Transfiguration on Thursday afternoon was usually a serious affair — precise wand work, silent focus, and the unmistakable click of Professor McGonagall's heels on stone as she moved between desks. Today, however, a single question cracked that solemn rhythm.
"Professor," piped up a curious voice from the Ravenclaw side of the room, "how hard is it to become an Animagus?"
McGonagall paused mid-stride, eyebrows lifting in sharp interest. "That," she said, placing her chalk down and turning to face the class, "is an excellent question, Miss Tamberlin."
Hadrian, Iris, and Dora exchanged intrigued looks.
"It is one of the most advanced branches of Transfiguration," McGonagall continued, her voice firm but filled with a certain reverent tone. "It takes years of study, immense discipline, and a strong understanding of both magical and non-magical biology. Few ever succeed, but those who do… unlock something remarkable."
With a flick of her wand, she transformed into a sleek silver tabby cat with square spectacle-like markings around the eyes. A chorus of gasps and scattered applause followed as she turned back.
"The process is regulated by the Ministry. All registered Animagi are documented and monitored. Unregistered ones..." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and Hadrian felt a flicker of memory — Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew. "…are a different matter entirely."
The rest of the class was swept into fascinated questions — about the registration process, what kind of animals one might turn into, and whether anyone had ever become something mythical.
"No," McGonagall said curtly at that, lips twitching in amused disapproval. "You cannot become a dragon. Or a unicorn. Or a thestral. Animagus forms are tied to your soul — your nature — and it will always be a real, earthly animal, even if it surprises you."
Still, the fire was lit.
Later that evening, in the quiet corners of the Hufflepuff common room, the trio gathered around a low table strewn with parchment and notes.
"I'd be a hawk," Dora declared, tapping her quill against her lips. "Fast, sharp-eyed, absolutely majestic."
"You're already a walking rainbow," Iris said with a snort. "You want wings, too?"
Dora grinned. "Of course. I want to soar."
Hadrian leaned back against the cushions. "I think I'd be… maybe a fox?" He glanced sideways, thoughtful. "Clever, cautious, always watching."
Iris tilted her head, considering. "I like that. You'd make a good fox."
"What about you?" Hadrian asked her. "Any thoughts?"
Iris shrugged slightly, twirling her wand. "Maybe a cat. But not just a house cat. Something wilder. A lynx. Or… no, a black panther."
"That's bold," Dora said, eyes gleaming. "I love it."
"It's not like we can choose anyway," Iris added, a touch of wistfulness creeping into her tone. "The form chooses us. If we ever even can do it."
They all grew quiet for a moment, letting the flicker of candlelight dance across their shared silence.
Then Hadrian smirked. "What if we could do it, though? Imagine the three of us — Animagi. Like daredevils in picture books. But legal. And smarter."
"And better dressed," Dora added with a wink.
"Obviously," said Iris.
They laughed, and the moment passed — at least on the surface. But deep down, the idea nestled quietly into place, like a seed dropped in fertile soil. They might be only first years, but already they had changed so much in so little time. The impossible didn't seem quite so impossible anymore.
And so, under the hum of the common room's soft evening light, a dream began to take root — of paws and claws, feathers and fur, and magic not just of the wand, but of the self.