The morning light filtered through the frosted window of Albert's bedroom, illuminating the crisp parchment of a letter that had arrived shortly after breakfast. The ink was elegant, the handwriting sharp and precise—a reflection of the woman who had written it.
Dear Mr. Anderson:
I must confess, your last letter left me quite surprised. It is exceedingly rare for a student of your years to successfully manifest a corporeal Patronus. It is an achievement you should be immensely proud of, and it speaks volumes of your magical fortitude.
Regarding your inquiries about the Animagus transformation, I believe your concerns are, for the time being, unnecessary. While there is a strong correlation between the form of one's Patronus and their Animagus form, they are not inherently the same thing. They are two different branches of magic, and the soul reflects itself differently through each.
To my knowledge, there has never been a recorded case of an Animagus whose animal form shifted simply because their Patronus did. Of course, the pool of data is minuscule; there are very few witches or wizards in history who have mastered both the Patronus Charm and the Animagus transformation to a degree that would allow for such a study.
If you are truly intent on pursuing this path, I must insist: do not attempt to practice this alone. The Animagus transformation is one of the most dangerous undertakings in Transfiguration. If you wish to begin the preliminary studies, I am willing to oversee your progress when you return to school.
Have a peaceful Christmas Holiday.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.
Albert leaned back in his chair, tapping the edge of the letter against his chin. He wasn't exactly thrilled by the response. Professor McGonagall was being cautious—rightfully so—but her letter confirmed what he had feared: even the experts didn't have all the answers. The intersection of a changing Patronus and a fixed Animagus form was a grey area in magical theory.
"Maybe Dumbledore knows more," Albert muttered to himself. He reached for a fresh sheet of parchment, his quill poised over the inkwell, but then he paused.
No, he was being too impatient. The system hadn't triggered a specific quest for this yet, and pushing too hard might draw the wrong kind of attention. He needed to let the situation breathe. If his Patronus had changed due to some internal shift in his soul or magic, he would just have to deal with the consequences when he finally took the Animagus potion.
He sighed, shaking off the weight of magical theory, and headed downstairs.
The living room was quiet, save for the crackle of the fireplace. Tom was currently the undisputed king of the sofa. The ginger cat was lying on his back, paws in the air, belly exposed to the world. He didn't even open his eyes when Albert sat down, merely letting out a soft, huffing snore.
"You're becoming a structural hazard to this furniture, Tom," Albert said, reaching out to give the cat's ears a vigorous scratch.
Tom's eyes snapped open—two golden slits of mild annoyance. He let out a soft "Mrow?" before rolling over and kneading Albert's thigh with his paws. The weight was significant. It felt like a small, warm bowling ball was trying to settle on his lap.
"You really need to cut back on the treats. If I took you to Hogwarts, you'd be a laughingstock. The owls would probably try to carry you off thinking you were a giant fruit," Albert joked. "Then again, maybe the exercise would do you good. You could chase the mice in the dungeons. Though, knowing you, you'd probably just try to make friends with them so they'd bring you cheese."
Tom seemed to take offense at the suggestion of manual labor. He let out a sharp hiss-like meow, jumped off Albert's lap with a surprisingly heavy thud, and scurried over to hide behind Nia's feet as she walked into the room.
"Are you bullying the cat again?" Nia asked, picking Tom up and straining slightly under the weight.
"I'm giving him a reality check. He's getting soft," Albert replied.
Just as Nia was about to defend Tom's honor, a sharp tap-tap-tap echoed from the front door's glass pane. A large, dignified brown owl was perched there, a thick envelope tied to its leg.
Nia opened the door, and the owl swooped in, circling the living room once before dropping the letter directly onto Albert's lap. It then landed on the back of Herb's armchair, looking expectantly for a treat.
"Honestly, Albert, you get more mail than a government office," Nia said, watching her brother untie the seal. "That's the seventh letter this week. Who is it this time? Another secret admirer? Or a different professor telling you how brilliant you are?"
Herb came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel and carrying a steaming mug of cocoa. "I'm beginning to think we need a bigger mailbox. Who's the sender?"
Albert scanned the contents, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's from Professor Bard. He taught Ancient Runes at Hogwarts last term. He's an old friend of some very influential people in the alchemy world."
He handed the letter to Herb, who adjusted his glasses and began to read. As his eyes moved down the page, his eyebrows climbed higher and higher until they were nearly buried in his hairline.
"An... invitation?" Herb muttered. "To an international Alchemy symposium? At a private manor?"
"Is that a big deal?" Nia asked, peering over her father's shoulder.
Herb looked at Albert, his expression a mix of pride and utter bewilderment. "Nia, this isn't just a 'gathering.' It's like a middle schooler being invited to a closed-door summit at CERN or a private weekend retreat with Nobel Prize winners. Bard is asking Albert to attend as a 'junior colleague.'"
The letter was incredibly detailed. It outlined an itinerary that would make a travel agent jealous. Meet at the Leaky Cauldron, Apparate to a private estate, spend two days in academic discussion and practical demonstrations, and then a guaranteed escort back to Hogwarts before the term started.
"Wait, so you're leaving again?" Nia's voice dropped, her excitement replaced by a familiar pout. "You've only been home for a few days. Now you're going off to play with gold-makers in a mansion?"
"It's not just for fun, Nia," Albert said gently, seeing her disappointment. "These are the people who define how magic is used in the world. Being in that room... it's an opportunity I can't pass up. But I promise I'll only be gone for two nights. I'll be back before you even have time to miss me."
"I'll miss you in five minutes," Nia grumbled, though she softened when Albert promised to bring her back something 'interesting'—carefully omitting that 'interesting' in the alchemy world could mean anything from a self-cleaning spoon to a jar of pickled dragon liver.
Herb sighed, patting Albert on the shoulder. "I suppose there's no point in trying to keep you grounded. Your world is getting much bigger than this living room, isn't it? I'll drive you to London on the tenth."
The morning of January 10th was biting cold. The London fog felt like a wet blanket as Herb dropped Albert off near Charing Cross Road. Albert stood outside the Leaky Cauldron, his trunk shrunk in his pocket, feeling the strange hum of magic that always emanated from the pub.
He stepped inside, the heat and the smell of stale ale and old pipes hitting him instantly. He didn't have to wait long. At precisely noon, a figure in a deep plum-colored cloak shimmered into existence near the corner.
"Good afternoon, Professor Bard," Albert greeted him, standing up.
"And a fine afternoon to you, Mr. Anderson!" Bard beamed, looking much more relaxed than he had during his tenure at Hogwarts. He looked at the bar. "Old Tom! A drink for the road?"
"No time, Bard," the Professor laughed, waving a hand. "We have a schedule to keep, and the French delegates are notoriously punctual. Ready for a bit of a squeeze, Albert?"
"Apparition?" Albert asked, bracing himself. He'd done it before, but the feeling of being shoved through a keyhole was never pleasant.
"Indeed. The venue is under heavy wards—no Floo access for security reasons. Take my arm."
The world spun, compressed, and vanished. For a split second, Albert felt like his lungs were being crushed by an invisible giant. Then, the air returned with a snap.
They were standing on a gravel path leading to a stunning white villa. It wasn't quite a castle, but it was far grander than any 'house' Albert had ever seen. It sat nestled in a valley of rolling green hills, though a faint shimmering mist suggested that the landscape wasn't quite what it seemed to the outside world.
"Welcome to the workshop," Bard said, gesturing toward the villa. "It's been empty for a few years, but it's the perfect neutral ground for our little group."
"It looks... remarkably clean for an abandoned house," Albert noted, noticing the pristine white paint and the perfectly manicured hedges.
"Magic, my boy! And a very dedicated house-elf named Nor," Bard winked. "He's been keeping the fires lit and the dust at bay. The house is currently in trust, waiting for a new owner who appreciates its history."
As they crossed the threshold, the air changed. It felt thick with the scent of dried herbs, parchment, and the metallic tang of molten silver. A small, spindly creature with ears like bat wings and eyes the size of tennis balls popped into existence before them.
"Professor Bard has returned! And he has brought a guest!" the elf squeaked, bowing so low his nose scraped the floorboards.
"Nor, this is Mr. Albert Anderson. He'll be staying with us. Please put him in the room next to the study. I suspect he'll be spending quite a bit of time in there."
The elf looked at Albert, his large eyes blinking rapidly. It was rare to see a wizard so young in a place like this, but Nor was too well-trained to voice his surprise. He snapped his fingers, and Albert's invisible heavy trunk (which was still in his pocket) felt a slight tug as the elf's magic acknowledged its presence.
"Follow Nor, young master," the elf croaked, gesturing toward a grand staircase. "The masters are already beginning to gather in the salon. Tea will be served at one."
Albert looked at Bard, who gave him an encouraging nod. This was it. The doorway to the elite circles of the magical world was wide open, and all Albert had to do was walk through it.