Chapter 284: The Greatest Magic
"Professor McGonagall," Sean said, looking toward the tall witch. Her emerald-green robes were stained with a golden luster in the light of the setting sun.
"Professor Dumbledore," Sean added. The old wizard, with his long, silver beard, was twinkling his eyes at him with a grandfatherly warmth.
"What are you—doing out here?!" Professor McGonagall's voice had taken on a dangerously sharp edge.
Sean silently shifted his feet, moving them a mere inch until they were technically behind the sign that read: FORBIDDEN FOREST, OUT OF BOUNDS.
Since he was currently standing on the very edge of the woods, he figured he wasn't technically inside.
The sight made Minerva McGonagall catch herself between a sigh of exasperation and a suppressed laugh. Beside her, Dumbledore spoke with a cheerful smile, his silver beard and half-moon spectacles glinting in the twilight.
"Look, Minerva. It appears we are about to witness a magical creature far more interesting than a Thestral."
Sean felt a sudden urge to flee. He could already sense the chaos about to unfold. On the edge of the forest, the pumpkin seedlings in Hagrid's patch were growing to an alarming size—and the fire dragon about to emerge was no different.
Under Dumbledore's fascinated gaze and McGonagall's wide, trembling eyes, Hagrid let out a joyous, thunderous roar.
A moment later, a dragon appeared!
It stood on its hind legs, letting out series after series of deafening roars. It snorted violently, plumes of orange flame erupting from its fanged maw and shooting into the dark night sky. Its neck arched high, its head towering thirty feet above the ground.
Watching this dragon—which was easily five times larger than a normal specimen—Sean didn't hesitate. He pulled out his camera and began snapping photos.
After a brief, precise observation fueled by a sudden intuitive spark, Sean realized his theories were correct. Consuming more Magical Creature Biscuits did indeed grant more magical power. However, accepting that level of raw magic was a massive psychological and spiritual test for the wizard.
I can adjust the ritual strength based on the individual wizard... Sean noted. Another fascinating direction for research.
"Sean Green!"
Sean didn't dare turn around. Professor McGonagall, her glasses perched precariously on her nose and her hair pulled into its usual tight bun, stepped forward to block his view of the dragon. Her fury seemed more volatile than the dragon's fire.
Professor Dumbledore cast an "I'm sorry, I can't help you" look toward Sean before turning back to the dragon Hagrid had become.
Sean, having finalized his scientific observation, let out a silent sigh. The arrival of Dumbledore and McGonagall had been a bit too convenient...
Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence at all? He looked at the smiling old wizard.
Dumbledore showed no fear toward the massive, terrifying dragon. He stood perfectly relaxed, even though Hagrid-the-Dragon looked capable of leveling the hut with a single swipe. Sean frowned, deep in thought.
He then allowed his own form to shimmer and vanish, his Kneazle-self opening its bright, slitted eyes.
Exactly as he suspected: even after the transformation into a beast, the "scent" of Hagrid's soul—warm and pine-scented—hadn't changed at all. This aligned perfectly with the rules of the Animagus transformation in McGonagall's notes:
An Animagus takes the form that best represents the wizard's inner essence and soul.
The transformation did not change the wizard's fundamental personality. If a wizard with a heart full of malice became a dragon, they would likely cause nothing but destruction. But when a man like Hagrid became a dragon, the result was exactly what they were seeing: a thirty-foot fire-breather sitting beside Dumbledore, wagging its tail like a giant puppy and crushing the ground with every happy thud.
Professor McGonagall, standing with her wand out and a look of grim alertness, found herself momentarily speechless at the absurdity of it.
The following morning, in the Headmaster's office.
"I believe you've grasped the crux of it, haven't you, child? Some magic is carved into the very depths of our souls... magic such as... Love."
Dumbledore's deep, penetrating gaze rested on Sean.
"It means that regardless of the outward form, there are certain internal rules that will always be obeyed. This great magic can help us achieve many things—including the things you have been trying to do. Use the Soul Hallow well; its power is quite extensive."
As a thin mist drifted through the office, Sean walked out the door, lost in thought. On his shoulder, Snowy rested quietly, looking quite drowsy. It wasn't until they reached a shadowed corner of the corridor that the owl finally woke up.
If Hagrid-the-Dragon would obey Dumbledore's commands, would Snowy obey his?
In the Room of Requirement, the portrait of the "Owl Gentleman" was currently flapping about, attempting to peck and strike at Snowy, but it was a futile effort. He was, after all, only paint.
Wrapped in these thoughts, Sean spent his time studying the Beginner's Guide to the Void Rune until the next nightfall.
The night was damp and windy, but Hagrid's hut was, as always, warm and inviting.
As Sean fed a Kneazle Biscuit to Snowy, Hagrid watched with a delighted grin.
"Blimey, she's a beauty, Sean—look at those feathers, look at those talons!"
Sean couldn't see the difference himself. Distinguishing an owl's gender required spotting very subtle traits—something only an enthusiast like Hagrid could do at a glance.
Snowy let out a soft hoot and quickly shifted into a white-furred Kneazle. She hopped onto Sean's shoulder, balancing precariously as if reclaiming her territory.
"Snowy?" Sean called.
The Kneazle tilted her head, letting out a confused, feline trill.
"Come onto my hand, please," Sean said.
Snowy didn't seem to understand the command. She simply mewed.
Sensing the missing link, Sean pulled out the stone tablet. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a set of thin cords, threading them through the Void Rune and draping it around his neck like a pendant.
This time, Snowy seemed to understand instantly. She hopped happily onto his hand, and Sean felt a sudden, warm pulse in his heart.
It appeared the Soul Hallow could facilitate a subtle, soul-level communication. It allowed him to transmit precise intent.
This reminded him of the Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore had once described it by saying: "The Resurrection Stone—to him, it meant an army of Inferi..."
"He," of course, referred to Gellert Grindelwald. And Inferi, by their nature, do not obey commands unless specifically enchanted. This meant the Resurrection Stone allowed Grindelwald to direct the dead.
The similarity to the Soul Hallow's function was striking. However, according to Dumbledore, the link between Sean and Snowy was forged by love and a pre-existing bond. The Soul Hallow merely acted as the bridge of communication.
That had always been its purpose. Even with the Lands Between, it acted as the connection.
As the sky darkened and the fire roared in the hearth, the night made the connections between souls feel more vital. Sean finally understood the truth:
Love was the bridge that linked the souls of the living.
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