"Professor McGonagall."
Sean looked up at the tall witch; her emerald robes were tinted gold by the setting sun.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," he added, glancing at the old wizard with the long white beard, who was smiling at him and blinking kindly.
"What are you doing—here?!"
Professor McGonagall turned to Sean, her tone already dangerously sharp.
Sean quietly slid his foot a little further out from behind the sign that read: FORBIDDEN FOREST – DO NOT ENTER.
Right now he was standing on the edge of the forest. Technically… not inside.
The sight made Minerva McGonagall feel equal parts exasperated and amused. Albus Dumbledore, still smiling with crinkled eyes and glittering half-moon spectacles in the sunset, said cheerfully:
"Look at that, Minerva. Seems we might get to see something even more interesting than thestrals today."
Sean suddenly had the urge to flee. He already had a bad feeling about what was coming.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the pumpkins in the patch had grown to absurd sizes, and the fire dragon that was about to appear would be worse.
Under Dumbledore's amused gaze and McGonagall's trembling eyes, Hagrid let out a delighted roar.
A moment later, a fire dragon appeared.
It reared up on its hind legs, bellowing, snorting in loud gusts; great gouts of flame sprayed from its fanged jaws into the darkening sky. Its neck stretched high, its mouth easily thirty feet off the ground.
Seeing that the dragon was five times its usual size, Sean didn't hesitate—he started taking pictures.
After a brief, precise moment of sensory focus, guided by a strange inner instinct, he knew his theory had been right.
Eating more magical creature biscuits really did give you more magical power. But at the same time, accepting that kind of magic was a huge trial for a wizard's body and soul.
Which meant that, depending on the wizard, Sean could probably strengthen or weaken his rituals. That was… a very interesting direction.
"Sean Green!"
Sean didn't dare turn around. Professor McGonagall, hair tightly drawn into a bun and spectacles flashing, strode forward and blocked his line of sight. Her fury felt more terrifying than a Norwegian Ridgeback's flames.
Dumbledore gave Sean a helpless little smile, then turned to look at the transformed Hagrid.
Once Sean had finished confirming his guesses, he sighed quietly to himself. McGonagall and Dumbledore turning up here was a bit too coincidental…
Or maybe… not a coincidence at all?
He glanced at the smiling old wizard.
Dumbledore didn't seem the slightest bit on guard against Hagrid, even though Hagrid looked truly frightening in his current form. That thought made Sean frown slightly in contemplation.
Then his figure blurred and vanished, replaced by a black cat whose bright slit pupils snapped open.
Just as he'd expected: even after transforming into a magical creature, the scent of pine resin on Hagrid hadn't changed at all.
It fit what McGonagall's notes said about Animagi:
An Animagus took on the form of an animal that reflected the witch or wizard's inner nature and potential.
Soul transformation didn't change a wizard's character. Which meant that if someone with malice in their heart turned into a fire dragon, they would almost certainly wreak havoc…
But if someone like Hagrid turned into a fire dragon, then you got exactly this—
a dragon sitting beside Dumbledore, wagging its tail like Fang and stomping huge craters into the earth.
It was enough to leave even Professor McGonagall, wand raised and face taut, at a rare loss for words.
…
The next morning, in the Headmaster's office.
"I imagine you've already grasped the key, haven't you, my boy? Some magic is engraved deep within our souls… for example… love."
Dumbledore's deep gaze settled on Sean.
"What it means is that no matter how much the outside changes, certain rules are always obeyed.
And such a powerful magic can help us accomplish many things—including the things you've had in mind.
Use the Spirit Stone well. Its uses are far from few."
As a faint mist drifted through the office, Sean left, thinking.
Whitey was perched sleepily on his shoulder.
Only when they reached a shadowed corner did Whitey properly wake up.
If Hagrid's fire dragon would obey Dumbledore's commands, Sean wondered, would Whitey obey mine?
In the Room of Requirement, Owlman was flapping furiously, swiping at Whitey with his claws, but it was useless—he was only a painting.
Still turning these questions over, Sean kept reading A Simple Introduction to the Void Rune long into his second night.
The air outside was damp and blustery, but Hagrid's hut was always warm.
When Sean fed Whitey a Kneazle biscuit, Hagrid was still grinning from ear to ear.
"Ahh, what a pretty girl—look at those feathers, look at those talons—"
Sean couldn't see anything special at all.
Telling male from female in owls came down to tiny differences; it took someone like Hagrid, who loved and understood magical creatures deeply, to spot them at a glance.
Whitey hooted twice, and a moment later turned into a white-furred Kneazle, wobbling a bit as she hopped onto Sean's shoulder like she owned the place.
"Whitey?"
Sean called softly.
The Kneazle tilted her small head, let out a confused, warbling meow.
Sensing something, Sean took out a stone slab. With a wave of his wand, he strung the Void Rune with a few thin cords and slipped it over his neck like a pendant.
This time, Whitey seemed to understand. She happily leapt into Sean's hand, and for a moment he felt his heart grow warm.
It looked like the soul artifact was helping him build some subtle, soul-level connection.
Letting him send more precise "commands."
It made him think—inevitably—of the Deathly Hallows: the Resurrection Stone.
Dumbledore had once described it like this:
"The Resurrection Stone—for him, it meant an army of Inferi…"
"Him" of course meant Grindelwald. And Inferi never really obeyed orders once created.
Which meant the Resurrection Stone allowed Grindelwald to command the dead.
That was surprisingly similar to what the Spirit Stone seemed to do—except that, in Dumbledore's words, what linked Sean and Whitey was love, while the stone itself merely acted as a conduit.
Come to think of it, that was all it had ever been.
Even with the liminal realm—the "between"—it was just a bridge.
Night deepened outside, but the hut glowed with firelight. Darkness made the bonds between people feel closer, and it helped Sean understand something simple and enormous:
Love is the bridge that links one soul to another.