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Thursday: Fabric to Feline Transfiguration
Homework: Write two feet of parchment explaining the process necessary to produce a life-like cat from a piece of red cotton cloth. Marks will be deducted for lack of diagrams.
Minerva McGonagall was, beyond all doubt, an excellent teacher. She was the sort described by parents as “wonderful”, “fantastic”, or “an asset to the school”. Unaffected by this praise, Minerva remained modest, in her own very professional way.
The opinions of the parents however, did not always reflect those of their children. Though general consensus was that they were rarely bored in her classes, it had to be admitted that some students were deeply intimidated by her, even frightened to do wrong in her class. Transfiguration is, of course one of those telling subjects; a lapse in concentration or collapse of wrist muscles due to fear would only result in a square teapot or literal cauliflower ears.
The professionalism she applied to her work was applause-worthy at times, but the fact that her very presence had the ability to make first years shake could not be rooted to any occasion in particular. She would glide into the classroom and immediately initiate the lesson, casting frosty glares at those who didn’t see the vice in doing homework before her class. She was certainly known for her sarcastic wit, but often the younger years did not know if laughter was suited to the Transfiguration room.
Those who did not succumb to general opinion, found her to be quite nice and helpful if counsel was needed, and many students had a perpetual fear of disappointing her.
Unlike most other subjects, Transfiguration flew, because the students found themselves working constantly. She set them homework every night, and this was taken for granted. If a student was found without valid reason for missing homework, or any other form of misconduct, they were guaranteed a series of long, boring essays.
It was, therefore, fear of extra homework and no particular interest in Transfiguration that drove many students to put tremendous effort into this subject. Their efforts usually paid off at exam time, thus sealing this professor’s good reputation among the parents.
There were few students who challenged her authority, and she had to admit, years later, that she had found them very entertaining. These few would crop up once in a while, causing chaos in their otherwise monotonous schooldays, and live as legends for the following week.
Two such young men went by the names of James Potter and Sirius Black. As sixth years, they were not beholden to the belief that she was a totalitarianist dictator, a teacher who reigned on her own drunken sense of power “ as many teachers did. It seemed that they had much respect for her. She had limited complaints about their behaviour “ compared to some other members of the faculty.
Were it not for there excellent grades and utmost talent in her branch of magic, she might have quickly dismissed them as lazy nuisances. But she was quick to realise that Potter and Black would only succumb to their roguery (of which they had made quite a reputation) if they were bored. Though there were plenty of other students in her classes with gifted minds, Black and Potter channelled their boredom into destructive rather than creative accomplishments.
It was for these reasons that she was perhaps the most demanding of that class, beckoning the other pupils to keep up with Black and Potter rather than drag them down. In hindsight, she realised that this might have been quite an unfair practice on the naturally weaker students, but they ultimately benefited. No-one in that class did not achieve what they were capable of.
On one memorable occasion, in their fourth year, Potter and Black’s antics had been rewarded with a series of essays to write, based on, “The Consequences of Mammal Transfiguration”. It was the only title she could think of in her rage.
Far from handing up an untidy page full of inane extracts from the textbook, however, Potter and Black took it upon themselves to act out their essays, complete with demonstrations on what they had learned. In the hands of others, these grandeur requests for attention might have looked hopeless. Instead, they transformed the classroom into a two-man play, giving their attentive audience insight into the technique and depth behind the seemingly simple flick of a wand.
Minerva realised with some alarm that they had taken to the task with such fervour because it challenged them. She had wondered, then, if there was some way she could rework her strict classtime agenda to allow the two space to practise on their own.
In the two years that had passed since this development, Black and Potter had not only excelled in her subject, but they had become more subdued. Gone were the tricks and paper owls, replaced by quick understanding and enthusiasm in lessons. It was the challenging work she set for them, she assumed, that gave them an outlet for their boredom. They had shown particular interest in the study of animagi. Minerva thought it a pity that these youths could experience no more of this wondrous work of Transfiguration than from their hard, thick textbooks.
Minerva strode into her classroom, laying her books on the desk to the noisy shuffle of students as they made it to their seats. The hum of voices instantly died down as she faced the class, ready to conduct the day’s lesson. It was a Thursday, and the students were clearly excited about the upcoming weekend Quidditch match - Gryffindor facing Hufflepuff. Minerva looked forward to the match as much as her students did, but she was not quick to show it. The Black-and-Potter group were already growing restless, and only when she glared at them did they fall silent.
Though she usually confined such work to seventh year, the approach of April had seen Minerva move the class to textile-animal transfiguration, a rather difficult process for some. The students were using simple cotton sheets today, and Minerva gave them to Pettigrew to hand out to his classmates. The fabric was red, as it was a plain canvas for wandlight to filter through.
The eyes of every student were on her as she turned to the blackboard, and proceeded to draw a series of diagrams, instructing how to perform such a spell. Her pupils took these down diligently, and the quick scratch of their nibs was the only thing to be heard.
The sun shone low through the large windows, warming every surface in the classroom. Minerva surveyed the students’ heads from her desk. They were bent low, close to the parchment, and their hair fell down into their faces, something she had always avoided by her trademark neat buns.
After their notes were taken, Minerva moved the students on to practise the art of her craft. She always did this; lessons were generally dominated by the large round clock that hung above the door. The silence was soon dispelled by excited murmers from the students, hoping today to reach their goal “ the successful transfiguration of a cat by means of those simple pieces of red cotton lying on their desks.
Minerva strolled between the desks, eyeing the students carefully, sternly correcting mistakes. They had all achieved their task, though most cats looked false, as they were red, like the original fabric. She reached down to examine the fur, careful to note in her ledger what difference had been made, and how persuasive the forms were as cats. Her pupils, knowledgeable of the classroom rules, were careful to keep their cats on their desks, and many held the new cats close when she showed them how to make adjustments to the feline features.
She marched quickly back up to the top of the room, vying to enforce the complicated methods in her pupils’ minds once more. As she moved to her desk, she saw Black and Potter sitting before her, as they always did. Potter sat with his back against the wall beside him, with a black and white striped kitten curled up in his lap. He was scratching its pointed ears fondly, and the low, content purring of the perfect kitten made Minerva feel very proud. Black’s cat was rather large, and he had let it clamber over his desk, leaving messy paw prints on his parchment. It wandered in a bewildered fashion to Potter’s kitten, and its paw dropped down playfully, causing Potter to hold it gently higher up, and Black laughed at his protective behaviour.
Striding before her class, she began to present to the weaker students a different form of thinking. She told them to imagine the fabric and the cat as two entities, one formed by the other through a connection forged by the wizard or witch. The idea of the feline product lodged firmly in their brains, they would allow the elements of the cotton sheet to be transformed.
Some students still stared blankly. She glanced at the ticking clock, and decided to use a different tactic. She told the students that the connection forged is not a physical one, but a mental one. She told them that they must use their utmost imagination to form a realistic creature. She gave them a demonstration “ her wooden desk turned into an elaborate horse and back again, but to no avail. The students’ attentions were also on the clock. Reluctantly, she used the only idea she could to relate to them on such a theoretical concept.
“Imagine two people, in a crowded dance hall.”
The students’ ears seemed to prick up, and their gaze was suddenly turned to alert attentiveness.
“They stand at opposite sides of the hall, with many people in between.” Her voice grew steadily softer.
The class was laughing now, but they quietened to hear the next line of her monologue.
“Their eyes meet. They can’t stop staring at each other. Heart rates quicken… and a connection is forged.” Minerva grew stern again, but she was glad. Those students’ faces now showed clear comprehension, and began to make their own quick adjustments to their cats.
Minerva knew that the bell would ring any second, and was just deciding to leave the students to their own devices as she tidied up, when the door opened. It was rare that no-one had bothered to knock first, and when she looked up from her desk was pleasantly surprised to see Albus Dumbledore. His tall stature nearly reached the top of the door frame.
“Speaking of which…” was a student’s timely whispered insertion to her tale, and the class erupted in quiet chuckling.
But Albus did not laugh. He stood still in the doorway, his face cast down, and with a plummeting feeling, Minerva knew he was not here to give good news.
She walked quickly to the doorway, and on close inspection saw that Albus was quite upset. He seemed to gather himself, however, as she approached, and spoke heavily to her.
Minerva glanced to the two boys sitting in the corner, playing with their cats. Potter, with eyes so sharp he had won her the Quidditch House Cup three years running, had caught her eye. His grin had immediately disappeared, and he looked at Albus, quickly comprehending “ as he always did “ the subject under discussion. Albus beckoned him, his light blue eyes sad.
The noise of the students had reached a height, and they sat in their rows, chatting amongst themselves, with no notion of what their popular classmate had just understood. Potter had quickly risen from his seat, dumbly releasing his kitten onto the floor. He arrived quickly to their side, and as he passed heads turned, wondering the meaning of it. Most concerned, Minerva saw, were Black, and Lupin and Pettigrew who sat behind him. For a second she saw the group staring silently after him, before Albus quietly shut the door.
With a meaningful look at her, Albus took the pale sixteen-year-old down the corridor, and Minerva watched their retreating feet until they rounded a corner and she lost sight of them.
The bell rang. Its trilling sound seemed to resound against the stone walls for hours. The students poured out of the doors in torrents, happily discussing their approaching lunch. Then her students streamed out quietly, their faces grim. Last out were the three others she had watched, their eyes now roving the corridors in search of their friend. She saw them from a distance, and with a heavy heart turned the other way, unwillingly experienced in such situations. The world surrounding them was a dark one, one Albus hoped to prevent from entering Hogwarts. But such shocking events would not be prevented, and already she could feel a dim, tense atmosphere descend on the school.
With a deep sigh, she began the short walk to her office, ignoring the chattering students who walked by.
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