Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

The needle in front of him seemed like an amorphous lump of clay, constantly shifting its form without a moment's pause. Yet, unlike clay, it didn't possess that familiar texture or color; instead, it alternated between appearing metallic and wooden, endlessly transforming.

For Harry, this sensation of casting magic felt rather unfamiliar. In traditional shamanistic practices, spells were primarily performed through communion with the elements and ancestors, relying on requests and harmony. Only shamans who had strayed down darker paths would impose their will to forcibly twist the elements, coercing them into service.

But now, this transfiguration spell Harry was casting resembled those of those dark shamans. It relied on his will to forcibly manipulate external objects—a feeling Harry found unsettling, perhaps even repulsive.

From the perspective of magical theory, these were two fundamentally different schools of thought.

Shamans believed that all things had spirits, even something as mundane as a needle—provided that the needle held unique meaning to someone, such as being passed down from one's parents. A needle imbued with such emotions could indeed possess a spirit.

However, the needle before Harry was merely a standard classroom prop, devoid of any inherent spirit. Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder: what if he were transfiguring an object that did have a spirit?

Would the spirit vanish during the transfiguration? Would it be distorted? Obliterated?

In the context of magic—such a subjective, belief-driven power—these questions were of paramount importance. Harry couldn't afford to gloss over them. Ignoring such doubts would only sow the seeds of trouble for his future self.

And what if he turned an object with a spirit into a living creature, like a cat? Would that mean he had given the spirit a body? Had he granted it life?

Harry's thoughts wandered endlessly, and the needle before him—if it could still be called a needle—morphed along with his musings, gradually taking on the shape of a cat.

It had limbs and facial features, but its surface looked as if it were covered in mud, on the verge of disintegration.

Professor McGonagall's face lit up with increasing delight. She was even ready to offer words of praise—but then the cat collapsed, breaking apart into something unrecognizable on the desk.

"Excellent work with the Transfiguration, ten points to Gryffindor!" she still commended him. "You were so close to succeeding, Mr. Potter."

"Perhaps some of you don't quite understand what just happened," Professor McGonagall turned to address the other young wizards in the room. "Let me explain briefly: in your first and second years, you'll only be required to transfigure living objects into non-living ones. While challenging, the difficulty level is relatively low."

"But what Mr. Potter attempted was transfiguring a non-living object into a living one—a skill that's part of the third-year curriculum and extremely advanced," she continued, her tone tinged with admiration. "I'm confident that most of you won't master this until the end of your third year."

"But I failed, Professor," Harry said, staring blankly at the messy pile of... whatever it was on the desk, still caught up in the peculiar sensation from earlier.

"That's because you're resisting it, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said gently.

It seemed that after witnessing Harry's innate talent for Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall had let go of some of her earlier displeasure toward him over the trouble he had caused before term started.

No teacher dislikes a gifted student—this holds true everywhere.

Professor McGonagall could see it clearly. The cat had almost fully taken shape before it began to tremble violently at the last moment, ultimately collapsing into a failed transformation.

"Yes, I was resisting it," Harry sighed. "I have a lot of questions I'd like to ask you."

"Of course, that's what I'm here for," Professor McGonagall replied, clearly pleased. "But you'll have to wait until after class. During lessons, we need to stick to the curriculum."

Harry had no objections. When he turned his head, however, he saw Hermione furiously pointing her wand at her needle—almost as if she were about to stab it to death with sheer force.

Honestly, Harry thought that if Hermione pushed any harder, the needle might actually transform—if being bent out of shape counted as Transfiguration.

This had poor Neville sitting next to her trembling, too scared to utter a single word for fear of accidentally setting off the ticking time bomb beside him.

"What's gotten into her?" Harry asked Ron, utterly confused.

"Oh, so you finally noticed, mate," Ron said with a sarcastic edge. "She's been like that ever since you started messing with that needle. I was afraid she'd shove her wand up my nose in frustration."

"I did NOT!" Hermione snapped, though she was clearly struggling to keep her voice down. Even so, it drew a sharp look from Professor McGonagall. "I just—I just—"

She stumbled over her words, unable to articulate her feelings. Her face flushed bright red, and her eyes glistened slightly.

She's a proud kid, Harry thought. He'd already picked up on that during their train ride to Hogwarts.

"Take it easy," Harry said knowingly. "It's only our first Transfiguration lesson. According to Professor McGonagall, just managing to change the needle's color by the end of class would already be impressive."

"...I have to remind you, Harry Potter," Hermione hissed, her voice low but full of bite as she spat each syllable through gritted teeth, "that you're the same age as the rest of us—we're all eleven! So stop calling me a kid!"

"Why should I lag so far behind you when we're learning magic at the same time? This makes no sense!"

Her competitive spirit had fully ignited.

To Hermione, it was one thing to be slightly behind her peers. But falling this far behind? That was simply unacceptable—third-year material, for heaven's sake!

Harry opened his mouth, but he couldn't explain to Hermione that his soul wasn't purely that of an eleven-year-old child, that his experiences and growth far exceeded theirs. So instead, he could only share his learning approach.

"You need to focus more, Hermione," Harry said helpfully. "The key to Transfiguration is determination. You need to impose your will on the target, commanding it to change. The process has to be resolute. For kids, staying focused is actually the hardest part."

Most people find that the harder they try to clear their minds and concentrate, the more distractions pop up—especially for lively children.

"Oh, sure, 'stay focused,'" Hermione grumbled. "Easy for you to say! Why was it so effortless for you?"

"...Because I'm Harry Potter."

Harry didn't particularly enjoy the attention his name brought him, but he had to admit—it was a convenient excuse when he couldn't explain certain things.

In the magical world, the name Harry Potter was practically synonymous with "innate talent." It was something muggle-born wizards and witches couldn't fully comprehend.

Which, of course, only made Hermione angrier.

In contrast to Ron and Neville, the two brothers handled things quite differently. Neville seemed somewhat tense, while Ron appeared completely carefree—after all, Professor McGonagall had said that transfiguring needles was the focus of the next two weeks' lessons. So why rush?

As for Harry, who had already succeeded in transfiguration during the first lesson…

My brother's amazing!!

That was just Ron for you.

The class flew by quickly. Just as it was about to end, Hermione finally managed to alter the needle's shape. This bit of progress was enough to make the young girl breathe a sigh of relief, lifting a good amount of the pressure off her shoulders.

First-year students didn't have any other lessons after Tuesday afternoon's Transfiguration class. While most of the other students dashed out of the classroom, Harry stayed behind, holding his things as he approached Professor McGonagall. Naturally, an unyielding Hermione followed close behind. Ron and Neville, not wanting to leave their friends, trailed along as well.

"Before you share your concerns, Mr. Potter, please tell me about your current progress in Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall said. Post-class, she seemed much less stern.

"I'm stuck at the third-year level, Professor," Harry admitted, looking troubled as he tried to explain his struggle. Wizards weren't shamans, after all, and they didn't believe in the concept of animism. "Turning inanimate objects into living things makes me… feel spiritually uncomfortable."

Behind him, Harry could hear Hermione take a sharp breath, but at the moment, he couldn't spare the energy to comfort the girl's feelings.

Even Ollivander, the wandmaker with some shamanistic talent, could only sense the spirits within wands. That was more of an intuitive gift, while most wizards didn't concern themselves with such things at all.

Harry was worried that Professor McGonagall might dismiss his concerns as childish fantasies.

"To be precise, Transfiguration as a whole makes me feel spiritually uncomfortable," Harry decided to be honest. "In my view, Transfiguration forces your will onto external objects, twisting them into something else. But I—uh, you could say I have a magical talent. This talent has always told me to treat all things equally, to accept them and guide them toward balance. These two ideas conflict with each other."

"Forcing your will… I didn't expect you to view Transfiguration that way. So that's the source of your resistance?" Professor McGonagall's expression became unexpectedly serious, her brows furrowing. "And your magical talent… Headmaster Dumbledore has mentioned certain things about you to me, but he doesn't know much either."

Bloodline magic wasn't unheard of in the wizarding world. For example, Tonks' Metamorphmagus ability or the unique inherited magic among certain pure-blood families. So, in truth, it wasn't all that surprising.

Not to mention, Harry had already made headlines in the Daily Prophet by his second day back in this world.

"I can't give you an answer without understanding your situation better, especially since it involves your magical talent. That would be irresponsible of me, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said cautiously. "Perhaps I'll need to invite you to join my Transfiguration Club a bit earlier than planned."

Hogwarts had various clubs, such as the Gobstones Club, which Ron had already joined. Gobstones was a kind of wizarding tabletop game.

There were also Professor Flitwick's Charms Club, the Duelling Club, and so on. Some of these clubs even hosted competitions.

"Normally, invitations are sent in your third year. But as a professor, I can't stand to see you waste two years of potential on ordinary lessons. That would be a loss for the wizarding world."

"Once we've studied your situation in detail, we can offer more targeted solutions," Professor McGonagall said, her lips pressing into a thin line that resembled a smile. "So, Mr. Potter, what's your answer?"

"I'd be honored, Professor," Harry replied without hesitation.

He truly loved the magic of this world, and Transfiguration, as a defining branch of magic, was something he couldn't give up so easily.

If he ever returned to Azeroth someday, Harry was determined to use this world's magic to impress Jaina—and settle an old score from when a certain mage had humiliated him.

"Um, Professor—can I… join too? Your club, I mean!" Hermione blurted out, clearly panicked after seeing Harry invited to Professor McGonagall's advanced Transfiguration class (or so it appeared to a Muggle-born student).

Falling behind was bad enough, but now Harry had joined a Transfiguration club—that just meant she'd fall even further behind!

"Oh, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall offered an encouraging smile. "For lower-year students, joining such clubs too early isn't necessarily a good idea. We prefer to see you focus on your current coursework and enjoy campus life. Don't rush things."

"As for Mr. Potter… well, his situation is clearly unique." Picking up her belongings, Professor McGonagall prepared to leave. "I have other classes to attend to. Someone will deliver the club invitation to you later, Mr. Potter."

"I look forward to seeing you there."

With that, Professor McGonagall left gracefully, leaving behind Hermione with reddened eyes. She didn't even wait for the others, storming off with her books clutched tightly in her arms.

"Ah, she really wants to improve," Ron said with a sigh as he watched Hermione push the door open and storm out. "Honestly, even if the Transfiguration Club was right in front of me, I wouldn't want to join. I didn't expect her to get this worked up over it."

"She—uh, Hermione's not a bad person, really," Neville stammered.

"Of course, I know that," Ron shrugged. "After that fight on the train, she even tried to take all the blame on herself. I just think she's torturing herself—and us, while she's at it. It's kind of annoying."

That battle on the train had forged a strong bond of camaraderie, which made Ron consider Hermione one of his own. Otherwise, her attitude would've irritated him long ago.

Ron, a man who occasionally displayed great wisdom.

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