was the simplest: Lumos. Most first-years had already mastered it at home with a few practice sessions. By the end of class, every student had succeeded. Professor Flitwick awarded both houses nearly equal points, generous and fair.

The homework was light—just three inches of notes, summarizing the key points from class. Wade could’ve handed in his class notes and still passed with flying colors.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end