Amir considered himself an unfortunate man.
He was born in Niger — a landlocked country on the edge of the Sahara Desert in West Africa, where nearly ninety percent of the population lived below the poverty line.
His childhood, unsurprisingly, had been miserable. Having lost both parents at an early age, his life was even harsher than most.
At eleven years old, he was admitted into the Wagadu School of Magic after dreaming of someone handing him a stone carved with ancient runes.
But that small miracle turned out to be only a deceptive rise on the downward slope of his life.
When he thought he was about to start anew in the wizarding world, a cruel truth struck him down again — Amir had no talent for magic.
During his first year, among all the courses he took, only the pure theory classes barely earned him a passing grade. Any subject that required practical spellwork ended in failure.
One of his Charms professors once told him that magic was a power of the mind, and that he needed to abandon hesitation and believe more in himself.
But his unhappy past clung to him like a heavy chain, dragging him down with the weight of his own self-doubt.
And so, unsurprisingly, after seven years at school, Amir graduated straight into unemployment.
After all—No one would hire a wizard with such dismal results. And as for starting a business of his own, he didn't even have the money to rent a room, let alone open a shop.
After a period of desperate poverty, Amir finally made up his mind.
He would first find a way to fix his inability to use magic properly — and then, perhaps, find a new path in life.
His attention turned toward the wands of Europe.
He had once read in a book that wands were an alchemical creation — a fusion of magical plants and creatures — that greatly simplified the casting of spells.
But African magic, which valued ancient hand gestures and traditions, had never adopted these "heretical trinkets," as they were often called.
Amir wanted a wand. To prepare for that, he even taught himself English and several other European languages.
But before anything else, he needed to make enough money to buy one.
Fearing the Ministry of Magic, he dared not prey upon ordinary people.
After much hesitation, Amir finally set his sights on Egypt — a country whispered among his kind as "a gold-hunting paradise reeking of corpses."
Only, reality was far from the dream.
Lacking both connections and the courage to enter tombs or face curses, Amir spent his days drifting aimlessly, praying for good fortune that never came.
Until one night, in late December of that year—After stumbling out of a tavern, half drunk, he experienced his first ever "wild battle."
It wasn't much of a battle.
Before he could even resist, a spell hit him squarely, leaving him dazed and helpless. The next thing he knew, someone had slung him over their shoulder and was carrying him away.
At that moment, as he stared at the back of his kidnapper's neck, the young and naïve Amir finally understood the terror of dark wizards—and the humiliation of being taken like a sack of grain.
"So, can you please let me go? You must have checked already — I've got, what, maybe ten Derbens on me? I'm not worth kidnapping!"
Bound tightly to a bed, Amir struggled wildly, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Quiet for a bit," Dawn sighed, rubbing his temples, tired of the man's nonstop babbling.
If it weren't for the fact that the potions and spells involved in his upcoming experiment required silence, he would've already shut Amir's mouth permanently.
"Please, let me go! I'm useless at everything, unlucky as hell — I'm a complete failure of a man!" Amir kept pleading, desperate.
"Your body is the only thing of use to me," Dawn replied casually, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied the dark lines pulsing faintly under Amir's skin.
"My... body? Wait." Amir squinted at Dawn's face, then suddenly gasped. "I see! You're British! I know some places—there are brothels that even have men! You let me go, and I'll take you there!"
"Brothels? Men?" Dawn blinked. Was he serious?
That stereotype about the British had spread all the way to Africa?
"You can trust me!" Amir went on eagerly. "I've traveled all over looking for work — I know which places give the best service! For example—"
But before he could finish boasting, he froze.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a monstrous shape standing in the doorway — a creature with two heads, four arms, and four legs, its whole body dripping with blood.
"What the hell is that?!" Amir screamed in his native tongue.
He remembered the horror stories about dark wizards and their grotesque experiments. Seeing the creature—he realized this was his fate.
He was going to be turned into an experiment. He'd rather lose his virtue than his life!
His face went pale.
The creature—William—looked curiously at the man tied to the bed, then turned toward Dawn.
"The blood you coughed up—I cleaned it," the boy said softly.
"Good," Dawn nodded. He flicked his wand to clean the remaining blood from William's skin. "If you're tired, go rest."
William hadn't spoken yet when Amir seized on the only word he understood.
"Blood? Wait—brother, are you sick? I know where to find a doctor! I can take you to one!"
Dawn ignored him at first—but then paused.
"Tell me," he asked, "does Wagadu teach curses?"
"Yes! Of course!" Amir nodded frantically. "Africa's full of curses! Even outside Egypt, every tribe has its own kind. We even had a whole course on curse prevention! If you're cursed, I can write to my professor — he'll help!"
Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Then have you ever heard of a curse related to Anubis?"
He described briefly what had happened to him.
Amir thought for a moment, then said cautiously, "Brother... maybe it's because you've done too many bad things? Anubis judges souls — maybe if you did a good deed, the curse would go away! Like letting me go, for example!"
"You mean to say," Dawn asked coolly, "that I'm the only bad person in all of Egypt?"
"No! No, not at all!" Amir shook his head furiously. Then, hesitating, added, "But... it wouldn't hurt to try, right? Some curses have really strange cures!"
Dawn frowned slightly. As ridiculous as it sounded, Amir's last words struck a chord.
Indeed—many curse removals defied logic.
Perhaps... it was worth testing.
He turned toward William, only to freeze when he saw what the boy was doing.
"William, stop playing with your new arms," Dawn sighed. "Doesn't that hurt? I remember pain is shared between us."
"My back feels heavy," William muttered.
"Endure it for now. I'll find someone to remove it soon."
"Remove it? Because it's useless now?"
"More or less." Dawn nodded. He planned to use Finite Incantatem after the experiment to halt the blood-splitting curse.
Having recorded all the changes in the sigils and confirmed that the blood curse had no further effect, there was no need for William to continue mutating.
"William, do you need anything from me?" Dawn asked.
"I want roast meat tomorrow morning," the boy said.
"Roast meat, hm? All right." Dawn waved him off and raised his wand toward Amir.
"Wait—brother! If you want to do a good deed, you have to let me go first!" Amir twisted wildly, trying to dodge the wand's aim.
"Enough talking. I'm short on time."
Dawn's tone hardened. He fixed his gaze on the dark lines crawling under Amir's skin and incanted, "Reducto."
A flash of red light shot into Amir's body.
Amir screamed, imagining himself blown into bloody fragments.
But moments later, when he realized he was still whole, his wails stopped.
"Did the spell fail?" he whispered shakily.
But Dawn's face had lit up in excitement.
Under his gaze, the tangled black markings had split open—a tiny fracture, but a fracture nonetheless.
It worked.
"What do you feel?" Dawn asked.
"What... should I be feeling?" Amir said nervously.
Ignoring him, Dawn cast the Blasting Curse again and again, widening the cracks in the black lines.
Amir watched the magic sink into him, utterly confused and terrified.
Then he felt it— Something hard pressing upward beneath his back.
Realizing that something was happening to his body, Amir turned pale. "Damn it! Kid, how old are you?!"
"Why are you asking that?" Dawn replied, puzzled.
"Because if I'm about to have surgery, I'd rather have a seasoned healer, not some little brat experimenting on me!"
"Well," Dawn said matter-of-factly, "sorry to disappoint you. I'm eleven."
Amir's face went blank with despair. "Then tell me—what exactly are you doing to me?"
"Magical creature transformation."
"What—what?" Amir's voice cracked in horror. "Wait, transformation into a magical creature? No! That's impossible! Our headmaster warned us never—ever—to attempt it!"
"Quiet," Dawn snapped. "You don't want me making a mistake, do you?"
He burned away Amir's outer robes and stared at his exposed back.
Amir bit his tongue, feeling his spine bulging upward, his body reshaping itself.
Before long, two great humps rose from his back, and his limbs began twisting into hoof-like shapes.
So it was true— Breaking the black lines merely allowed natural magic to enter the body; it didn't necessarily turn one into a donkey. Perhaps, like an Animagus, the result varied from person to person.
But why?
Could the transformation depend on a wizard's subconscious?
As Dawn pondered, his eyes fell upon his wand, and an old idea suddenly resurfaced.
When he had first received his wand, curiosity had led him to study it closely.
He had concluded that wands worked by amplifying the caster's magic — the combined energies of the wood and core lending strength to the wizard's own.
More power meant less need for strong will.
But beyond that, one question had always intrigued him— "The wand chooses the wizard."
Every Hogwarts student heard Ollivander say it. Was it just marketing... or the truth?
Dawn believed the latter.
He remembered how he had tried countless wands before finding this one — the only one that truly resonated with him.
Straight-grained pine wood, favored by the independent and unorthodox.
Core of dragon heartstring, symbolizing intellect and unpredictability.
It fit him perfectly.
Perhaps, he thought, wand-making itself was a form of ritual magic.
After all, ritual magic worked by invoking natural energy through symbolic acts or objects.
Maybe each material used in wandmaking carried a distinct meaning — and when combined, they resonated with a wizard whose essence matched that meaning.
Then—When natural magic entered a body, could it be that the transformation reflected how the world saw that person?
The thought flickered and vanished as Dawn refocused on his task.
He wasn't about to let Amir turn into just any ordinary creature.
Although he didn't yet know the sigil pattern of a phoenix, he still remembered the detailed design from when Professor McGonagall had demonstrated the transformation of a Niffler for the Transfiguration Club.
For his first test, that would suffice.
Focusing intently, Dawn began adjusting the lines of the sigils one by one.
Under the flow of natural magic, the changes stabilized—the patterns held.
Amir's form began to shift again, moving closer and closer to that of a Niffler.
Dawn's lips curved upward in satisfaction.
Slowly, Amir's body, once nearly six feet tall, began to shrink rapidly.
Coarse black fur sprouted across his skin.
His mouth stretched forward into a short, animal snout....
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