Chapter 181: Animagus Mastery
"Minerva, let him decide. But first, let me teach him a few things," Marcus McGonagall said as they entered the cottage.
"As you wish, Marcus," Minerva replied.
Sean, overhearing from the top of the stairs, slipped quietly into his room.
Before the door closed, he heard Marcus mutter, "Hmm? Where did this extra cat come from?"
One of the best ways for an old wizard to bond with a young one is through teaching magic. But Marcus quickly realized he might have missed his chance.
"What have you been teaching him?!" he asked his sister later, looking thoroughly flustered as he emerged from Sean's room.
"It's his own natural talent," Minerva said calmly, sipping her tea. She had missed her brother's brewing.
"Truly..." Marcus trailed off, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Well, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve..."
He sat down heavily beside Minerva, watching the steam fog up the elm-framed window, blurring the view of the farm outside.
In the large upstairs bedroom, Bard knocked on the door.
"Mr. Green?"
"If you're in there, we're coming in," Sarah whispered.
"We need permission first, Sarah," Zoe corrected gently.
"Oh, right—if you're there and you agree—" Sarah amended cheerfully.
But the room was empty.
The McGonagall children spent fourteen of their fifteen waking hours trying to find him. Sean had quietly slipped out—in cat form, of course.
With practice, his understanding of the transformation deepened. He could now maintain his feline form for half an hour at a stretch.
He also discovered that his control over his animal body was improving, exceeding that of a normal cat.
"Green?"
Suddenly, he was scooped up. He leaped from the arms holding him and transformed back into a wizard.
"Professor McGonagall."
Here at the farm, she seemed much more relaxed than at Hogwarts, her strict demeanor softened. Yet, seeing him transform back, she looked almost disappointed.
"You felt it? A wizard's Animagus form isn't just a simple animal transformation," she explained gently. "A normal cat can run at about twenty-five miles per hour. But an Animagus can easily reach thirty, sometimes more. The magic doesn't disappear completely, child. You should learn to master this strength; it can have surprising effects."
Soon, two cats appeared beneath the beech trees. Sean was following the Professor, learning the nuances of controlling an animal body.
A cat could squeeze through tiny gaps; Sean couldn't.
A cat used its whiskers for sensory perception; Sean couldn't.
The Professor could outrun a car on the highway; Sean, naturally, still couldn't.
Sunlight spilled across the fields. A black cat lay panting on a haystack. The honey-coloured light coated his fur, warming him through. Beside him, a tabby cat watched elegantly, her vertical pupils bright with human-like joy.
Winter sun is always precious, painting the fields like an oil painting in Hogwarts Castle.
Marcus McGonagall held his breath, hiding behind a pitchfork, daring not to make a sound.
Time flew by at the McGonagall farm.
One morning, an owl flew in with a stack of newspapers—not just the Daily Prophet, but Muggle papers like The Guardian, The Independent, and The Times. The McGonagalls always included Sean, so he took a moment to glance through them.
The Times front page was serious, featuring photos of Gulf War fighter jets and solemn headlines. Below the fold, an article discussed the transition from traditional "orphanages" to "small-scale family care."
Beneath the bureaucratic language, the intent was clear: local governments in impoverished areas were offloading the burden of expensive, difficult-to-run institutions. Even knowing privatization might lower care standards for profit, financial and political pressure made it the "only choice."
"Hmph—those swine don't care a whit," Marcus grumbled indignantly.
Sean flipped the page. There was a small notice about Hollysage Orphanage.
It was his last day at the farm. Tomorrow, he would return to Hogwarts. He felt time slipping away. He stroked the head of his snowy owl. "Be quick."
The owl nuzzled his palm and took flight. "Snowy"—Sean's owl—was faster than most. She reached London and returned to her former owner before the sun had reached its zenith.
"Be quick," her former owner had also urged.
By noon, Sean received a reply from Roland Taylor:
Dear Sean Green,
Are you certain about this, child?
I will be at King's Cross Station all afternoon, awaiting your arrival or refusal.
—Yours faithfully, Roland Taylor
Sean pocketed the letter. The farm wasn't far from London. With magical transport, he could make the round trip quickly.
He set off, the wind rushing past his ears as he rode in a carriage. He was completely free at the McGonagall estate.
Croydon.
The streets were still piled with rubbish. The peeling paint of the door, the crooked sign reading "Hollysage Orphanage"—it all looked the same, shedding dust in the wind.
After a detour to Diagon Alley, Sean met Ms. Taylor at King's Cross and returned with her to the orphanage. He took a last look at the furnishings before leaving, Roland's gaze blurring with tears as she watched him go.
His wallet was significantly lighter. He had even sold his Undetectable Extension Charm bag to scrape together enough funds.
It wasn't a difficult decision. Just as he had said at King's Cross:
"Are you sure about this? Child, if I run this orphanage, you won't make any profit, perhaps even..."
Sean's eyes had shone brightly. He smiled faintly. "I am simply repeating what has happened before."
Roland Taylor's vision blurred. She hadn't expected hope to spring from such barren soil.
(End of Chapter)
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