The first time you pull off an Animagus transformation, turning back into a human is simple: just picture your human self as clearly as possible.
Usually that's all it takes. Sometimes there's a little delay, but you're not supposed to panic.
With practice, you can supposedly switch between forms just by thinking about the animal or the human—no wand, no words, nothing.
But… how long does "practice" actually take?
That question gnawed at Sean and left him oddly uneasy.
Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore had left pretty quickly after the lesson. Within minutes the room was back to its usual dead-quiet, lifeless state.
Lightning flashed over Knockturn Alley—a neighborhood so run-down even the Dursleys would turn their noses up at it. But to a cat's eyes, every grimy corner was brand new and fascinating.
After prowling around for a while, the black cat could close its eyes and glide silently wherever it wanted, guided purely by instinct.
Little by little, it was getting the hang of the magical-cat perks that came with being a kneazle hybrid.
The problem was… he couldn't stay a cat forever.
McGonagall had told him not to worry—most wizards master the reversal in hours. A day at the absolute most.
But Sean wasn't most wizards.
If he was still four-legged tomorrow, he'd have to call for help.
Night slipped by fast.
Morning came, and the leftover rainwater from last night's storm trickled into the filthy gutters. Sunlight crept over the jumbled rooftops of Knockturn Alley, glinted off the faded street sign, and sneaked through the narrow windows of the little flat.
Sean had fallen asleep curled up on the cushion Transfiguration had left behind. He woke to an owl hooting outside.
That night, he'd had a dream.
In the dream, thick mist swirled everywhere, and he had perfect control over his kneazle body.
He remembered a passage from Soul Transfiguration:
"Those who do not know they possess a second body will think they merely dreamed. But those who know understand they were not dreaming—they manifested their second body.
In Norse myth, such dreams allow the second body to borrow the dreamscape and turn its owner's thoughts into reality."
Sean thought of Harry—how Harry once dreamed Nagini attacked Mr. Weasley, and it actually happened. How he dreamed of Wormtail and Voldemort's conversation in the Riddle house, and that became real too…
When he woke up, the black cat shook its head, stayed perfectly still, and pictured his human body exactly the way the book said.
This time, he felt the shift almost instantly.
He could do it in real life now too!
Excitement rushed through him.
As the transformation finished—CRASH!—glass exploded everywhere.
An owl had flown straight into the window. Professor Snape stood in the middle of the room, face blank-faced, grabbing the stunned bird like he was about to chuck it into the fireplace.
The signature on the letter was the only thing that saved the poor owl:
"To Mr. Sean Green."
Sean took the letter and opened it. Sunlight smoothed the creased parchment and the words shimmered into view:
Dear Mr. Green,
It has been a very long time since a child at Wool's Orphanage went without help because they were sick.
That is entirely your doing. Do you know what I was thinking while I cried?
That there are still people in this world who carry the purest kind of kindness.
All the children here are doing wonderfully. Shawn—from the farm—wrote you a little poem. I wanted you to see it:
Dear Mr. Green,
If I were to send you a book,
I wouldn't send poetry.
I'd send you one about plants and crops.
I'd teach you the difference between wheat and darnel,
and how a single darnel seed lives in fear,
waiting, hoping
for spring to come.
Spring has passed. Will you come visit these seeds at Wool's sometime?
Yours faithfully,
Roland Taylor
Sean stared at the letter for a long time, eyes unfocused. When he finally folded it away, he realized Snape was standing right next to him.
Snape's face darkened. This idiot never put his guard up around him. One glance and Snape already knew what kind of "noble" nonsense the kid had pulled—throwing away perfectly good Galleons for some bleeding-heart cause.
"Idiotic… utterly brainless," Snape sneered, voice dripping with exasperation. "Your skull must be stuffed with these childish, starry-eyed ideas."
"Can I go out for a bit, Professor?"
Snape opened his mouth for another biting remark—"Oh, the self-righteous, benevolent Mr. Green, what do you think you're—"
The words died in his throat.
For a long moment he just stared, as if waking from a nightmare.
What made him any different from the people he hated?
He swallowed the rest of the insult. Every time he looked into those calm, stupidly trusting eyes, he forgot that the boy in the same broken boat he'd once been in.
Shattered family. Poverty that clung like damp rot. Naïve, impossible dreams…
His gaze drifted around the familiar, rundown room. For a second he saw a hooked-nosed man screaming at a cowering woman and a small black-haired boy sobbing in the corner.
When he glanced toward the bedroom he saw a greasy-haired teenager sitting alone in the dark, lazily firing sparks at flies on the ceiling…
He was repeating the same story that had happened to him. He was always so good at that.
Pain bloomed deep in his chest. In the end, he wasn't any better than the people he despised.
A voice in his head laughed bitterly: Well done, Severus. You spent your whole life hating them, fighting them, and you still turned into one of them. Was there ever an ideal in this world worth this kind of fall?
His throat worked soundlessly.
Finally, the words came out like they'd been dragged over broken glass:
"I'll… take you."
Snape looked unwell the whole way there and didn't speak a word.
"Professor, can we stop by Diagon Alley first?"
Sean needed to pull some Galleons. Money always seemed more useful out of the vault than sitting in it.
Snape didn't answer—just gave him a long, piercing look, then Apparated them straight into the bustling alley.
Sunlight poured over the noisy cobblestone street. The gleaming white marble of Gringotts towered ahead.
The goblins were always extra polite to professors. Once inside, a little cart whipped them through the underground tunnels at breakneck speed toward the vaults.
Even the wild ride didn't crack Snape's thundercloud expression. The goblin driving actually shrank a little under the pressure.
When the vault door swung open, piles of glittering Galleons blinded them both.
Snape's face finally showed real emotion—pure shock.
"This is your vault?! What in Merlin's name have you done?!"