In the quiet of the castle, a shadowy figure appeared suddenly in the entrance hall. With a light leap up the stairs, it sprang onto the second-floor corridor railing in the blink of an eye.
Had anyone been present, they'd have seen it was a black cat—with snowy white paws. Most striking of all were its eyes: one blue, one yellow, glowing faintly in the dim corridor light.
This cat, of course, was Harold in his Animagus form.
Experiencing such a miraculous transformation for the first time, Harold was determined to savor it thoroughly.
He'd already explored nearly the entire castle in his feline body.
The first thing he had to get used to was the shift in perspective. As a cat, Hogwarts now appeared ten times larger than before. The once-low railings now required him to tilt his head back to see over them, and even ordinary classroom doors looked like massive stone gates. Cracking one open a sliver felt grand and weighty.
The novelty of it all was simply too much fun. And as he grew more accustomed to moving as a cat, his movements became lighter, swifter.
A cat's body seemed weightless. A simple push off a staircase was enough to launch him from the first to the second floor—no more worries about being late because the staircase decided to rotate somewhere else.
Harold was quite pleased with his Animagus form—especially that golden eye, imbued with the power of Serpent's Eye.
At first, when he saw his reflection, he hadn't made the connection between his yellow eye and the cursed ring. He'd assumed it was just a feline heterochromia trait.
That changed when he spotted a spider in one of the castle's corners.
He felt his magic surge instinctively, channeling into his eyes… and the spider dropped dead on the spot, curled up like a dried husk.
The discovery startled Harold. He quickly realized that the Animagus transformation had incorporated the ring as part of his physical body. Which, in turn, meant the transformation compensated for a major drawback of being an Animagus—inability to cast magic.
Though it consumed a lot of energy—just killing a bean-sized spider felt like casting seven or eight Stunners in a row—that was a minor problem. A spell's magical cost remained the same regardless of the target's size.
It was like casting the Killing Curse on an ant—it would kill that one ant, and nothing more, not even the one standing next to it.
Still, it wasn't perfect. When imbued in the basilisk, Serpent's Eye had been a passive ability. Now, it functioned more like an active spell.
Whatever. He wasn't the original basilisk. This was already more than enough.
Harold was still mulling it over when a familiar meow reached his ears.
He looked up to see a massive feline figure looming ahead.
Tom tilted his head, curiously observing this unfamiliar "fellow cat."
As a dutiful pet, Tom always made a point to report in on the first day of term—so today, naturally, he'd shown up. Upon entering the castle, he had caught Harold's scent. But what surprised him was that the scent led not to Harold—but to a tiny cat.
Truthfully, Harold had never had a clear sense of his Animagus form's size. He knew it was small, but only when seeing Tom now did he realize how small.
Looking up at Tom felt like staring up at Hagrid.
Size aside, Tom's body and face were riddled with scars—souvenirs from the Forbidden Forest.
As he approached, that intimidating presence was like watching Hagrid walk toward him with a bloodied club after dealing with two Death Eaters.
No wonder Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, always ran away the second she saw Tom. No one could blame her.
Tom padded closer, sniffing Harold with increasing suspicion, letting out a low, throaty rumble.
Harold stared right back… and in that instant, his magic surged again, rushing to his eye.
"MrrYAAOW!" Harold screeched.
The magic had already been triggered. He could feel the curse ready to fire—and it was too late to stop it by simply looking away.
There was only one way out.
Change back. Now!
The desperate urgency in his mind finally allowed Harold to cancel his Animagus form just in time.
He transformed back into a human—and with it, the Serpent's Eye returned to being a ring. The curse faded.
"YOWWW!" came a second shriek—this time from Tom.
Watching the tiny cat suddenly morph into a person—his own master, no less—Tom leapt five feet into the air, every strand of fur standing on end. He looked like a giant orange porcupine.
"Don't be so dramatic." Harold casually caught the spiky cat and gave him a firm head-scratch. "Yes, it's me. You weren't smelling wrong."
Much better. This angle made Tom look cute again.
It took quite a bit of petting before Tom's fur settled back down.
He placed both front paws on Harold's chest and leaned forward to sniff his face repeatedly. Once convinced this was indeed Harold, he looked utterly bewildered, his eyes vacant as though smoke might start rising from his ears.
"You don't need to understand," Harold said. "Just know that this is also me."
He set Tom back down, raised his wand, and pressed it to his heart.
"Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus!"
Once again, he became the black cat.
This second transformation was far smoother than the first. The wrenching pain in his bones and skin was gone, and his body shifted easily.
Still, Harold had only just learned the transformation spell. For now, he had to chant the entire incantation.
After more practice, he'd be able to shorten it to just "Animagus". With enough repetition, even that wouldn't be necessary—a wand gesture alone would do it.
Eventually, like Professor McGonagall, he'd be able to shift at will.
But that was for the future. His immediate goal was to simplify the spell to just one word.
Meanwhile, Tom jumped again—but this time, only two feet off the ground.
He'd seen the wand now. That explained everything.
To Tom, wands meant magic. Wizards could make things fly, vanish toys, or summon food.
So, after a moment of intense squinting and tail-flicking, Tom accepted the reality: his master was also a cat.
He leaned in and nuzzled the smaller black cat affectionately.
"Mrrp! Mrowrr…" he chirped.
Harold understood him perfectly: Tom was saying he'd bring prey back to the castle from now on. No need to hold back—Harold could help himself. And if it wasn't enough, Tom could hunt from the neighbors' territory too.
Harold was touched by the offer.
Then he promptly refused.
No offense—it was just that Tom's taste in food wasn't exactly human-friendly.
…
(End of Chapter)