Elsewhere, in the real Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, another version of Rowan Mercer was quietly attending class.
Second-year Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the classroom, explaining one of the most dangerous branches of the subject: human transformation.
The textbook content held no mysteries for Rowan anymore. He had already mastered it. But class was never just the book. The professors always went further, sharing experience, nuance, and the kind of practical insight no page could fully capture.
His Transfiguration was already on par with that of a competent adult wizard. Still, that wasn't enough for him.
He didn't want proficiency. He wanted mastery.
Only by fully understanding the foundations could he later refine these spells, improve them, and integrate them into entirely different magical systems. Skipping fundamentals because he was "already good" would be the kind of mistake amateurs made.
Time, at least, wasn't a problem. With a Time-Turner, he could attend class, rewind, and spend the same hours practicing other magic without conflict.
"Human Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall said, "is the most complex and dangerous form of Transfiguration. Humans possess intelligence, and that intelligence instinctively resists transformation. This resistance makes the process unstable."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"Until you possess sufficient skill, never attempt it on others. And never attempt it on yourselves."
She went on to recount the fate of a witch from antiquity, infamous for turning sailors into animals and leaving them that way for too long. The result had been permanent loss of human consciousness.
"Such acts are now illegal," McGonagall concluded. "Severe cases result in imprisonment in Azkaban."
At the mention of Azkaban, most students instinctively leaned back in their seats.
Dementors were no longer abstract monsters to them. They had seen them. Felt them. Even now, several guarded the school grounds.
Some students glanced unconsciously at Rowan. He listened calmly, unbothered. After all, he had already destroyed Dementors before.
"Professor," a student raised a hand, "using Transfiguration on oneself… is that like when you turn into a cat?"
McGonagall nodded.
"Yes. That form is known as Animagus transformation. You'll encounter it in your fifth-year curriculum. I strongly advise against attempting it on your own. Failure often results in permanent transformation."
Another hand went up.
"Is it difficult because the spell is complicated? You don't seem to use incantations when you transform."
McGonagall hesitated, then sighed.
"If you insist on knowing, I'll explain briefly. The difficulty lies not in the spell, but in the preparation."
She closed the textbook.
"For a full lunar cycle, from one full moon to the next, you must hold a single mandrake leaf in your mouth at all times. You may not swallow it. You may not remove it. If it leaves your mouth, even once, the process must begin again."
A collective shudder passed through the room.
"On the night of the full moon, the leaf is placed in a crystal vial containing your saliva and exposed to moonlight. If clouds block the moon, you must start over with a new leaf."
She continued, listing additional requirements: hair, dew untouched by sunlight or human presence for seven days, a Death's-head Hawkmoth chrysalis, total isolation, repeated incantations at sunrise and sunset, absolute precision.
"And finally," she said quietly, "during a lightning storm, you drink the potion while casting the spell. If your resolve wavers, you will lose yourself forever."
Silence filled the classroom.
"Many witches and wizards who 'vanished' were never murdered," McGonagall finished. "They simply became animals… and lived as such until they died."
Rowan listened, thoughtful.
No wonder Animagi were rare.
This wasn't just about skill. It demanded patience, discipline, luck, and an absurd tolerance for inconvenience. The very first step alone would deter most people.
And yet… some had succeeded. James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew.
Not talent alone. Luck mattered too.
Still, Rowan felt no hesitation.
"For me," he thought, "this isn't difficult at all."
Since fusing with the dragon crystal, he sensed something different in himself. A possibility.
Perhaps his Animagus form wouldn't be limited to ordinary animals. Perhaps he could break the unspoken rule of this world.
Perhaps he could become the dragon itself.
Holding a mandrake leaf for a month wasn't a problem. If he couldn't speak, he could communicate telepathically. If clouds blocked the moon, he could simply fly above them. If no storm came… he could summon one.
As for resolve?
That was the easiest part.
"The only question," he thought, "is whether this world will allow it."
He made his decision.
"Tonight," Rowan murmured to himself, "I'll get the mandrake leaf."