Becoming an Animagus is no simple feat.
As Dumbledore often stressed, anyone learning this magic must proceed with the utmost caution.
Many witches and wizards had attempted the transformation, only to make small mistakes that left them permanently trapped in their animal forms, unable to turn back.
Bruce had no doubt Dumbledore's guidance would ensure everything went smoothly.
Still, he had a pressing question:
"Is it really impossible to control the animal you turn into?" Bruce asked. "If the transformation is determined by whatever animal is most 'suitable' for the wizard, then I'm definitely turning into a bat."
That… doesn't feel very useful.
"Kathoom, is there a way to refine Animagus magic?" Bruce continued. "Imagine being able to transform into any animal you want without restriction."
"Look at you, talking about seventy-two transformations like it's no big deal," Kathoom quipped. After a moment, though, he added, "Actually, it's not entirely impossible. You've got more than one teacher, after all."
"Take Grindelwald, for example. He developed a unique form of Transfiguration that lets him take on anyone's appearance. No Polyjuice Potion required, and it lasts way longer."
"Grindelwald?"
Bruce paused, wondering what Grindelwald's magic had to do with him.
Then it hit him. Professor Gael's fascination with Grindelwald made sense. He constantly studied the magical innovations Grindelwald had pioneered—everything from Red Comet spells to the Perception Obfuscation Charm.
If Grindelwald had mastered such advanced Transfiguration, it wasn't too surprising.
"I'll admit that's impressive," Bruce said thoughtfully, "but it's fundamentally different from Animagus transformations, right? At the end of the day, Grindelwald's technique is more like shapeshifting than becoming another species."
"Which is why I said it's just a possibility," Kathoom replied. "Maybe combining Animagus magic with Grindelwald's method could yield something new."
"Studying magic is all about bold hypotheses and careful experiments."
"If you don't even consider the idea, then, of course, it's impossible."
"As for the risks, you've got nothing to worry about. We've got this rat as our test subject!"
Scabbers shivered, feeling a sudden chill.
Ever since Bruce had taken him, the rat hadn't had a moment's peace. The boy's every glance carried a hint of malice, as if he were plotting something unspeakable.
And that owl—Kathoom—was even worse, always watching him like a predator eyeing prey.
At that moment, Kathoom leaned closer to Bruce, his tone conspiratorial.
"Think about it—if you succeed, you could become Batman in all sorts of forms. Ancient species, mythical creatures… nothing would be out of reach."
Bruce handed Scabbers back to Ron.
The moment the rat returned to its owner, Ron noticed how limp it had gone, as if all the energy had drained out of its tiny body.
"I'm finally getting my pet!" Hermione announced, brimming with excitement. "Whether it's an owl or something else, I can't wait anymore!"
"There's a magical creatures shop right over there," Harry suggested. Having spent much of his summer in Diagon Alley, he knew the area like the back of his hand. "Let's go check it out!"
They paid for their ice creams and crossed the street to the shop.
The store was small and cramped, with walls lined with cages. The air reeked of animal musk, and the space echoed with a cacophony of screeches, squawks, and hisses.
"This smells like Hagrid's hut," Ron said, pinching his nose. "Though Hagrid's place is worse—way worse."
Hermione examined the shop's offerings intently.
There were enormous turtles, bright orange snails, plump rabbits that could transform into hats, cats in all sorts of colors, noisy ravens, and buzzing puffballs.
Each option left her more undecided than before.
"Why not get a rat?" Ron suggested, pointing to a large cage of sleek black rats.
Inside, the rats balanced on their hairless tails, bouncing around in some sort of jumping game.
"Scabbers might be dim, but in the rat world, he's a venerable elder," Ron said. "If you get a younger one, Scabbers could teach it valuable life lessons."
"Like how to sleep all day?" Hermione shot back, shaking her head. "Sorry, but rats are not on my list."
"Then what's better than a rat—ow!"
A large ginger creature leapt from the topmost cage, landing squarely on Ron's head and nearly knocking him over.
It was a cat, with fluffy, soft fur, slightly bowed legs, and a peculiar squashed face that made it look perpetually annoyed.
Hermione's eyes lit up the moment she saw it.
"This is the one!" she exclaimed, her excitement spilling over. "Isn't it adorable, Bruce?"
Bruce wasn't sure how to respond.
But Hermione had already made up her mind. Without hesitation, she bought the cat.
As they left the shop, everyone seemed happy—except Ron.
"Why is it always like this?" Ron muttered. "Cats eat rats, owls eat rats. Scabbers, I'd like to help you, but from now on, you're on your own."
The only person Ron could think of who wouldn't pose a threat to Scabbers was Neville, whose pet toad had no appetite for rodents.
The ginger cat's name was Crookshanks.
It was noticeably larger than a typical cat, big enough for both Kathoom and the doll, Mewn, to perch on its back without hindering its movements.
At the moment, Kathoom sat atop Crookshanks, speaking in hushed tones.
"Since you've joined our ranks, it's only fitting I teach you the hierarchy," Kathoom began, attempting to indoctrinate the cat.
"From the dawn of time, this house has been divided into four castes. At the top are owls—like me, of course. Next is you, my second-in-command."
Kathoom's offer was tempting: one step below himself, but far above everyone else.
Crookshanks didn't seem particularly interested. It let out a dismissive snort but pricked up its ears, clearly curious about the remaining two castes.
"The third rank is an egg. I'll introduce you when we get home."
"And the fourth? That's her."
Kathoom nudged Mewn with his talons. "She's an alien invader here to conquer Earth!"
"Eep!"
Mewn squeaked softly, clinging to Kathoom in what seemed like a plea for mercy.
"Back off!" Kathoom snapped, kicking Mewn aside. He then turned back to Crookshanks with a grin. "From now on, you're one of my underlings."
Crookshanks said nothing, but its tail flicked lazily. Whether in acceptance or disdain, only the cat knew.
---
Crookshanks quickly adapted to life at Hermione's house.
After the shopping trip for school supplies, the days flew by, and before they knew it, it was time to return to Hogwarts.
This year, due to a scheduling mishap on Mr. Granger's part, they left an hour later than planned.
Despite their best efforts to make up for lost time, the train was already preparing to depart when they arrived. Most of the compartments were full.
Dragging their luggage, Bruce and Hermione wandered the train, looking for available seats.
"Excuse me," Hermione said, opening the door to one compartment. "Would you mind if we sat here?"
Inside were two adult wizards.
One of them looked pale and frail, despite being quite young. His light brown hair was streaked with gray. At his feet lay a large black dog, eyes closed, seemingly asleep.
The other wizard was preoccupied with an armful of snacks, shoving them into his mouth with no concern for decorum.
Hearing Hermione's request, the snacking wizard immediately nodded.
"Sure, sit anywhere!" he said, even going so far as to stand up and move over.
Originally seated across from one another, the two wizards now shifted to one side, leaving the opposite bench for the kids so they wouldn't have to sit directly next to strangers.
Bruce studied the two men closely. One of them looked oddly familiar.
Where had he seen this man before?
After a moment's thought, it hit him.
"Dark Wizard Gibbon?"
This was the same Gibbon who had once appeared during the Hogwarts collapse plot, siding with Jason and the three magical giants.
But… how had he ended up like this?
Bruce couldn't be blamed for not recognizing him immediately. Gibbon had undergone some significant changes.
Previously, Gibbon had been gaunt, with a sallow complexion, a scowling face, and a large wart on his hooked nose, embodying the stereotypical dark wizard from fairy tales.
Now, however, Gibbon had filled out. While not quite fat, he had gained some softness around the edges.
Most notably, the wart was gone, and his once prominent nose seemed smaller, as though someone had magically reshaped it.
Did he use magic for cosmetic surgery? Bruce thought. If I can learn this spell, I could shrink Hermione's front teeth without bothering Mr. Granger about it.
"What year are you two in?" Gibbon asked, breaking Bruce's train of thought.
"I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor… well, assistant professor," he added, puffing up with pride. "You can call me Professor Gibbon!"
Clearly, he was savoring the moment. For a dark wizard like him, being able to call himself a professor was a dream come true.
"Pleased to meet you, Professor Gibbon," Hermione said politely before turning to the other man. "And Professor Lupin, it's nice to meet you too!"
She had recognized him from the initials on his luggage: R.J. Lupin.
Bruce had also noticed the name.
Suddenly, a thought struck him.
Jason had once asked him to help a friend of his named Lupin turn his life around.
Though it had been Kathoom who initially made the promise, after all they'd been through, Bruce felt a sense of responsibility to follow through.
Jason was family, and you didn't let family down.
Smiling, Bruce decided to make a good first impression.
"Professor Lupin, hello!" he said warmly, echoing Hermione's greeting.
But Lupin merely sniffed and let out a dismissive grunt, offering no reply in return.
Hermione's smile faltered.
This professor… she thought, seems awfully cold. Almost unfriendly.
Even Bruce found the reaction unsettling.
"Kathoom," he said telepathically, "are you sure you didn't get this wrong? You told me Lupin was supposed to be approachable and kind."
"I didn't get it wrong," Kathoom replied, equally puzzled. "Even if Lupin spent a year in prison, he shouldn't have turned into this… icy persona. He's acting like a villain."
Sensing the tension, Gibbon jumped in to smooth things over.
"Professor Lupin is just tired; don't take it personally," he said with a nervous laugh, quickly changing the subject. "By the way, is that your pet? What a fine creature!"
He gestured to Crookshanks with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Hermione seized the opportunity to shift focus as well.
"Your black dog looks quite impressive too!" she said politely.
But her compliment was a stretch. The dog looked anything but impressive.
Its frame was gaunt, its fur dull and patchy, exuding an air of malnourishment.
At that moment, Kathoom hopped onto Bruce's shoulder.
"Bruce," he said quietly, "a word of caution: that black dog is Sirius Black. He's an Animagus."
Bruce glanced at the dog, who lay seemingly asleep on the floor.
Kathoom had already explained Sirius's innocence, so Bruce no longer viewed him as a threat.
Still, one thought lingered in his mind.
Is Animagus training on sale or something?
First Peter Pettigrew, now Sirius Black. How many Animagi was he going to encounter this school year?
"Fine," Bruce said telepathically. "I'll avoid provoking him."
Whether Sirius was here to protect Harry or hunt Pettigrew didn't concern Bruce much.
He only needed one Animagus for his experiments.
If Pettigrew didn't make it, Sirius would do just fine.
Just then, the black dog opened its eyes.
They were a striking shade of gray, filled with a mix of emotions too complex to decipher.
The dog raised its head and looked directly at Bruce.
Suddenly—
"BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!"
The black dog erupted into a frenzy, its barks loud and insistent, as if greeting a long-lost friend.
Bruce blinked, confused.
Why is Sirius acting like this? I don't even know him.
The unexpected outburst startled everyone in the compartment.
Hermione shrank back into her seat, wary of an impending attack, while Gibbon leapt up, clutching the dog in a panic.
"Stop barking! Stop barking!" Gibbon pleaded, his tone more desperate than scolding.
"Quiet!"
A single cough from Lupin silenced the dog instantly.
The black dog flinched and dropped to the floor, lying still as if chastened.
Bruce was dumbfounded.
Kathoom said Lupin and Sirius were friends. Is this how friends behave?
He cast a questioning glance at the owl, who flapped his wings as if to say, "Leave this to me."
"Don't worry, Bruce. I'll get to the bottom of this!" Kathoom announced, flying down to the black dog.
"Coo?" he asked.
"Woof," the dog replied weakly.
"Coo-coo?"
"Woof, woof!"
"Coo!"
Watching this exchange, Bruce felt a wave of disbelief.
"I didn't know owls and dogs could communicate," he said dryly. "Kathoom, if you don't have an answer, just admit it. I won't hold it against you."
Kathoom returned to Bruce's shoulder, sighing heavily.
"Well," he said, "this is a bit of a mess—even I didn't expect this."
"What do you mean?" Bruce asked.
"I spoke to Sirius, and yes, he's Sirius Black," Kathoom began.
Bruce rolled his eyes. That's it? After all that barking and cooing?
But Kathoom continued, his tone growing serious.
"But Sirius believes he has another identity. He's not just Sirius Black."
"And that is?" Bruce prompted.
Kathoom hesitated, then spoke a name Bruce never expected to hear in this world.
"Gordon," he said softly. "Sirius told me he's also James Gordon. That name rings a bell, doesn't it?"
Ring a bell?
It was more like an alarm.
Memories flooded Bruce's mind: eight-year-old Bruce, kneeling alone in that dark alley after the murder of his parents.
The first person to comfort him that night had been Gotham's finest officer—James Gordon.
"This can't be…" Bruce muttered, shaking his head. "You're saying Barbatos sent Gordon after me?"
Jim Gordon—the incorruptible cop, the moral backbone of Gotham?
Gotham's last hope of decency, Bruce thought. He would never become a pawn, let alone hunt me down.
"It's impossible. Absolutely impossible!"
"I never said Gordon was the pursuer," Kathoom replied, his tone grim. "And honestly, I should've seen this coming."
"Martha warned us—this time, Barbatos didn't need a pursuer. The Fifth Metal would be sent directly."
"Now, the real question is…"
"If Sirius is Gordon—"
"Then who is Lupin?"
---
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