Hogwarts Raven

So it was, after all, just like this—nothing more.

The mist that had long troubled Ian was now dispelled as if by a Quietus Charm, and he saw that the path ahead was not just a climb to the mountain's peak.

There was also... the scenery in the sky after the clouds had cleared.

"Wizards as gods..."

Clearly.

This was comparing wizards to beings with divine power— like gods, bestowing rules upon matter as if it were second nature.

"If it's about bestowing new rules, then why does Transfiguration eventually lose its effect..." Ian did not voice his confusion aloud.

Because the next moment, he had already figured out the answer himself.

Wizards as gods— the "gods" here were actually the innate magical power of wizards. Magic belonged to the wizard, and this was simply a manifestation of their own immense power.

Any form of material distortion, any redefinition of form, all originated from magic— the wizard's magic acting as a force to rewrite and reshape the world's fundamental laws.

When magic existed within a transformed object, it could be seen as new rules overwriting the old, allowing one to alter reality at will.

However.

If separated from the wizard, the magic would eventually dissipate— perhaps due to the natural restoration of the material world, or perhaps due to other forces at play.

In any case, once the magic maintaining the transformation was depleted, the original form of the object would reemerge— just as Lily Potter's Transfiguration had faded the moment she died.

Because the source of magic no longer existed.

Even if it had not been completely exhausted.

Transfiguration still could not be maintained.

"Perhaps, it's not consumption, but the return of magical power?" Ian knew that to verify this theory, he needed to achieve a successful Transfiguration.

"Vera Verto!"

Ian once again picked up his wand and performed Transfiguration on the matchstick on the table.

This time.

He discarded complex thoughts and imagined himself as the Creator.

[Successfully performed Transfiguration. Transfiguration level increased.]

Ian's personal panel changed, and so did the matchstick— it turned into a slender iron needle, complete with delicate engravings.

"A marvelous spell, a perfect understanding!" Professor McGonagall, even though she had anticipated it, could not help but exclaim in admiration upon seeing Ian's transformation.

The Sorting Hat truly had not made a mistake.

A successor to Ravenclaw after a millennium... so stunning!

"Ian! You're amazing!" Michael cheered beside him. With someone leading the way, the surrounding students, whether they wanted to or not, clapped as well.

After all, they were from the Eagle and Badger houses.

When a housemate excelled, Ravenclaw students did not get jealous. And in Hufflepuff, if someone was happy, everyone joined in the joy.

"What did the professor just write?"

"Is it a secret technique of Transfiguration?"

"Merlin's beard! I didn't see it!"

The earlier conversation between Ian and the professor still puzzled many. Several Ravenclaws were frustrated, feeling they had missed out on an extraordinary lesson.

"Thank you, Professor. I think I understand... but this does not completely answer all my doubts." Ian first thanked Professor McGonagall for her guidance.

Then.

He stared at the needle on the table and pondered carefully.

"The study of Transfiguration is endless. At least you have done well at this stage." Professor McGonagall nodded and turned to assist the remaining students who had yet to complete their transformations.

The classroom was bustling.

Many young wizards who had completed their assignments were eagerly trying to undo and redo the transformation, while Ian kept his eyes fixed on the needle before him.

"A small part of my magic has fallen silent, yet it still exists within me..." Ian felt the connection between himself and the needle.

Clearly.

Though the magic was not truly "consumed," the force within it was continuously maintaining the needle's form.

He could sense that if he severed this connection, a portion of his magic would immediately be restored. But at the same time, the matchstick would return to its original state.

This was an undeniable fact.

"The effect each portion of magic can exert is actually limited. When I apply a sustained influence on reality, that influence will eventually release into the world."

"A wizard's magical prowess determines the strength of this influence. That's also why the higher my magic level on my personal panel, the more powerful my spells."

On his first day of school.

Ian had already deepened his understanding of magic.

Of course.

This did not mean his previous comprehension was entirely wrong.

After all, it was merely a deviation— not an error. He had simply yet to grasp the essence of magic fully. This also related to the magic Ian had been learning all along.

Existing spells.

Were merely discoveries made by others.

They belonged to the realm where one could study pre-established knowledge, advancing only within the limits already explored by past wizards. Ian had been absorbing the wisdom of others.

Whether it was Charms.

Or Ancient Runes.

They were all methods to harness the influence within magic, guiding it toward predetermined outcomes.

The Killing Curse caused death.

The Fire-Making Charm ignited flames.

And so on.

Under this framework.

Even though Ian had recognized the limitations of Charms and the greater flexibility of Runes... he had overlooked that magic itself represented infinite possibilities.

"Charms and Runes are merely tools— guidance." The more Ian thought, the more his mind opened up.

Indeed, as Professor McGonagall had said, a wizard's magic was the foundation of "gods." To exert influence— this was the true path to mastery!

"Vera Verto!"

Ian wanted to test his newfound insight. He softly chanted the incantation again, and the shining silver needle on the table began to change once more, peeling away layer by layer into strands of green smoke.

"Wow! It's turning into smoke! That's brilliant!"

"Same color as my sister's socks this morning!"

The surrounding young wizards exclaimed.

Hearing this, Professor McGonagall turned her head— and instantly froze. Her previously composed expression contorted in horror. Without hesitation, she raised her wand.

"Finite Incantatem!"

The counter-spell's effect was immediate.

The drifting smoke reformed into the original matchstick.

"Huh?"

Ian felt the return of his magic. He looked up in confusion—only to see Professor McGonagall, who had been so composed moments ago, now charging over like an enraged lioness.

"Mr. Prince! Azkaban has no age limit!"

(End of Chapter)

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