"Fortunately, I upgraded Transfiguration Theory to Level 2. Otherwise, I'd be completely adrift," Albert mused internally, his focus fixed intently on the pages of Transfiguration Today.
As Professor McGonagall began to dissect the complex arguments presented by Selwyn, the Ravenclaw senior, the room became a silent, concentrated study in advanced magic. Selwyn hadn't invented the Animagus process, but his theoretical paper—the one that had just earned him the Most Promising Newcomer Award—deeply explored the underlying principles of self-Transfiguration. He had managed to synthesize the fields of advanced Potion-making and complex Transfiguration techniques, providing a robust, if dry, scholarly explanation for why the process was so incredibly rare and difficult.
Albert silently translated the paper's dense academic jargon into a concise summary: Animagus transformation requires not only the most intricate level of Transfiguration mastery but also a multi-stage, time-intensive potion brewed under precise astronomical conditions. Furthermore, it demands extraordinary courage and, critically, a near-miraculous stroke of luck to complete the ritual safely. The Animagus form, once achieved, is typically an animal that mirrors the wizard's innermost personality, often correlating with their Patronus.
The sheer magnitude of the task baffled Albert. He thought back to the stories of Harry Potter's father and his friends. How could four teenage boys, even brilliant ones, have possibly managed to master a process that vexed the most seasoned adult wizards? The potion alone was prone to volatile failure and required months of waiting for specific weather and lunar cycles. The only rational answer, the easy and frustrating answer, was that legendary, narrative-driven element of fate: the protagonist's halo.
While wrestling with the paradox of the Marauders' impossible feat, Albert's inner concentration was pierced by the familiar chime of the Panel. A new, high-stakes quest had materialized.
[New Quest Unlocked]
Quest: Animagus
Description: You have come into contact with a formidable, advanced branch of Transfiguration magic. Mastering the Animagus transformation will elevate your command of magic to a new level. Successfully complete the ritual and become an Animagus.
Reward: Animagus skill level +1, 10,000 Experience Points.
Albert's throat felt suddenly dry. He instinctively swallowed hard. The difficulty of a task in the Panel system was usually proportional to the reward. The 10,000 XP was astronomical for a first-year quest, confirming the immense inherent danger. However, the reward was also the solution: "Animagus skill level +1."
This was the core mechanic of his entire existence in this world. The Panel did not care about lunar cycles or luck; it cared about XP. If he could gather enough experience through lower-level tasks, he could bypass the years of painstaking, life-threatening trial-and-error that plagued normal wizards. He could cheat the entire system.
"What are you contemplating so deeply?" Field, the Gryffindor senior seated next to him, gently interrupted his intense internal monologue.
Field was looking at him with curious, measuring eyes. She clearly found it unusual that a first-year, confronted with complex human Transfiguration theory, wasn't wearing a mask of polite incomprehension. Albert's deep focus suggested he was actually processing the material.
"It's difficult," Albert admitted, his voice low. "Human Transfiguration is far too advanced for me right now. I read some texts in the library recently and mistakenly thought that Animagus was simply a supremely refined, permanent magical transformation into an animal. But from the sounds of this paper, it's far more complex than just a high-level spell."
"You're right. That common misconception is dangerous," Field explained patiently. "If you simply Transfigure yourself into an animal—even successfully—there's no guarantee of reversal. The form becomes locked. You would remain trapped. That's why Animagus is different; it's a specific, highly controlled permanent state of being, not a single spell effect. You'll understand the mechanism when you get to the advanced curriculum."
The conversation was abruptly halted by a sharp, authoritative cough. "Ahem."
Professor McGonagall had silently appeared beside them, her expression severe. "Miss Field, Mr. Anderson, I must gently remind you to pay attention. Furthermore," she paused, her eyes locking onto Albert with a firm, chilling intensity,
"I must warn all of you, particularly those whose curiosity has been sparked by this topic: the Animagus ritual is exceedingly hazardous. You may study the theory, but you must never attempt anything so rashly, especially without supervision. The historical record is grim. Many wizards who attempted the initial stages failed and became permanently affixed in a horrible, half-formed, half-beast state, ending their lives in excruciating agony. This is not a subject for casual experimentation."
Albert maintained a placid exterior, acknowledging her warning with a respectful nod. McGonagall's dire threat was likely entirely true—but it was a threat aimed at wizards without a safety net. His Panel was that net. Failure was avoidable if he simply applied enough experience points to the skill when the time came.
Professor McGonagall's lecture on Animagi concluded, and the club moved into its practical session. The topic: the Vanishing Spell.
For this, mice—dozens of small, nervously twitching brown mice—had been provided to the senior students. The goal was to make the mouse vanish completely.
The incantation was simple: "Evanesco."
As McGonagall explained the core theory, Albert made a mental comparison to his own repertoire. The effect of the Vanishing Spell, which transports an object away from the caster's sight (though not truly destroying it), reminded him conceptually of the Decontamination Charm he had recently acquired.
The Vanishing Charm was clearly a potent, complex act of Transfiguration—the temporary annihilation of matter. The Decontamination Charm, however, merely caused impurities and filth to "move away," disappearing from the surface of the object.
Albert decided the Decontamination Charm was essentially a highly specialized, low-end version of Evanesco; instead of vanquishing an entire object, it only vanquished the filth. The principle was similar, but the power required and the result achieved were vastly different.
It makes sense, Albert thought. My mastery of the Descaling Charm was primarily Panel-assisted, meaning the Panel granted me the ability to perform a very low-level act of Transfiguration—making dirt disappear. It's the most basic precursor to the Vanishing Charm.
Professor McGonagall, seeing that Albert was too young for the Vanishing Spell and recognizing his prodigious talent, deviated from the planned curriculum just for him. She did not assign him a mouse. Instead, she placed a book on the table beside him.
"Mr. Anderson," she said, her tone softening slightly, "your focus should be on the foundational principles of Transfiguration. You may begin studying the Summoning Charm. It is difficult, but essential."
Albert looked down. The title was Intermediate Transfiguration. When he cautiously opened the cover, he saw the neat, precise handwriting on the flyleaf: "Minerva McGonagall."
She had lent him her personal textbook. The gesture was profound. The value of a high-skilled professor's annotated textbook, as proven by the famous Half-Blood Prince, could be immense.
Albert turned his attention to the section on Summoning. He quickly realized that the spell, Accio, was much more challenging than he had anticipated. The prerequisite was not just the correct incantation and wand movement, but a massive, consistent reserve of magical power to create the link between caster and object.
For a first-year, this was almost impossible. Summoning something was far harder than making something vanish; it involved reaching out across space and physically manipulating an object with pure magical will.
However, thanks to his recently acquired Level 2 in Transfiguration Theory, the complexities of the spell—the visualization requirements, the energy mapping, the distance calculations—were now intellectually graspable, not just confusing gibberish.
As he concentrated, studying the principles of object location and energy output, the subtle, magical hum of the Panel registered a new entry. Summoning Charm (Accio) had appeared on his skill list.
Albert gripped his wand, cleared his mind, and decided to attempt a simple, focused Summoning. He focused intensely on a mental image. The object was complex, detailed, and utterly desirable.
He raised his wand and whispered, drawing on his inner reserve of magical energy: "Accio, fully bloomed chrysanthemums!"
A tiny, hesitant spark flew from his wand tip. The air in front of him shimmered, and a low, persistent humming sound, like a taut string, began to vibrate. Albert felt a massive drain on his magical core. The effort was tremendous, far exceeding anything required for Lumos or Wingardium Leviosa.
The spell took hold. With a faint pop, an object appeared where he intended.
Albert reached out and picked it up. His face twitched slightly.
It wasn't a bouquet. It wasn't even a fully formed, radiant flower. It was a single, bare, pale flower branch, no bigger than his finger, with only a few tightly closed green buds. It was the correct plant, related to the chrysanthemum, but utterly lacking in the expected color and glory.
Progress, he conceded. A partial summoning. The power wasn't enough to sustain the full form or the distance, but the intention was registered.
"What did you just summon?" Field asked, instantly attracted by the faint pop and the brief drain of magical energy. She turned to look at the stem in Albert's hand, completely distracted.
In her distraction, her wand—which she was holding too loosely—tapped the round table that held the mice assigned for the vanishing exercise. The incantation for the Vanishing Spell, which was buzzing in her mind from studying the theory, slipped out half-formed.
"Evan..."
One of the table's stout, polished legs disappeared entirely.
The table instantly tilted and crashed down, sending several cages of frantic mice skittering and spilling across the floor with a terrifying clatter.
"Miss Field, I must insist you be more careful!" Professor McGonagall snapped, her temper momentarily flared by the chaotic disruption. She cast a swift, silent counter-spell, and the table leg reappeared with a loud thunk. "That was inexcusable! If I were you, I would exercise far more caution when handling even the theory of advanced Transfiguration."
"My apologies, Professor McGonagall," Field stammered, profusely apologetic, but her eyes immediately returned to the small, pathetic branch in Albert's hand once the immediate danger was past. "You genuinely surprised me, Albert. You actually summoned something. It may not be the flowers you wanted, but you established a magical connection."
"I will succeed," Albert nodded, his fatigue already being overwritten by stubborn determination.
He continued to study the Intermediate Transfiguration text, attempting the summoning repeatedly. Each attempt produced a similar, weak result—a twitching air current, a small pop, and perhaps another single, disappointing, budded stem.
He never successfully summoned the full, radiant bunch of blooming chrysanthemums he had visualized before the Transfiguration Club concluded for the night.
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The Animagus quest is active, but the Summoning Charm is now his immediate practice target. Which should Albert prioritize for his next study session: the life-threatening Animagus theory, or the demanding Summoning Charm mastery?