Glass
Age 16 / 287 words
He closes his eyes. He breathes. Slow in. Slow out.
"Mister... Creevey?"
He nods to the examiner. He steps forward. Most people assume Transfiguration requires extreme focus, taking a clear picture in your head and channelling it through your wand to make the necessary change in the world. Most people who have met Dennis for more than thirty seconds assume he must be pretty crap at it.
The NEWT examiner places a coffee cup on the examination stand. It still has coffee in it. Thick and dark and strong smelling. He smiles. He opens his eyes. His wand lifts.
Transfiguration is not a science. It's not simple topology. It's an art. It's not about focus. It's about flow. It's about shifting, changing ideas. It's about a thousand cumulative changes to bring out the shapes within and without. It's about using every potential, every possibility. Sooner or later, you always reach the end you want.
Before him, the cup stretches, twists, turns, curls, becoming thinner, taller, ceramic shifting colours, becoming metal, rising into a cylinder, a cone, a helix, spreading out, becoming lighter, extending branches, becoming glass, a growing glass tree, becoming all roots and branches, and then they twist together into knots which break off and open wings and suddenly they're standing in a swarm of glittering glass butterflies with dark coffee hearts.
He holds out a hand. The swarm flutters in. Land, one by one. Coalesce. Glass becomes opaque. The cup fills. He holds it out to the examiner. The examiner takes it. The examiner drinks. Dennis breathes in. The examiner pulls a face.
"I must remember to bring my own coffee, not this school muck next time."
He breathes out.
"Thank you, Mister Creevey."
Dennis beams.
He closes his eyes. He breathes. Slow in. Slow out.
"Mister... Creevey?"
He nods to the examiner. He steps forward. Most people assume Transfiguration requires extreme focus, taking a clear picture in your head and channelling it through your wand to make the necessary change in the world. Most people who have met Dennis for more than thirty seconds assume he must be pretty crap at it.
The NEWT examiner places a coffee cup on the examination stand. It still has coffee in it. Thick and dark and strong smelling. He smiles. He opens his eyes. His wand lifts.
Transfiguration is not a science. It's not simple topology. It's an art. It's not about focus. It's about flow. It's about shifting, changing ideas. It's about a thousand cumulative changes to bring out the shapes within and without. It's about using every potential, every possibility. Sooner or later, you always reach the end you want.
Before him, the cup stretches, twists, turns, curls, becoming thinner, taller, ceramic shifting colours, becoming metal, rising into a cylinder, a cone, a helix, spreading out, becoming lighter, extending branches, becoming glass, a growing glass tree, becoming all roots and branches, and then they twist together into knots which break off and open wings and suddenly they're standing in a swarm of glittering glass butterflies with dark coffee hearts.
He holds out a hand. The swarm flutters in. Land, one by one. Coalesce. Glass becomes opaque. The cup fills. He holds it out to the examiner. The examiner takes it. The examiner drinks. Dennis breathes in. The examiner pulls a face.
"I must remember to bring my own coffee, not this school muck next time."
He breathes out.
"Thank you, Mister Creevey."
Dennis beams.