The farm woke up to the sound of a very enthusiastic rooster.
By the time Sean came downstairs, the whole place already smelled like warm pumpkin porridge. Steam fogged up the elm-wood windows and blurred everything outside, including Professor McGonagall's face. The only thing that was crystal clear was that, here at the McGonagall family villa, the professor was always a lot more relaxed.
The little McGonagalls thundered down the stairs in a giggling, cookie-stuffed herd and made a beeline for the front door.
"Mr. Green!"
"Morning, Mr. Green!"
"Good morning, dear Mr. Green!"
They always stopped just long enough to greet Sean properly before sprinting outside.
Old Marcus McGonagall tried asking them something with a grin; the kids acted like he was invisible. The elderly wizard just shook his head with a fond, helpless sigh.
After a huge breakfast, Sean got back to his Transfiguration practice. Once you hit Master level, the difficulty curve actually flattens out a little. He could now comfortably cast apprentice-level human Transfiguration at least five times a day, which meant any spell he worked on would reach [Proficient] in about two months.
Farm life was slow, easy, and peaceful. Summer slipped in quietly over the villa on the outskirts of London. The sun was always dazzling, the air thick with the scent of tulips, and every now and then a curious bloom would poke through the stained-glass windows and brighten the already cheerful rooms.
On the morning of the third day, Marcus and Professor McGonagall were doing their usual routine: tea and the Daily Prophet. The only difference was that Marcus also flipped through The Times for a bit.
Professor McGonagall folded her Prophet, set it aside, and walked straight over to Sean.
"Tomorrow's the full moon," she said calmly. "I think it's time we got started. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Professor."
Sean knew exactly what she meant.
Animagus transformation.
They rarely had this much free time, and they were together the whole month. Having McGonagall right there drastically lowered the risk. People had gone permanently half-animal (or worse) trying to do it alone. There were plenty of horror stories in wizarding history.
Sure, he could eat a Transfiguration Cookie and turn into an animal for a little while, but a proper Animagus form was way more useful.
Plus, Sean was curious which branch of Transfiguration the skill would fall under once he mastered it.
"You already know the steps, but I'll say them again," McGonagall continued. "From one full moon to the next, you must keep a single mandrake leaf in your mouth the entire month. You must never swallow it or take it out. If the leaf leaves your mouth even once, you start over from the beginning.
Tomorrow we begin with the leaf."
Sean nodded.
Animagus transformation always came down to luck.
After the month, on the next full moon you took the leaf out, filled a small crystal phial with spit, and let the leaf soak in it under pure moonlight. Clouds? Fail.
Then you added one of your own hairs and a silver teaspoon of dew collected from a place that hadn't seen sunlight or human touch for seven straight days.
Finally, a death's-head hawkmoth chrysalis. The whole mixture had to sit undisturbed in a quiet, dark place until the next electrical storm. You couldn't look at it, move it, or let sunlight touch it. One ray of sun and you risked the nastiest mutations imaginable.
The real bottleneck was waiting for that storm. Could be weeks, months, years.
Luck.
Sean suddenly remembered something. He pulled a tiny, ornate bottle from his suitcase (Felix Felicis).
McGonagall and Dumbledore had both said the process "takes a bit of luck."
Felix Felicis was literally liquid luck.
The whole D.A. had taken it the night Dumbledore and Harry returned to Hogwarts; enemy curses had mysteriously missed.
Professor Slughorn had downed a dose during the Battle of Hogwarts and walked away without a scratch.
Felix Felicis was one of the most powerful potions in existence.
Sean suddenly understood why Professor Snape had quietly slipped a vial into his trunk. He stared at the little bottle, fuzzy memories flickering at the edges of his mind.
On the desk in his room sat the Christmas group photo from the Great Hall. Sean looked at it for a long moment, then pinned a new brooch-shaped gadget to his robes.
Tomorrow, once the mandrake leaf went in, he wouldn't be able to talk for a month.
So he'd built an alchemical solution: the Brutally Honest Translator.
Simple name, simple function.
It spoke for you.
The idea started with a Quick-Quotes Quill (records your thoughts). Sean just added a second feature: turn the recorded words into speech. Boom. Instant translator.
The only downside? It was brutally, painfully honest. No filter. It said exactly what you were thinking.
"Tastes amazing!"
That morning, while Sean was enjoying oatmeal and crispy sausage, the brooch suddenly announced to the entire table.
Sean froze, then hurriedly switched it off.
"What a marvelous little gadget!" Marcus said, delighted and surprised. "I had no idea you were an alchemist too, lad. Come to think of it, I saw something about alchemists in the paper recently…"
The little McGonagall cousins (who already fought to sit next to Sean) now shoved their faces right up to the brooch.
"Do you know what it is, Bard?"
Sarah's head was stacked on top of Bard's; she whispered the question.
"I'm pretty sure it's magic," Bard answered solemnly.
"But Bard, we already knew that," Sarah said, utterly baffled.
Professor McGonagall watched the whole thing with open curiosity.
Sean, mouth now occupied by the mandrake leaf and unable to speak, gently tapped the brooch.
"This is a translator, Mr. Marcus, Professor. It speaks for a wizard who can't talk. The downside is it has no tact; it only says exactly what the wizard is actually thinking."