At the door of the Hogwarts Headmaster's office, Professor Snape received a necessary document and then vanished from the castle without a trace.
Meanwhile, on a rubbish-strewn street in Croydon, Minerva McGonagall stood at a shabby front door, fingers tightening on a yellowed letter as she once more surveyed the Victorian semi-detached house in the poor southern suburbs.
People here behaved as if they couldn't see her, leaving her to study the buckled floorboards and the draughty single-pane windows.
The letter in her grip showed its ink where her knuckles pressed:
[Dear Madam,
When I truly learned the news, I knew those long years of wandering had finally passed. Madam, forgive my loss of composure—I wept the whole night.
Please see this, Madam—forgive his slowness, and be patient, and then a little more patient.]
What she didn't know was that she wasn't the only witch or wizard on that street.
…
Christmas drew nearer, and Sean finished the Owl Biscuit. The moment it appeared it drew a crowd in the Hope Nook.
After all, plenty of odd things had happened while he baked—like a biscuit abruptly becoming an owl. It was wonderfully strange.
At first they thought it was "just" Transfiguration, until they overheard the Weasleys in the corridor plotting some profit-sharing deal with Sean. Then they realized something was different.
Everyone knew—the Weasleys excelled at prank inventions.
"Sean, what is it?" Justin asked, peering in.
"Owl Biscuit," Sean said. Seeing Justin's confusion, he added quietly, "A biscuit that turns a wizard into an owl."
"Merlin—" Justin looked to Sean; when he nodded, Justin picked one up and inspected it carefully, still unable to tell what magic was inside.
Hermione hurried over too, turning a biscuit in her hand. "Alchemy?"
Sean nodded.
Harry and Ron were already a bit lost.
Alchemy? Wasn't that for sixth-years?
"I reckon Sean's going to be the next Percy—no, three—five—ten times better than Percy!" Ron declared.
"I…" Sometimes Harry felt he was nothing but a name; measured against his friends, he suddenly felt a little small.
"Just passed the test," Sean remembered—the Weasleys couldn't wait to volunteer. It ended well; they wound up hanging in a pine tree, and Sean had a snowman fetch them down. Ignoring the fright of being grabbed by a giant snowman right after coming to, the whole trial had gone smoothly.
"Mm—mind this: one at a time. You'll briefly lose reason when you change," he warned.
On that point, Sean guessed it was exactly as Quidditch Through the Ages said:
[Some later wizards turned themselves into bats.
This proved foolish—though a bat can fly freely,
with a bat's head it forgets where it meant to go.
Hovering aimlessly in the air is not uncommon.]
So vast is magic: just when you uncover a secret, you find it was written down ages ago.
Owl Biscuits are for safe conditions only, but Sean had a hunch: a wizard has a spirit-double. When "self → living" Transfiguration aligns with that spirit-double, the change becomes much easier. If Professor McGonagall took a "Cat Biscuit," would she keep her reason?
It was only a simple guess. In truth, there's another solution to the blackout: master "self → living" advanced Transfiguration. Krum changing into a shark's head while staying lucid showed the path is there.
In the Hope Nook, everyone gathered, sitting quietly, waiting for a marvel to be unveiled.
"Alright, let me try first." Seeing the mix of excitement and worry in their eyes, Justin took a biscuit. At the first bite his face shifted, then he finished it with studied nonchalance.
"How's it taste?" Sean asked suddenly.
"Wonderful, of course!" Justin didn't blink.
"The truth."
"Awful," he admitted, face falling. He'd never tasted anything so bad.
As Justin flapped around as an owl, Sean ran into a strange problem—the biscuits tasted terrible.
What followed was a parade of first-years choking down the foul biscuits anyway—and turning into owls.
Before seeing Professor Tayra, Sean knew the biggest issue ahead—of all the books he'd studied, not one taught cookery.
While Sean rifled his shelves, Justin drifted nearby; when Sean borrowed magical cookbooks from the library, Justin sighed beside him; when he pored over Conjure Up a Feast!, Justin's voice mingled with the whisper of falling snow:
"My mum says: half a person's life should be lived among friends… Sean, may I help…?"
His eyes shone—earnest and generous.
Hours later, when the biscuits came fresh from the Hogwarts kitchens, Justin couldn't hide his grin.
"Flour, sugar, eggs, baking powder, butter, milk… in these ratios…" He recited the formula once more; Sean wrote it down word for word. In that moment, the Owl Biscuit was truly finished.
Sean flicked his wand; the biscuits floated into Justin's hands.
"See you tonight."
He said goodbye and headed for the Alchemy office with samples in tow.
The Howler and the Owl Biscuit—his first exercises in alchemy.
He hurried down the corridor. Since that letter from London, he'd kept himself deliberately busy—too busy to dwell on all the excitement, the hope, the jitters, the sorrow.
In his mind he often saw the professor's gentle blue eyes—quiet and soft, like a clear lake.
In any life, Professor McGonagall was old enough to be his grandmother. He still didn't know how to face it all.
That winter, the wind moaned over his shoulders—from past to future. Above the wind, the stars glittered, fathomless.