"I'm serious about the clubs, Sanna," Albert said, picking up the thread of their conversation as they reached a landing. "The Transfiguration and Charms clubs aren't just social gatherings for the elite. They're more like accelerated Masterclasses. Usually, they don't even look at anyone below the sixth year."
Sanna adjusted her bag, her expression thoughtful. "The selection process is brutal, isn't it? I heard Professor McGonagall only picks people who can perform a perfect cross-species swap without breaking a sweat."
"It's more than just technical skill," Albert explained. "She looks for a specific type of curiosity. You have to be willing to ask why a spell fails, not just how to cast it again. If you don't have that investigative spark, you'll be lost within ten minutes of her opening her mouth in those sessions."
He began to describe a few of the more complex demonstrations he'd witnessed—things involving molecular transparency and temporary biological fusion—but he noticed Sanna's pace slowing. She eventually stopped, leaning against a stone railing and shaking her head.
"Actually... let's not," she said, her voice small but certain.
Albert paused, surprised. "Let's not? You were so excited about it ten minutes ago."
"I was excited about the idea of it," Sanna admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "But listening to you talk... I realized something. I work hard just to stay ahead of the standard curriculum. I spend hours in the library just to make sure my Transfiguration doesn't look like a half-melted candle. If I try to dive into the deep end with the N.E.W.T. students, I'll drown. I don't have your 'cheat code' for learning, Albert. I'd rather enjoy my time at Hogwarts than spend every waking second exhausted and failing to understand a lecture on Runic Transposition."
Albert looked at her, seeing the genuine resolve in her eyes. In his previous life, before the system provided him with a shortcut to mastery, he would have felt the exact same way. The pursuit of greatness was a lonely, grueling road, and not everyone wanted to walk it.
"I understand," Albert said softly as they resumed walking. "There's no point in burning yourself out. Mastery shouldn't be a prison."
They reached the floor for the Gryffindor common room. "See you later," Albert said. "Oh, and a word of advice: don't let the guys talk you into 'lending' them all your homework. McGonagall is in a particularly sharp mood today. If she catches a sniff of copied parchment, she won't just punish them—she'll have your head too."
Sanna laughed. "If Fred and George heard you saying that, they'd probably stage a mutiny and kick you out of the dorm."
"What they don't know won't hurt them," Albert winked. "Just tell them you're protecting their 'academic integrity'."
Leaving Sanna, Albert made his way to the Transfiguration Professor's office. He knocked firmly, and a crisp, familiar voice beckoned him in.
"Mr. Anderson, please, take a seat," Professor McGonagall said without looking up from her desk. She was currently wielding a quill like a surgical instrument, marking up a manuscript for Transfiguration Today. "I'll be with you in just a moment. This particular author seems to think that logic is optional when discussing inanimate-to-animate shifts."
"Of course, Professor."
Albert settled into a comfortable tartan armchair by the crackling fire. With a flick of her wand, McGonagall conjured a cup of steaming milk tea that floated over to rest on the side table beside him. Albert picked up a recent issue of the journal from the table, sipping his tea and reading an article on 'The Ethics of Self-Transfiguration' while he waited.
Fifteen minutes later, McGonagall set down her quill with a sigh of satisfaction. She sat across from him, her sharp eyes scanning his relaxed posture.
"I assume this is about the Animagus inquiry?" she asked. She hadn't forgotten the detailed letter Albert had sent her over the holidays, questioning the deeper links between a wizard's personality and their animal form.
"It is," Albert said, closing the magazine. "The more I read about the theory, the more I realize how little the standard texts actually cover. It's treated as a ritual, but it feels more like a spiritual alignment."
McGonagall tilted her head. "Could you show me your Patronus once more?"
Albert stood, pulling his wand. He didn't need to struggle for a memory; the quiet satisfaction of his recent holiday and the progress he'd made were more than enough. " Expecto Patronum! "
A burst of brilliant silver light erupted from his wand, coalescing into the powerful, feathered form of a Hippogriff. It circled the office once, its talons clicking softly against the stone floor before dissolving into a shimmering mist.
"A truly remarkable Patronus," McGonagall said, a hint of pride warming her voice. "But regarding your question about Animagus records... I must apologize. I've searched the restricted archives, and while there are many accounts of the transformation itself, there is very little documentation on the 'selection' process of the form. It remains one of the great mysteries of the craft."
Albert wasn't entirely surprised. He knew that the system would eventually provide a path, but he had hoped for a lore-based shortcut. To unlock the skill via the system, he needed more 'Special Contribution' awards, which were harder to come by than gold.
"That's a pity," Albert said. "But I suppose some things aren't meant to be found in books."
"You have plenty of time, Albert. Don't rush into it. The ritual is dangerous—one slip, and you could spend the rest of your life with a snout. I strongly advise you to wait until after graduation before attempting the final step."
"I'll keep that in mind," Albert said, though they both knew he was likely to ignore the 'waiting' part. He decided to pivot to his second reason for the visit. "Actually, I've been experimenting with the Transfiguration Charm—specifically the variant used for mass-modifying text. I'm curious about its more... advanced applications."
McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. "You've already mastered the base charm? It's a Muggle-born's nightmare, usually."
"I find the logic of it quite intuitive," Albert said. He pulled out two blank scrolls. With a precise, rhythmic movement of his wand and a whispered incantation, a paragraph of text began to bloom across both scrolls simultaneously, perfectly mirrored.
"Your talent is... daunting," McGonagall said, leaning forward to inspect the parchment. "You're correct that The Daily Prophet uses a version of this for their late-breaking editions. However, that's just the tip of the iceberg. To truly understand the 'Advanced' level, you're looking at things like Two-Way Mirrors or permanent mental-ink bonds."
"Two-Way Mirrors?" Albert asked, feigning a bit more ignorance than he actually had. "I've heard of them. They use the charm to link two surfaces across long distances, right?"
"Indeed. But the theory behind it is quite volatile." She stood up and walked to her desk, scribbling a note on a piece of parchment. "If you want to dive into the deep end, you'll need these. I'm giving you permission for the Restricted Section. Look for Ultimate Transfiguration and Extraordinary Transfiguration. But be warned: the magic in those books isn't for the faint of heart. If I find out you've blown up a wing of the castle trying a 'theoretical' experiment, I'll have you in detention until you're thirty."
"I'll be the soul of discretion, Professor," Albert said, taking the note with a satisfied smile.
"I hope so. Now, before you go..." She handed him a separate, smaller piece of parchment. "Please deliver this to your roommates. I've just finished grading their holiday assignments, and 'abysmal' would be a generous description. Tell Misters Weasley and Mr. Jordan that I expect them in my office tonight for a very thorough review of the basics."
Albert took the note, his smile widening into a predatory grin. He had been planning to prank the twins for their gossip, but the universe—and Professor McGonagall—had done the work for him.
He headed straight for the library, knowing exactly where the trio would be hiding.
"I have a message for the condemned!" Albert announced, leaning over the table where Fred, George, and Lee were huddled together.
"Go away, Albert, we're trying to figure out why my essay on 'Switching Spells' is bleeding ink," Fred groaned.
"Well, you can stop worrying about the ink," Albert said, dropping the detention slip in the center of their table. "Professor McGonagall has requested your presence. Tonight. She used the word 'abysmal' to describe your work. I think she might be planning to make you write the entire holiday curriculum again by hand."
"Merlin's beard!" Fred shrieked, the sound echoing through the silent library.
A second later, the stern face of Madam Pince appeared from behind a bookshelf, her eyes narrowed like a hawk's. "Out! All of you! No screaming in the sanctuary!"
She chased the three of them out with a feather duster, their frantic apologies falling on deaf ears. Albert watched them flee, shaking his head with a laugh. He stepped up to the desk and handed his Restricted Section note to the still-fuming librarian.