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HRA# Chapter 47: Animagus and Detention Lifted
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 12:28:47 +0000 UTC"No need to be modest, Harry. If you ever achieve any breakthroughs in the future, you can also submit your work to them," Professor McGonagall said enthusiastically. "I remember they have a 'Most Promising Newcomer Award,' specifically for young talents in Transfiguration. You should give it a try."
"I will," Harry joked. "If I actually manage to discover something."
"Believe in your talent," Professor McGonagall said warmly, looking at Harry. "Both your father and mother were outstanding wizards, each in their own way. You won’t be an ordinary wizard either, Harry."
Thinking of her two former students, Professor McGonagall spoke with absolute certainty.
And Harry… well, now that his parents had been brought up, he didn’t really have much else to say.
"Speaking of which, Professor," Harry suddenly remembered something he had been meaning to ask McGonagall for a long time. "The spell you use to transform into a tabby cat—that’s called Animagus, right?"
"That’s right," Professor McGonagall nodded. "Are you interested in becoming an Animagus?"
"Who wouldn’t be curious about what kind of animal they’d turn into?" Harry joked. "I just hope I don’t end up as a fish flopping helplessly on the ground."
"If your Animagus form were a fish, you’d probably never have the chance to use the spell in your lifetime," Professor McGonagall said with a rare touch of humor. "But rather than a fish, I’d say you’re more likely to turn into a bull."
As she said this, her gaze lingered on the pair of horns atop Harry’s head.
A bull—a minotaur—
"Uh, I think there's a significant difference," Harry barely managed to keep a straight face as he quickly compared the two images in his mind and shook his head.
An age-old question: Do minotaurs eat beef?
Harry could confidently provide an answer—yes.
Not only do they eat it, but they have various cooking methods: steamed, boiled, roasted, pan-fried, braised—you name it. Rich in nutrients and quite delicious, actually.
"Alright, perhaps they are different," Professor McGonagall shrugged. "In any case, if your studies progress well, you should be able to start practicing Animagus transformations by your third year. By then, your body should have enough magical power."
"But I must warn you in advance, Harry," Professor McGonagall’s tone turned serious. "Animagus transformation is an extremely dangerous form of magic. Throughout history, many wizards have suffered excruciating deaths due to failed transformations caused by insufficient mastery of Transfiguration. I don’t want you to be the next."
"So promise me—never attempt it in private. Do you understand?"
"I promise, Professor," Harry nodded solemnly.
"Good." Professor McGonagall no longer looked as severe. She continued, "Besides, the Ministry of Magic has strict regulations on Animagi. Every registered Animagus must report to the Ministry—I expect you to do the same. If you master Animagus transformation, you must register."
"Like you? The seventh registered Animagus of this century?" Harry asked. "I read that the Ministry places special identification markers on registered Animagi to help quickly identify them in case of incidents."
"That’s correct. If you have any thoughts of violating the law and becoming an unregistered Animagus, you’d best abandon that idea now and not learn the magic at all," Professor McGonagall’s sharp gaze bore into him.
"Of course not," Harry shook his head.
"Good." Professor McGonagall sighed, though she still didn’t look entirely convinced. "In any case, today’s lesson has gone on long enough. Mr. Potter, you should get some rest."
She seemed to have reverted to her usual strict and formal demeanor, even addressing him as "Mr. Potter" instead of "Harry."
"Thank you for your guidance, Professor McGonagall," Harry said, bowing slightly before preparing to leave. "I’ll be off then."
"Wait a moment." Just as Harry took a few steps, Professor McGonagall suddenly called out, "About your Shaman Club."
"The review went through?" Harry turned around and asked.
"It did." Professor McGonagall sighed. "In fact, it was essentially approved by Professor Dumbledore alone—but from now on, I’m curious to see what exactly you plan to teach in that club."
"Be prepared, Mr. Potter," she pressed her lips into a thin line. "Think ahead and have responses ready for every possible question. Don’t let your students’ curiosity stump you."
Was she… worried that his club might fail?
Harry understood.
"Alright, Professor, thank you for the advice. I’ll be well prepared," he nodded, reaching for the door to leave.
"Wait!!"
He was stopped again.
"I’ve thought it over, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said seriously. "Regarding your Saturday night detentions—you no longer need to copy the school rules."
"What do you mean?" Harry didn’t immediately catch on.
"I mean your detention is over—unless, of course, you want to continue copying. I wouldn’t mind."
"Absolutely not, thank you, Professor," Harry quickly said.
"Good. Off you go then," Professor McGonagall commanded in her usual authoritative tone.
Turning around, Harry reached for the door once more—but just before closing it completely, he hesitated, then turned back and asked, "Is there anything else, Professor?"
He was a bit worried he’d be called back again. Constantly turning around like this was straining his neck.
"…Actually, yes," Professor McGonagall looked as if she wanted to laugh but held it in, her lips pressed tightly together. "Your first match is coming up soon—how’s your preparation?"
After Halloween, Hogwarts’ Quidditch season would begin, with the first match being Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. No wonder Professor McGonagall suddenly looked even sterner than before.
"We’ll win," Harry answered with certainty.
"Will you?" Professor McGonagall nodded. "Don’t let me down… Now go, really go this time."
It was obvious—this strict old professor truly loved Quidditch.
As a student walking out of the classroom with a stack of magazines, Harry understood instantly—he knew exactly how to repay Professor McGonagall for her help.
And of course, that meant delivering a spectacular, Gryffindor-style victory in the next Quidditch match.
Stepping out of the Transfiguration classroom, Harry glanced out the window. The sky was already darkening—it was nearly dinnertime. Still, he decided to find a nearby empty classroom to review his notes before heading back. Specifically, notes on how Transfiguration could be applied in dueling.
If he returned with just a stack of magazines and no summary of the class, Hermione would kill him. She had already looked a little red-eyed earlier, and Harry had no intention of provoking her further.
As expected, the moment Hermione snatched Harry’s class notes—practically grabbing them out of his hands—and skimmed through them, she visibly sighed in relief.
After Harry promised to let her read the magazines McGonagall had lent him, Hermione finally let him off the hook and returned to her mountain of homework.
"I think Hermione’s gone a bit mad, Harry," Ron muttered quietly in Harry’s ear. "Never mind everyone else—right now, all she wants is to outdo you."
"Keep your voice down, Ron," Harry warned, lowering his tone. "She’s already under a lot of pressure."
And she really was. So much so that Harry and Ron had to sneak into their dorm just to play a game of wizard chess in peace. Playing in the Gryffindor common room was out of the question.
"Seriously though, I think she’s taking it too far," Ron grumbled as he finally spoke at full volume in the dormitory. "You know what, Harry? I don’t even dare to praise you in front of her anymore—if I do, she just gives me this absolutely terrifying look."
"Maybe you should stop going on about me, then," Harry shot back. "The way you talk, you’d think I was about to surpass Dumbledore or something."
"Oh, that’s for later," Ron waved a hand dismissively. "You’re still young. Give it a few years after graduation—you’ll definitely catch up to Dumbledore."
"Wow, thanks for the confidence," Harry said dryly, rolling his eyes.
"No need to thank me—we’re friends, after all!" Ron patted his chest with an air of absolute certainty. "But seriously, I think Hermione’s being really unfair. She’s jealous just because her friend got better grades than her, and that’s just wrong!"
"Especially when that friend is Harry Potter—the most famous wizard in the entire magical world!!"
"Uh, I don’t think it’s that extreme…" Neville chimed in cautiously from where he was watching the chess game. "I really don’t think Hermione’s a bad person. She’s just… really competitive."
"Pfft, I don’t get why she feels the need to prove she’s better than Harry," Ron huffed. "I mean, she’s just—"
BANG!!
A loud noise cut Ron off mid-sentence. His hand jerked, and the chess piece he was holding flew straight to the floor.
"Hermione!!!" Ron yelped from his spot on the bed, voice laced with guilt—the exact kind of guilt that comes from being caught talking behind someone’s back.
And, of course, the one who had just shoved the dormitory door open was none other than Hermione.
She stood there, eyes wide, surveying the scene.
"Hey, you can’t just barge into the boys’ dorm like this!" Ron protested. "I mean—what if we were doing something, y’know, inappropriate for girls to see?"
"Huh? Like what?" Neville asked blankly, looking up.
No one had an answer.
Except Ron.
"Like—like practicing magic!!" Ron blurted out as inspiration struck. "Hermione hates it when we’re better than her at something!"
"Don’t be ridiculous, Ronald!" Hermione snapped, her voice carrying enough authority to make Ron instinctively shrink back onto his bed. She had even used his full name.
His full name—Ronald Bilius Weasley—was rarely used. Practically everyone just called him Ron. But when someone used that name… well, it meant trouble.
Still seething, Hermione brandished a slip of parchment in her hand.
"We’ve got detention! All of us!"
"WHAT?!!"
Ron shot up from the bed, utterly flabbergasted. "Detention?! For what?! We didn’t do anything!! We’re innocent!!"
At this point, he had completely abandoned his complaints about Hermione barging into the boys’ dorm. Mouth agape, he stared at her in stunned disbelief, his voice full of desperate protest.
"It’s for what happened on the train!!" Hermione shrieked. "Merlin, I completely forgot about it! McGonagall did say we’d get our punishment in the third week of school!"
With a loud thud, Ron collapsed back onto the bed, looking even more dazed than before.
"Oh… right," he muttered dumbly, turning to Harry. "That did happen, huh. What do we do, Harry?"
"What else can we do?" Harry said, exasperated. "You’re not seriously thinking about running away from Hogwarts to avoid one detention, are you?"
"Yeah, you’re right," Ron sighed, thoroughly deflated. "If Mum found out I left Hogwarts, she’d kill me."
"That’s obviously just a figure of speech," Hermione huffed, marching over to Ron’s bedside and glancing disdainfully at the chessboard. "I cannot believe you two are just lazing around playing chess! I’ve barely had enough time to finish all my reading, and now I have to waste even more time because of this detention! Honestly, I don’t know how you two can be so shameless. If it were me, I’d be using those magazines Harry brought back to refine my essay—at least that way, it wouldn’t look so awful when I turn it in."
"Three sentences, Hermione. You’ve gone over three sentences," Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands. "For Merlin’s sake, just tell us what the detention is already."
"Fine, fine," Hermione huffed loudly before lifting the parchment. "Harry, you’ve got detention with Hagrid. Neville, you’re with Filch. And Ron—Snape specifically requested you."
"NOOOOO!!!!"
Ron flopped back dramatically onto the bed, howling in despair as if the world had just ended.
"He’s going to poison me!!" He shot upright again, face full of terror. "This—this has to be some kind of mistake! Are you sure this isn’t one of Fred and George’s pranks?!"
