Sean, where'd you get all these books…?"
Justin watched as Sean emerged from the changing room with a stack of books. His hands moved faster than his thoughts, quickly grabbing a few to lighten the load.
"Well…"
Sean pictured the chaotic scene in the changing room.
Fred had pulled A Beginner's Guide to Ancient Runes from a clothing cabinet. George fished out a Dictionary of Magical Symbols from the broom cupboard. Even the corner had a copy of The Magical Phonetic Chart stuffed in it…
It was hard to imagine what Madam Pince would think if she saw this.
"These are all introductory books on ancient runes—"
George shrugged.
"You want to learn alchemy? You've got to start with these…"
Fred tossed Sean a copy of The Compendium of Magical Glyphs.
"But you'd better return them."
"They've got due dates."
"Name's Fred."
"—And, of course, George!"
Outside the changing room, facing Justin's curious questions, Sean, knowing it'd be tough to describe the hectic scene, summed it up:
"Two older students gave them to me."
Justin didn't press further. He just eyed the ancient-looking books curiously. Despite Madam Pince's careful tending, their pages were yellowed, some so fragile they seemed ready to crumble.
Hermione snatched A Beginner's Guide to Ancient Runes from Justin, the title catching her interest.
Sean held The Magical Phonetic Chart as the noisy cheers from the Quidditch pitch echoed, heading toward the castle.
His hunch was right: alchemical creations often used ancient runes to inscribe spell structures. These old symbols seemed naturally suited to channeling more magic.
To grasp the complex, precise, and profound craft behind them, the first step was learning ancient runes.
Third-years and above could take the class at Hogwarts, taught by Professor Bathsheda Babbling. Hermione had taken it in her third year and done well.
In between studying charms and transfiguration, reading these books might be a good move, Sean thought.
The weekend flew by.
Sean had gotten used to flying from the castle grounds to the Ravenclaw Tower.
Michael, meanwhile, was nearly collapsing on the endless staircases. As he scanned for Sean's figure, a strong gust whooshed by, and he saw Sean gracefully land at the top of the Ravenclaw Tower.
His arrival sparked gasps, especially among the Ravenclaws, who noticed his young, striking face.
"A first-year?"
"I heard yesterday some kid passed the flying test. Could it be…?"
"No way it's Sean. I must be seeing things. He can barely climb stairs…"
Michael was still in denial, but when he saw the Nimbus 2000 in the dorm, he had so much to say he didn't know where to start.
It all boiled down to:
"Teach me, Sean. Please, I really want to learn this."
…
Climbing stairs was no longer an issue for Sean. He poured more time into transfiguration, charms, and potions.
In the Transfiguration classroom:
"Today, we're learning to transform ourselves into living creatures. It's far harder than animating objects and requires stricter technique. A mistake could lead to… unpredictable results."
Professor McGonagall was unusually stern. She flipped through Sean's essay, nodding with slight approval.
"So, you should know: what's the easiest form of self-transformation?"
"The animal tied to your Animagus, Professor," Sean answered.
He'd already written about this in his essay:
[In Celtic, Scandinavian, and Germanic legends, humans often have a direct bond with certain animals. These otherworldly beings typically "choose to become someone's guardian, staying by their side," symbolizing "a person's fate, taking both human and animal forms."]
If Sean was right, every wizard naturally had a unique Animagus form, most clearly shown through their Patronus or Animagus transformation.
Like James Potter, whose Animagus was a stag, reflected in both his Patronus and transformation.
Since the Animagus is the ultimate form of "self" transformation, following your natural form is always easier.
"Very good," Professor McGonagall said, handing Sean a book listing various Animagus forms.
Sean pored over it as he left the classroom.
If he could find his easiest self-transformation, did that mean he'd found his Animagus?
But attempting it without expert-level transfiguration skills would be reckless.
So, naturally, Sean added mastering transfiguration to his to-do list.
Over the week, Justin, Hermione, and Neville kept spotting wild boars charging through the classroom or a sleek cat licking its paws.
Sometimes, tables sprouted legs. Stools weren't safe either—they might turn into steam-spouting turtles at any moment.
Luckily, Sean kept his transfigurations to his own area, or Justin's pot-shaped cakes would've been gobbled up by a boar.
On a cold but clear Thursday, Sean heard a notification:
[You've practiced advanced intermediate Transfiguration with proficiency, +50 skill points.]
[A new Transfiguration domain title has been unlocked. Please check.]
His Transfiguration skill had passed 9,000. Sean opened the panel eagerly:
[Title: Transfiguration Master]
[Greatly enhances Transfiguration perception, significantly boosts Transfiguration talent, and sharply increases unique sensitivity to transforming non-magical to magical elements.]
Sensitivity to non-magical-to-magical transformation?
Sean immediately thought of advanced Transfiguration, like turning objects into magical constructs.
A prime example was Dumbledore trapping Voldemort in a water prison during the Battle at the Ministry. That wasn't just water—it was a magical water prison.
It showed the sheer power of advanced Transfiguration.
Before testing his boosted talent, Sean packed up his things.
It was Thursday, and from Thursday onward, he'd be in the dungeons brewing potions.
The torches along the stone corridor flickered, casting wavering shadows.
The air grew colder, breath turning to mist.
Sean reached the dark wooden door. Pushing it open, the damp, musty smell of potion ingredients hit him.
The exhaustion from his improved ritual had faded, and he was ready to tackle his unfinished task: exploring how a wizard's emotions affect potions.
If Professor Snape allowed any tweaks, that is.
