"Amato… Animo…"
In the Room of Requirement—Avada's private laboratory.
"Animato… Animagus…"
At some point, the laboratory's layout had been completely transformed once again. The assorted storage cabinets and tables had all been shoved tightly into the corners, crammed together. The large open space left behind had been occupied by a massive apparatus—an eerie machine humming as it operated, releasing waves of pale blue light that bathed the object positioned at its center…
It was a humanoid body, pieced together from wood, various transfiguration materials, Devil's Snare, Whomping Willow wood, and a strange potion hovering where the heart should have been.
Plates of wooden armor formed its outer skin, currently left open to expose the internal structure clearly. Tough, powerful Whomping Willow fibers intertwined with Devil's Snare to form movable muscles, tightly anchored to a skeleton made of some red crystalline substance. The abdominal and chest cavities were packed with organs crafted from assorted transfiguration materials, while the head appeared fully formed—seamless and complete, with no visible internal construction.
And where the heart should have been, a pale red, eerie potion floated quietly. Like a real heart, it extended countless filaments, linking every part of the body together, making them pulse in unison—as though nourishing them from within.
"Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus…"
"That'll do."
Avada withdrew the wand he had been pointing at the potion, then carefully inspected every component once more. Only after confirming that nothing was amiss did he finally relax.
"The person who invented the Animagus ritual was an absolute genius among geniuses…"
Watching the pale red potion slowly deepen in color, Avada couldn't help but marvel at the brilliance of that long-dead pioneer—what kind of intellect it must have taken, what grueling and prolonged research, to distill such a stable, reliable, and miraculous ritual.
This wasn't something you could achieve with Transfiguration alone. It demanded profound mastery of Potions, Herbology, Curse Theory, and psychodynamics as well—only then could one find such an exquisite piece of magic hidden within the cracks of nature's vast laws.
Even Avada himself wasn't confident he could rediscover the Animagus ritual from scratch within a few years. The sheer breadth of knowledge required was overwhelming.
He had only managed it by combing through the immense body of knowledge left behind by Nicolas Flamel, supplementing it with fragments from his own memories and limited access to the Restricted Section. Even so, it had taken him several months to piece together the Animagus training process by the end of last term—and then modify it for use in the most complex alchemical creation he had ever attempted.
Yes—he had never intended to transform himself.
To be honest, when he had first reconstructed the ritual, Avada had briefly considered learning Animagus magic personally. But after analyzing it for a long time, he came to a depressing conclusion: for him, achieving Animagus transformation offered virtually no practical benefit at all.
Stealth? What concealment could possibly outperform the Near-and-Far Spell?Combat? Don't be ridiculous—how was an ordinary animal form supposed to beat a wand-wielding wizard?Special abilities—flight, speed, miniaturization, diving, echolocation? All of that could be replicated with magic anyway. He had even developed true flight spells some time ago…
So after spending vast amounts of precious materials and an absurd amount of time, all he'd gain was the ability to look cute once in a while. What was the point?
If Animagus magic were truly that useful in practice, its properties would have been thoroughly studied long ago and made mandatory training for Aurors—instead of remaining so obscure that only a handful appeared per century, with even Azkaban lacking specialized countermeasures against it.
Of course, pursuing an Animagus did consume far more effort than usual when tracking a criminal, which was why the Ministry strictly regulated related knowledge—another major reason Animagi were so rare.
Aside from the difficulty of acquiring knowledge, the staggering cost, the immense time investment, and the horrifying consequences of failure, the actual entry barrier to Animagus magic wasn't that high. A solid foundation in Transfiguration and strict adherence to the ritual were enough—otherwise, three fifth-year students wouldn't have been able to master it.
"All right. Final step."
Wand in hand, Avada moved to the control end of the massive machine and began operating it with full concentration. The once-gentle blue glow instantly became chaotic, flickering violently like a thunderstorm, making the entire room feel as though it were caught in the heart of a raging tempest.
And within that storm, the potion—previously changing color slowly—completed its transformation in a single instant, turning a bloodlike crimson.
Now!
Avada shouted clearly and forcefully:
"Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus!!"
A blood-red spell erupted from the wand already locked onto its target, striking the potion with absolute precision less than a second after its transformation completed.
In an instant, the crimson light blazed brilliantly. The thin filaments rapidly expanded, writhing like tentacles as they yanked the open wooden armor shut, sealing it closed with flawless precision around the internal structure.
Now, standing at the center of the apparatus was an utterly unremarkable wooden mannequin—faceless, crude, like the most basic human model imaginable. Only faint crimson currents still flowed across its surface.
"It worked!"
As the machine's chaotic flickering faded into a weakening hum, it finally powered down completely, leaving the laboratory lit by normal lighting once more.
Beaming, Avada jogged over to a nearby table and picked up a device resembling bone-conduction headphones, slipping it onto his head. He then opened a drawer, retrieved a neatly folded set of clothes, and returned to the wooden figure, once again pointing his wand at it.
The mannequin twitched.
Ripples surged across its surface—ripples brimming with astonishing transformation.
Real skin began to grow over the wooden exterior, muscle definition emerging piece by piece. The rough limbs stretched and reshaped into proper human proportions. The oval head deformed gradually, becoming unmistakably human as facial features and hair emerged…
At last, a man in his early thirties stood in the center of the laboratory—ordinary-looking, slim-built, with weathered skin and faint sunspots. Completely unremarkable.
A perfectly mundane human body.
(End of Chapter)