Chapter 181: Mastering the Animagus Technique

When Wizard Sean returned, the conversation inside the small villa resumed:

“Minerva, let him decide, alright? Before that, I want to teach him something.”

“As you say, Marcus.”

Then the two parted ways.

Wizard Sean, who had been stuck downstairs, also went upstairs.

“Huh? Where did this cat come from?”

Before leaving, Wizard Sean heard one final question from downstairs.

……

One of the best ways for an elder wizard to bond with a younger one is to teach him magic, but Marcus McGonagall found he had seemingly lost this opportunity.

“What on earth have you taught him?!”

Marcus McGonagall burst out of the room in disarray, utterly frustrated.

“He’s exceptionally gifted.”

Minerva McGonagall sipped her tea; she had been away from here so long, she hadn’t tasted her brother’s tea in ages.

“Truly…”

As Marcus thought about it, an uncontainable smile crept onto his lips.

“Good thing I still have a few hidden tricks…”

He plopped down beside Minerva, watching the steam blur the elm windows and the farm scenery.

The largest room upstairs.

“Mr. Green?”

Bard knocked on the door.

“If you’re in, we’re coming in.”

Sarah whispered.

“You need permission too, Sarah.”

Zoe corrected her.

“Oh, I forgot—if you’re in and you agree—”

Sarah amended quickly.

But the room was already empty.

During the fifteen waking hours of the young McGonagalls, fourteen of them wanted to find him; Wizard Sean quietly slipped away—of course, in cat form.

As he used the biscuits more often, his understanding of transformation deepened; now he could remain a black cat for half an hour straight.

He also noticed his control over his body was increasing, and seemed to surpass that of an ordinary cat.

“Green?”

Without warning, Wizard Sean was lifted up; he leapt away and returned to his wizard form.

“Professor McGonagall.”

Professor McGonagall seemed much more relaxed here than in the castle, but seeing him revert, she appeared slightly disappointed.

“You felt it? A wizard’s Animagus form isn’t merely a simple animal transformation.

A cat’s speed is about twenty-five miles per hour (forty kilometers), but a wizard’s Animagus can easily reach the limit of thirty miles per hour (forty-eight kilometers)—sometimes even higher. Magic isn’t fully gone, child.

You must learn to master these abilities; sometimes they yield unexpected results.”

Professor McGonagall explained gently.

Soon, two cats appeared beneath the beech tree: Wizard Sean was learning animal-body control techniques from the professor.

For example, cats can slip through tiny gaps—Wizard Sean couldn’t.

For example, cats use whiskers to enhance perception—Wizard Sean couldn’t.

For example, the professor could even outpace cars on the highway (about fifty kilometers per hour)—Wizard Sean still couldn’t.

Sunlight scattered across the soil and rice fields; a black cat lay panting atop a pile of straw.

Honey-colored sunlight coated his fur, warm enough to nearly melt him.

Beside him, the tabby cat watched him gracefully, her vertical pupils filled with human-like delight.

Winter sunlight is always more precious than in other seasons, turning the rice fields into paintings inside Hogwarts Castle.

Marcus McGonagall didn’t dare blink, holding his breath behind the forklift.

……

Days in the McGonagall family passed quickly.

One morning, an owl flew in through the window, its beak clutching countless newspapers—not just the Daily Prophet, but even Muggle papers like The Guardian, The Independent, and The Times.

The McGonagall household always set aside a portion for Wizard Sean, whether he needed it or not, so he would occasionally take a moment to read.

The Times had a serious front page: large photos of Gulf War aircraft, solemn headlines analyzing and promoting the situation.

Below the front page, it reported that the traditional “orphanage” model had fully shifted toward “small-scale family-style care.”

Beneath all the lofty words, everyone knew this was a classic case of “shifting the burden”: for local governments in impoverished areas, shutting down costly, hard-to-operate care facilities and outsourcing them meant shedding a heavy fiscal burden.

Even though they knew private institutions might cut service quality for profit, under the fiscal and political pressures of the time, they called it the only option.

“Ha—those pig-like beasts, they clearly don’t care.”

Marcus McGonagall seemed indignant.

Wizard Sean flipped the paper and saw news about Hollyse.

The day before his final day at the McGonagall household, Wizard Sean would return to Hogwarts tomorrow.

He felt time was slipping away; he stroked the fluffy head of the silver-white owl:

“Faster.”

The owl rubbed his palm, then spread its wings and flew off.

“White Owl,” Wizard Sean’s owl, flew faster than any other owl; when it landed on a deserted London street and returned to its former owner’s hands, the sun hadn’t yet reached its zenith.

“Faster.”

Its former owner had given it the same instruction.

So by noon, Wizard Sean received a letter from Roland Taylor:

[Dear Wizard Sean Green,

Child, are you certain you wish to do this?

I will wait at King’s Cross Station this afternoon, hoping for your arrival—or your refusal.

—Yours faithfully, Roland Taylor]

Wizard Sean quietly tucked the letter away; the McGonagall farm was not far from London, and with some transport, he could make a round trip quickly.

So he set off; wind howled past his ears as he sat in a carriage.

He was completely free in the McGonagall household—in every way.

Croydon.

The streets here were always piled with trash; beside peeling paint on doors, a faded sign reading “Oak Tree Children’s Home” hung crookedly, shedding dust in the wind.

Wizard Sean had traveled through Diagon Alley, then to King’s Cross Station, and finally appeared here with Ms. Roland Taylor.

He took one last look at the surroundings, then left as Ms. Taylor’s gaze grew blurry.

His wallet had emptied; he had to sell the Undetectable Extension Bag just to scrape together enough money.

It wasn’t a hard decision to make—just like the conversation at King’s Cross Station:

“Are you certain? Child, if I run this orphanage, you won’t gain any profit—even…”

At that moment, Wizard Sean’s eyes shone brightly; he smiled slightly:

“I’m simply repeating what once happened.”

Roland Taylor’s vision blurred completely; she hadn’t expected hope to come from the most barren soil.

One more chapter—Deer is still writing.