"That's brilliant!"
Marcus boomed with delight, a huge grin splitting his weathered face.
He'd just overheard a certain young wizard absolutely raving about his cooking. Nothing makes a chef happier than someone praising the food straight to his heart.
"Here, try this one—"
Riding the high, Marcus proudly shoved over a weirdly shaped thing that was sort of... bread-like?
Sean took one bite, immediately snapped the translation brooch shut, and the entire dinner table fell into the most awkward silence known to wizardkind.
He just stared at Marcus.
The old wizard's face went beet-red. "Ah, well... clearly the timing was off. Next batch'll be perfect, promise!"
The Brutal Honesty Translator had given Sean his voice back, but honestly? Sometimes it was a curse more than a gift.
When you say exactly what's in your head, you can hurt people—or get hurt real fast.
That brooch was basically bottled Veritaserum you activated yourself. Once the words were out, there was no shoving them back in. You had to think before you spoke.
So Sean kept it switched off most of the time. He only flipped it on when he really needed to talk.
—
While he was holding the Mandrake leaf in his mouth 24/7, Professor McGonagall spent a ton of time with him, going over every single detail of the Animagus transformation.
For example: while waiting for the thunderstorm, every single sunrise and sunset you have to point your wand tip right at your heart and say, clear as day:
"Amato Animo Animato Animagus."
One tiny slip in pronunciation and you're completely screwed—nobody knows what'll happen.
If you keep doing it perfectly, one day when the wand touches your chest you'll feel a second heartbeat. That's normal. That's good. That means you're on track.
Whatever you do, don't panic. Don't freak out. Just keep going exactly the same. Miss even one session and you're back to square one.
Most days the professor stayed right there with him. Sean would be buried in his ancient rune notes on transfiguration, while McGonagall worked on her latest article for Transfiguration Today.
Sunlight spilled across the living room in lazy patches; the old beech trees outside painted soft, blurry shadows in the warm afternoon glow.
Marcus was still trying (and failing) to master baking. Every so often he and Sean would lock eyes after another taste-test disaster, Marcus would blush crimson again, and they'd both pretend it never happened.
The three little McGonagalls (the kids of Minerva's nephew and niece) tore around the house—sometimes as humans, sometimes as cats.
Their parents talked nonstop about a certain young wizard or that one wild article in the Daily Prophet.
Minerva McGonagall hadn't felt this peaceful in years. This was only the second time in decades she'd come back to the McGonagall family villa.
Some people were missing, yeah, but the place was still loud, warm, and alive.
In the darkest years she'd thought Hogwarts was the only place that truly accepted her.
Only now did it hit her—she'd left a piece of herself here all along. There had always been people waiting for her.
The old scars still stung, but she'd somehow forgotten that until this summer.
Her gaze softened as it landed on Sean. The boy was still lost in his notes, looking up at her with that slightly dazed "I just surfaced from the knowledge ocean" expression.
"There are spells for truly advanced transfiguration," she said gently. "Start with the Wagadou section."
"Wagadou? Got it, Professor."
The brooch turned his kid voice into a deep, mature one—such a weird contrast with his young face. McGonagall noticed the sunshine outside had turned golden and bright.
Sean flipped straight to the Wagadou wizard notes.
[Students from Wagadou are absolute masters of transfiguration. Wands are a European thing—African witches and wizards didn't really adopt them until the 20th century, so in Wagadou a lot of spells are cast with finger movements or gestures alone.
Even fourteen-year-olds there can turn into elephants or cheetahs whenever they feel like it.
This really makes you wonder: what's the real secret of transfiguration?
The incantation? The gesture? Wand movement? Willpower? Or the wizard's own spiritual level?
The true essence of transfiguration lies in a much deeper power inside the wizard. Incantations, wands, gestures—they're just tools. But tools still do their job.
Relying on tools to explore the deeper mysteries isn't shameful at all—it's smart.
Legend says Wagadou wizards cracked the secret of transfiguration incantations and gestures, which is exactly why they can cast wandlessly.]
Incantations and gestures for transfiguration?
Hogwarts never taught that stuff. They barely touched on gestures—and even then only the basics.
Sean immediately thought of charms class. Charms had proper incantations and movements, and they were way easier.
Proof: first-years could nail Lumos on day one, but on the first transfiguration lesson only Hermione (and Sean) managed to turn a match into a needle.
Wagadou sounded incredible. Magic there felt so pure.
He was already counting down the days until Fairy Tale House reopened.
One month later.
Professor Terra still popped in from time to time, and sometimes other Wagadou wizards came shopping.
Sean got plenty of chances to pick their brains about their insane transfiguration techniques.
Wagadou folks were beasts at astronomy, alchemy, and transfiguration. They seemed to have dipped into every deep branch of magic—was that just a coincidence?
Time slipped by while Sean waited. July was already half gone.
Out here on the farm, days blurred together. The whole place had this lazy, sleepy vibe that made you want to nap forever.
The little McGonagalls lived that dream—turning into cats, tearing through the fields, then passing out wherever they landed.
Marcus would eventually find them asleep in the rice paddies, scoop them up gently, and carry them home.
The old man never scolded them. Instead he'd whip out his camera and snap a million embarrassing photos.
When the kids woke up and saw the evidence, they'd yowl, climb all over him, and beg him to delete the pictures.
In the middle of all that peaceful chaos, a letter finally arrived from far away.
A beautiful snow-white owl—formerly known as Snowy, now officially "Whitey"—perched on the windowsill, watching Sean open it.
[Dear Sean,
Have you heard from Harry? I've sent him tons of letters and he hasn't answered a single one.
Ron and Hermione say the same thing's happening to them. Something's up—we just don't know what.
If you've got any info or ideas, please tell us.
Your loyal friend,
Justin]