With a casual flick of her wand, Professor McGonagall vanished the flock of chirping canaries. The sudden silence in the office was heavy, replacing the artificial joy of the birds with the crackling of the fire.
She peered over her spectacles at Orion, a rare look of impressed surprise softening her stern features.
"I must admit, Mr. Malfoy," she began, clasping her hands on the desk. "I am genuinely astonished that you noticed the absence of... let us call it 'the spark'. Most students—even N.E.W.T. level candidates—simply see a singing bird and applaud the magic. They rarely look into its eyes to find no one ho."
Orion nodded slowly. "They were too perfect. Too programd. Real life is ssy. Those birds were an equation solved to zero."
"Precisely," McGonagall agreed. "And that brings us to the core of your struggle. Creating a living, breathing, thinking organism is not rely difficult; it is, by the laws of our reality, impossible. We are governed by Gamp's Law of Elental Transfiguration, yes, but beyond that... there are laws of Soul Magic."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a serious, almost conspiratorial hush.
"To replicate true life—with blood that carries oxygen, nerves that fire impulses, a brain that processes fear and hunger—you would be dabbling in arts far darker and more complex than simple Conjuration. You would be trying to play a god, rather than a wizard. That path leads to madness, and usually, a cell in Azkaban."
Orion felt a chill. He realized just how arrogantly he had approached the spell. He had been trying to act like a 3D printer of biology, attempting to weave cellular structures and DNA helixes out of magic. No wonder his wand had been smoking; he was trying to compute the entire human geno on a calculator.
"So," McGonagall continued, leaning back. "Since you have grasped the limitation, I can offer you the key. You are not trying to create a bird, Orion. You are trying to create a puppet."
"A puppet?"
"A shell," she clarified. "A hollow construct made of magic and air that mimics the behavior of a bird. It doesn't need lungs; it needs a charm that makes its chest rise and fall. It doesn't need a voice box; it needs a sonic vibration charm. It is a simulacrum. A masterpiece of surface-level illusion."
She gestured to the empty air where the birds had been.
"However, do not mistake 'hollow' for 'simple'. To maintain that many active variables—flight, song, movent, texture—requires a level of focus that is frankly unreasonable for a First Year. It requires a ntal partitioning that takes years to develop."
She offered him a small, rare smile—one that didn't feel like a grade.
"There is no sha in waiting, Mr. Malfoy. The Hogwarts curriculum is not arbitrary. We start with the inanimate—matches to needles—because tal doesn't need to breathe. Then we move to the animate. We build you up slowly. Rushing into advanced conjuration is like trying to fly a broom before you can walk."
Orion stood up, bowing respectfully. "I understand, Professor. I was trying to sprint a marathon."
"Patience is a virtue, even for a Slytherin," she advised. "Master the needle first. The canary will co."
"Thank you, Professor."
The corridor outside was quiet, the evening shadows stretching long across the stone floor. Orion walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his mind racing not with frustration, but with revelation.
"So," Sparkle's voice buzzed, breaking his train of thought. "No more trying to build Frankenstein's monster?"
"No," Orion murmured. "She's right. I was over-engineering it. I was trying to apply Muggle physics—conservation of mass, biological complexity—to a system that operates on symbolism."
He stopped by a window, looking out at the dark grounds.
"Transfiguration, hell Magic itself, isn't science, Sparkle. It's art. It's theater. A conjured bird isn't a collection of cells; it's the idea of a bird given temporary form. It's a stage prop."
"And stage props are hollow," Sparkle concluded. "They look real from the audience, but they're just painted cardboard."
"Exactly," Orion's eyes lit up. "I don't need to conjure a respiratory system. I just need to conjure a shape that acts like it's breathing. It's rendering textures, not simulating physics."
He looked at his Hawthorn wand.
The prudent thing to do would be to listen to McGonagall. Wait. Study. Practice on matches.
But Orion Malfoy was not prudent. And his achievents had dried up.
"One try," Orion whispered. "With the new paradigm."
He raised his wand. He didn't visualize a beating heart or flowing blood. He visualized a toy. A wind-up canary. A rubber duck with feathers. A thing that moves and squeaks but feels nothing.
"Avis."
He flicked his wand.
There was a wet, squelching sound, like a boot stepping in mud.
From the tip of his wand, sothing materialized. It didn't burst forth in a flurry of wings. It... plopped.
It hit the stone floor with a soft, rubbery thud and bounced once.
Orion stared at it. Sparkle's interface zood in.
It was yellow. That was the only thing it got right.
It was round, vaguely bird-shaped, but its texture was smooth and shiny, like a stress ball. It had feathers, but they looked glued on. And its beak...
"Is that a trumpet?" Sparkle asked, trying to suppress a giggle.
The "beak" flared outward like the bell of a tiny brass instrunt.
The creature sat there. It wobbled. Then, seemingly trying to fulfill its magical command to "sing," it opened its trumpet-mouth.
HOOONK.
It wasn't a chirp. It was the sound of a clown car horn dying.
Orion stared at the abomination. He walked over and picked it up. It felt like warm silicone. It was lifeless, soulless, and hideous.
Slowly, a grin spread across Orion's face.
"It's solid," he whispered. "It's matter. I conjured matter."
"It's a rubber chicken from hell," Sparkle corrected. "But yes. It's matter."
"McGonagall said it takes high-level understanding," Orion said, squeezing the "bird," which let out a pitiful squeak. "And she's right. I couldn't hold the texture, the movent, and the sound all at once. My mind prioritized the form and gave up on the rest. So I got... this."
He tossed the rubber bird into the air and vanished it with a quick Evanesco.
"I need more power," Orion admitted, holstering his wand. "But more than that... I need a better graphics card for my brain. I need to understand the 'texture packs' of reality."
"So, back to the grind?"
"Back to the grind," Orion agreed, resuming his walk to the dungeons. "But at least now I know what I'm grinding for. I'm not building life. I'm building better toys."
As he disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell, a faint blue notification blinked in the corner of his eye, barely noticeable.
[ ACHIEVENT UNLOCKED! ]
Tier: 1 (Basic)
Na: The Honking Horror
Description: You successfully conjured... sothing. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a rubber cri against nature. You have grasped the fundantal concept of "Fake it 'til you make it" applied to magic. McGonagall would be... confused. But hey, you made matter from nothing!
Reward: 1x Rubber Duck (Muggle, non-magical, excellent for debugging code).
Orion chuckled, the sound echoing in the empty hall. "Debug duck. Fitting."
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