Oh, the sweet routines.

Routines were the bread of life. They brought structure, constancy, and permanency. Made a framework, which allowed for an effortless living. No, perhaps effortless is the wrong word. Productive would be a better word. When things were qualitatively simple for me, I just upped the quantity. I didn’t have any specific need to read more. Nobody, no classes, no people were asking me for more. I didn’t even really need the knowledge I got for anything. I didn’t have any specific agenda to amass knowledge. That wasn’t the point. I didn’t read because I wanted something. I read because I want to.

And that was my perfect routine. Wake up, go to eat, attend classes, read in the library, fall asleep, repeat. I could feel myself merging with the natural life of Hogwarts, a small, pale student in oversized robes who was living in his own world surrounded by books. Like a side story character that nobody cared enough to think a motivation and drive. Like the stretching armor on the second floor, two ladders up in a dead-end corridor, I was becoming a constant in this flux of magic. A boring, insignificant constant, but a constant nonetheless.

It had been nearly two months since the school year started. Autumn was already well on its way. I wouldn’t have known otherwise, but we had mandatory flight lessons. Yea, a stupid idea. If humans were meant to fly, we would have wings. But no, for some reason, the aspiration of at least half of my classmates is to use a broom to defy the four-dimensional spacetime continuum. And brooms of all the things. So many things to use, but brooms. How about enchanted books which carry you up the air? But no, those were not the cards I was dealt with, and everybody must play.

Those were my initial thoughts from brooms, but after I was civilized by a few books and adamant Leon, I came to understand it wasn’t all that stupid. The point is that, like reading is purely my hobby, no, way of life, that same way was the first broom enchanted at some point in the tenth century. Not to find a particularly efficient way of travelling or the safest. No, none of those things were in the considerations. The brooms were enchanted because they could be done, and maybe a small part due to just amusement.

And to be fair, flying with a broom was fun. Or at least most looked to be enjoying themselves, when I looked at them from the ground. After trying flying with five different brooms, Professor Glemveil, who teaches flying with an unending optimism, gave up. So with a satisfaction in my eyes, and an irked and depressed old Professor by my side, we had been observing the class from the ground. We had only had two flying classes, but I had quickly grown accustomed to bringing a book to read, while others practiced and played by passing a large red ball in the air. Flying class didn’t seem like a regular class, but more similar to a break, just reserved for the wellbeing of the students. Well, not that I minded, I was happily reading my books. Although, if ever there would be rain, I don’t know what I would do. I am quite sure they wouldn’t fail year based on flying class, so in the worst-case scenario I would hide in the library. Though, I fear that is the first place they would search for me, so I hope it never comes down to it.

Life was going well. Not great because only someone with a mental disorder, or a pathological liar, could truly feel great for such a long time. Most people’s moods would shift like waves, with their ups and downs. Some furious breaking waves jumping from the top of the world to the bottom and back on the next day. If I were a wave, I would be an old wave in the ocean; you could barely see it. So in that constancy of routine and moderate satisfaction, I thrived. Day by day, learn something curious in classes, learn other fascinating things in the library.

Although I don’t have a perfect understanding of the subjects, but based on my initial understanding, my second favorite class after charms was transfiguration.

Not due to being particularly talented at it, but due to it being a highly varied field of spelling, with simple steps for small variations, unlike in charms, where the modification of a spell was extremely risky and difficult, more akin to creating a whole new spell.

Transformation, the art of changing an object to another. Transformation was a branch of transfiguration, but due to its applications and widespread fame, it was practically the same as transfiguration. If someone was referring to transfiguration, he was with a near certainty actually referring to transformation.

And there was a good reason. From the start of the semester until now, we have only been learning about transformation in transfiguration classes. It was one of the easiest aspects to get started and would provide a foundation for transfiguration spell work in the future. It was no wonder that transformation was overrepresented, especially since the teacher, my old acquaintance Professor McGonagall, was a transformation expert, being one of the seven registered animagi in Britain.

Transformations were different from charms. Where charms gave and changed the properties of the object by e.g., making it lighter or making it emit light, transformation, instead, changed the object. More specifically, transformation was the act of superposing a clear image of the goal object inside the target. Emphasis on the word clear. In a way charms were much more standardized, with very predictable outcomes, but transformation, was always based on the subject image. Of course, not everything was possible. A strong will would need to impose and usurp the difference between the object and the target. And that would not be an easy task, as an object would have an innate resistance to change. That resistance depended on various situational and environmental parameters, but the most important parameter was the similarity or difference between the objects. That difference was further composed of numerous aspects such as the materials difference, the change in mass, the change in size, and the change in shape.

However, for the difference to even be an issue, the imposed image would need to be clear first. Only, with a clear image, was the transformation even possible.

For me, the image was not the problem. I had seen a needle before. Heck, I had probably used needles more times than all of my classmates put together. Yes, the image was fine. The only problem was the will. How do you will something more? Should I look at a match with fire in my eyes and a grimace in my lips until something happened? Yeah, that sounds productive. And does that truly portray will, and not the stubbornness of an emotionally unstable personality, who has problems accepting reality as soon as they hurt his fragile ego?

Never mind, who am I trying to convince here. Myself maybe? So, have I already given up?

Maybe. At least, I gave up trying to force my will. I have never enjoyed forcing myself into situations, so I have just reoriented my life until I didn’t need to. And I would not be forcing myself through this time either. I liked magic and wanted to do everything, but after trying a few tries with my heart beating in my throat and the taste of vomit in my mouth, I gave up. It’s not worth it. Definitely not worth it.

With that in mind, my transfiguration lessons went smoothly. I was the first to transform the match into a needle, earning me some house points and jealous looks. However, some start early and never finish, some start late but arrive at the end with the next step. I was clearly the former. After a few weeks, most of my classmates had learned the transformation spell, and some had taught themselves to make the transformation in a second or so. My spell, on the other hand, had shown little improvement. The transformation time had been reduced, but only by a second, the longest amount of time of all the transformations. In fact, even those who made transformations for the first time had transformation speeds faster than mine. As for the duration of the transformation, well … it was short. Far too short.

On the upside, the casting didn’t leave me as spent as I first was when I forced myself to give it my all in the orphanage bed. In fact, the casting was pleasant, nice, and comfortable, except for the fact that the transformation was barely cast.

However, since the casting was so effortless, I had an amusing time introducing changes to the transformed needle and seeing what could be done. The color of gold was an easy change, with quicker transformation speed than the regular silver needle. The reason, I suspected, had to do with the color of the needle matching closely to the color of the original match, and thus the resistance to change was lower. This was supported by my coloring experiments, where I tried all the colors in the rainbow and more. What I observed was what I had suspected, the more the color changed, the more the resistance.

After asking McGonagall, she helpfully explained that indeed, the transformation difficulty can be reduced by choosing similar parameters. However, these modifications will become more relevant in later year classes, and one should not yet worry as it is a known that the quality and resolution of images would improve with maturity and age. Instead, the mark of a strong transfiguration wizard is the powerful will to impose one’s own desires, and the enduring determination to stay in those convictions.

But I had none of those. So, instead, I experimented with what I enjoyed. Since the creations and visualization of the images themselves was an easy task for me, I decided to try all the modifications and try what I could do. I mean, what more can anyone ever do than what one can? So, better not stress more about impossibilities.

The complexity of the target was not really an issue for me, as it mainly seemed to affect the difficulty of picturing the image. A simpler image was easier to visualize and impose compared to a complex image full of intrigue. For example, a very fine engraving on the needle, that could barely be seen, was practically the same as the regular silver needle. The only real difference was the complexity of the image. Other similar non-costly changes were surface texturing and very small modifications to the design, with varying thickness etc.

And those non-costly changes were where I shone, twisting the image to complexity, but keeping any real changes minimal. Every one of my classmates had problems with this aspect, so I was a target of admiration and jealousy. Professor McGonagall, however, told me after class with sad eyes, not to lose hope with transfiguration and encouraged that hard work would be rewarded. I don’t believe she even believed it herself, as she said those words full of resignation in her heart with eyes that were looking at a dead man, void of hope.

So, needless to say, my hopes for being good at transfiguration were not high. Nevertheless, it was fun to transform matches, so much so, that I managed to get a matchbox from the prefects that I used to transform to different colored and shaped needles, from rusted blunted ones to petite shiny ones.

But that was not the end of my transfiguration adventures. Although, we were forbidden to use transfiguration outside of classes and especially things that were not yet taught in classes, I could not resist trying to transform the alarm bird’s beak into a closed muzzle. However, after the familiar feeling of starting the spell, complications arrived. The spell, which was usually pleasant to spell and had never encountered blocks, fizzled out with a few sparks and an audible pop. After which I used the better part of fifteen minutes running away from the bird which had ejected from its platform and was chasing me in the common room. Finally, with a heavy heart and a bloody face, I collapsed on the common room coaches to wonder why everything went so wrong. It had felt like my spell had hit a wall, a brick wall, or maybe even a steel wall. All other times, my spells had gone through, like having charged a reservoir that was constantly depleting until it collapsed. However, this was something else entirely. There was no reservoir with depletion, but more like throwing an egg at a stone. An insurmountable wall blocking an insignificant effect.

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After watching a few seniors giving out money with crumbled expressions to a very proud and happy looking sixth year, they informed me that seeing when the first firsties try to spell an alarm bird is an annual amusement with various betting options. This year was unusually early, so the price money was especially large. After a quick inquiry, I found out the alarm birds, and practically, everything with functional usage, have been enchanted and enchanted objects are practically impossible to spell. The spell would need to usurp an active magic, not just the usual passive resistance of the object. Therefore, the difficulty of spelling will skyrocket and usually result in backfiring of the magic, with numerous possibilities from explosions to obscure curses. Due to annual experiments, the backfiring of alarm bird enchantments have been determined to a high degree. With a high certainty, the results will not be deadly. More precisely, light shows and audible perturbations are most expected, but one teleportation into the middle of the Great Lake has also been noted for an especially powerful attempt. I felt relieved and lucky that my magic was not considered powerful, as with my physique, I would have been found dead in the lake if ever at all.

Apparently, the chasing murderous bird part is not due to spell backfiring, but just a punishment. I knew it, it felt too purposeful and vindictive!

So, with the score 2-0 to bird, it was time for me to cease my foolish ways, and only fight the battles I would have a real possibility of winning. Besides, after the rough initial introductions with library books, we had been getting along fine. It was a nice failsafe as an alarm, in case I wouldn’t wake up naturally.

Today was Halloween, the 31st of October, a pleasant day for orphanage kids to get sweets, but it had a whole different connotation in the magical world. Well, not precisely. Even in the muggle world the Halloween stemmed from a dead honoring tradition, but nowadays, it has transformed into some commercial abomination with little care for its roots. However, in the magical world, the link to the dead was still very much present.

I don’t know why, but the ghosts have been especially active in this time, especially that day. The legend goes, that it’s due to the spiritual world and the spirits of the dead being closest to the material world. Of course, that is only a folktale from “Folkrie’s lores” as that explanation itself leaves so many more questions and holes to be filled. Nowhere, in the current systemic explanations of magic, had I yet stumbled upon any explanations or theories, nevermore observations to support the claims. Although, I did learn from “Law and magic” that the ministry of magic has a department of mysteries, which studies such obscure topics as death and even time, so there might be something more behind the folktale.

So, there I was, going directly from the afternoon class of transfiguration to the Great Hall for a Halloween feast. According to the seniors, the feast is a must, with tables full of delicious gourmet dishes. I was initially not so interested in the feast as I had little interest in spending my whole evening shoveling food inside my throat, which I didn’t care for, instead of reading books in my library, which I loved. However, after seeing the massive amount of work and effort the school did to prepare the decorations, I decided I would watch it until the end.

The previous weekend, every time I left the library in the evening, I came across Flitwick spelling floating candles with a bluish hue of light that quickly disappeared, after which Flitwick continued his spelling. The second time I stumbled upon his spelling, I asked about the decorations, and he had helpfully explained.

Flitwick had promised to make decorate the castle with two decorations: floating candles and carved pumpkins. The decorations themselves were purely, well, decorations, they hold no significance or usage apart from giving the students a festive mood. But the specific spelling of the decorations was very fascinating. Both candles, and pumpkins were spelled to float, but not just float but also move slowly. The candles were spelled to move, while considering the lighting of the space, so that in practice they calibrated the lighting to be uniform. Then, when an equilibrium was achieved, the candles would randomly choose a new position and the ordering would happen cyclically. Just this explanation by itself made me choose to observe the feast with all my attention, but similarly, the pumpkins also had a gimmick.

The pumpkins were much more intelligent. At the start, each pumpkin was lit by a single candle, but their objective was getting more candles. The only way they could get more candles, was by stealing them from the other pumpkins. The pumpkins would then go through this battle royale at the castle while students were feasting. As a pumpkin gained more candles, its eyes would grow more brightly with more vigor, leading others to gang up against it. Apparently, many corridors would be full of sights of exciting pumpkin chases on the Halloween night, with heartrending endings and heroic standoffs. After a pumpkin had collected five candles from other pumpkins, it would gently fall down, losing its animation and movement but gaining the victory and staying in its final place as a static decoration, a trophy to the glorious winner as a jack-o’-lantern. Usually, the first winners would fall down one to two hours after the feast began, but the battles could only be really analyzed in the morning, when all battles had ceased and the corridors were full of haphazardly placed pumpkins. Usually, at the end, one pumpkin was left to roam the castle, searching for opponents until the animation charms failed. These would take at least a few weeks. But a recorded from five years ago was a sighting of a pumpkin trying to scare an owl at the owlery, a month after Halloween, so they can last longer.

The winning pumpkins would be left in their place for a one week with preservation charms, after which they would be used in the kitchen. However, the put out pumpkins, the ones who lost, would be used in the kitchen immediately for different pumpkin dishes from breads to soups and desserts. Indirectly, and with the latency of the cooking, the ferocity of the battles could be interpolated based on the appearing rate of pumpkin dishes on the tables.

Before Halloween all the decorations, both candles and pumpkins, were in suspended animation and invisible, but would come to life as the feast starts.

The sheer amount of complexity in the decorations was mind-boggling and inspiring at the same time. I wanted to do something similar. However, after the enthusiastic affirmation, Flitwick politely declined from my help that I had not yet asked, mind you. Apparently, help was appreciated, but the required spelling needed would be from third years and up. Instead, first years should enjoy their time at the feast, and take in and wonder about all the magical sights presented.

So, attending the feast versus reading in the library was a hard bargain, but with a heavy heart, I lowered my book and put on my party hat. Just a figure of speech. I don’t have a party hat, and if I did, I would have traded it for a book.

When I stepped into the hall, the candles had already reappeared, but were still calm, staying in place and giving a festive and warm lighting and atmosphere into the hall. Most of the hall was still empty with only a few students waiting for the feast to start and the headmaster Dumbledore, who nodded a friendly greeting with a warm smile, which I tried to return. The friendly nod, since I don’t think my smile is that warm or welcoming, as using Oscars words: there is a try, but the execution is greatly lacking. Apparently, if my roommates didn’t know me, they would probably think I had constipation.

After ten minutes or so, the hall had filled up to the brim, full of commotion and exited conversations between friends. My roommates, Oscar and Leon, had also graced me with their presence, excitedly talking about a quidditch match that was last weekend. I politely smiled, this one much more natural than the friendly forced smile, and nodded to blend in the social environment. Maybe not the most natural of camouflage, but a camouflage, nevertheless.

“Good evening everyone.” Dumbledore interrupted everyone, with a soft, clear, and yet unstoppable voice, reverberating in my head with majesty, that required attention. He continued with a less imposing voice.

“It is with great pleasure, that I spend this evening with you, celebrating the hallowed eve. Let the dead be at peace, and let the feast begin!” And with just a few words, the feast started.

The tables, empty before, quickly started filling with starters of innumerable kinds, all presented in bronze goblets and cutlery embellished with sapphires and other blue colored crystals. After a few looks, I reaffirmed that the color scheme was based on house colors, but with a festive and glorious appearance.

While others were busy gorging themselves full of anything they could get their dirty hands on, I wanted to look at the Flitwick’s decorations. The candles had begun to move randomly, maybe half a foot a second, and after a moment, were moving like small toddlers all pushing each other outwards with a few shifts here and there. When the shifting had ended and the candles seemed satisfied, they were again put into chaos by the randomization. It was amusing, how I could almost imagine the feelings of the candles in each state, the pure panic and fear when chaos came, the fury when someone was in a wrong place, and the child like satisfaction when everything, for just a moment, was perfect.

Pumpkins had been chased out of the hall by ethereal snakes that moved so naturally that they must have been magical creatures. I was a little disappointed, as I wanted to see some of the battles, that were probably going on all over the castle by now. In fact, I decided not to gloom over my regret, but instead, excused myself to go watch over the castle.

It was a weird feeling, walking through the castle. I had not ever been exploring the castle at night, but I imagined it must have felt the same. Desolation, such a desolate feeling. I thought the constantly reorganizing candles would have made the feeling more welcome, but instead I felt desolation and maybe a little bit of adventure.

My hopes were answered, in that I did find pumpkins. After finding just a single one, I followed it, in case it would lead to more of its kind, and surprise, surprise, like a hunting hound tracks its prey, we had found a free for all battle of about a dozen pumpkins, which got one more. I thought the battle would be much more Mexican stand-offish, but this was much more active. Like a crash derby, where evasive actions were taken only at the moment of death. And death I saw. The death was horrifying, fascinating, and intriguing all at ones. I saw as a pumpkin was ambushed from the back by another, and in just a moment it lost its light. It was horrifying, to see the light that was just a moment ago, so full of vigor and energy, just cease to exist, fade away like a dream that ended. Fascinating, as how the light was sucked inside the killer, growing brighter in the process, as if to prove its existence. Intriguing, as the falling pumpkin disappeared out of thin air, just before hitting the floor.

I knew they were not alive and all, but somehow it felt terrifying. And that terrified feeling got me questioning why. Why was it so terrifying? It’s not like they really died, if they were never alive, right. After a few minutes in that somber mood, I returned to the hall, only to nearly collide with a pumpkin as I was turning a corner. Usually, this would be impossible, as the pumpkins were moving up the air, in at least ten feet high. I was ready to yield, when I realized it wasn’t an accident, it was on the floor. This was the mark of the winner, a jack-o’-lantern. I looked over the pumpkin out of my curiosity and made a few observations. The light propagation from the eyes and mouth of the pumpkin was more purple hue and brighter than for the floating pumpkins. Additionally, the facial expression was different. Where the floating pumpkins had ferocious expressions, full of concentration and alertness, the jack-o’-lantern had an expression of a smile. A smile similar to a photograph of the winner of a race. The smile of look mom, I made it! The smile of pride and satisfaction.

The rest of the evening I spent in the hall, enjoying just made pumpkin delicacies and enjoying the festive mood. I came to learn that the ethereal snakes were McGonagall’s contribution to the decoration efforts, and actually played a part in a play that the ghosts presented. I must admit, it was a cleaver idea to use ethereal snakes as arrows. Being a ghost, also certainly eased the challenge of portraying a revenge from the grave. Well played, ghosts.

Finally, with my stomach fuller than it has ever been before, we left to sleep. On the way, lanterns, each smiling their last smile. Their proud shout of victory, smiling from ear to ear, a guard of honor to lead me to sleep.