Inside the club room.

Professor McGonagall was still speaking. She had used magic to block out the sounds of the thunderstorm outside and began explaining her second theory—the Consciousness of Magic theory.

It was said that this theory arose among wizards due to the existence of Obscurials.

But at that moment, Dawn was completely distracted.

His pupils reflected the silver-white magic surging within the storm clouds outside, and a sudden question flashed through his mind.

‘—What exactly is Transfiguration?”

At its simplest, Transfiguration was magic that altered the form of an object using magical power and kept it in that altered form.

Then—

What about Animagi, who could permanently transform?

If you strip away all the complex explanations, could the most fundamental reason be that some form of magic is constantly maintaining the transformation?

Dawn followed this train of thought.

If that were the case, where was the magic coming from?

From within?

Just as Professor McGonagall had said—did the Animagus ritual deepen the transformation from a “thought” into a “binding force,” continuously drawing upon one’s own magical power?

But that seemed a bit far-fetched.

After all, the Animagus ritual wasn’t quite like the Fidelius Charm, which operated purely on thought.

If the ritual truly could draw on one’s own magic constantly, that would directly contradict Dawn’s understanding that magic was only activated through emotion and thought.

He rubbed the smooth armrest of the chair with his thumb, narrowing his eyes as a flash of lightning briefly lit the room.

Then… could it be that the magic maintaining the transformation was being supplied by nature itself?

He recalled the final step in the Animagus ritual: completing the transformation with a potion during a thunderstorm. That thought gave rise to a bold idea.

What if the ritual wasn’t about “making a momentary thought permanent,” but rather a method of utilizing natural magic?

Like… runes?

Those three seemingly random words popped into his head and made Dawn pause for a moment.

But soon after, he began to think in that direction.

Runes could channel magic, yet had nothing to do with emotion. They needed to be inscribed using magic-infused materials, and as long as the inscription remained intact, the magic would continue to work.

Just like the “Light” rune he had drawn with dragon-blood ink on parchment. Even though the ink didn’t hold much magic, it still glowed faintly to this day.

So—Was it because natural magic was continuously sustaining it?

Dawn thought again of the Philosopher’s Stone, which could turn matter into gold. Perhaps that too was due to the ongoing influence of natural magic?

His thoughts floated around aimlessly, drifting from one to the next. Yet amid this tangled mess, something began to clarify—

The process of magical power altering specific patterns is what we call “magic.”

This magical power came in two forms: one drawn by emotion, belonging to the wizard themself; the other, summoned through rituals and runes—natural magic.

And because natural magic was vast and ever-present, spells that used it could last nearly forever, or possess terrifying power.

So—To achieve a permanent transformation, one only needed to summon natural magic to continuously maintain the altered form?

After all, a wizard’s magic was limited—capable of holding a transformation for only a moment. But nature’s magic was limitless.

A glint of light sparked in Dawn’s eyes.

Suddenly—

A chill crept up from nowhere, making him shiver involuntarily.

He didn’t know why, but an unshakable sense of dread took hold of him, like he had glimpsed some monstrous thing lurking in the shadows.

Yet when he tried to pinpoint the cause of this feeling, he couldn’t.

At that moment Professor McGonagall paused in her lecture. Dawn pushed the strange feeling aside and raised his hand eagerly.

“Professor,” he asked, unable to hold back, “what’s your view on natural magic?”

“Natural magic?”

Professor McGonagall furrowed her brows. “Mr. Licht, do you mean the magic within herbs?”

“No, I mean nature itself—like the rain,” Dawn said, pointing to the downpour outside.

“…”

Professor McGonagall was momentarily speechless. She studied Dawn closely. “Child, why do you think that? Are you suggesting that even rainwater contains magical power?”

She shook her head, clearly skeptical.

Dawn blinked.

‘She doesn’t know about natural magic?’

He found it hard to understand.

But thinking deeper, it made sense. Natural magic was so faint that even someone with Dawn’s talent could barely sense it—only in extreme weather did it gather in perceptible amounts.

So perhaps it was only natural that Professor McGonagall had never noticed it.

However thousands of years had passed. ‘Had no wizard ever noticed this?’ Had those who created the rituals and the runes left no mention of it at all?

Dawn rubbed his chin, suspicious.

“All right, it’s getting late. Let’s wrap up for today,” Professor McGonagall announced, snapping Dawn out of his thoughts.

She gave a reminder: “Please check your belongings to make sure nothing is missing.”

Jones and the Ravenclaw girl immediately began rummaging through their things.

“Aaahhh—!”

A piercing scream suddenly rang out in the small room.

Jones clutched his left wrist in panic. “My ring—my ring is gone! Where’s the Niffler, Professor, where’s the Niffler?!”

He thrashed about like someone had stabbed him, frantically searching the room.

Professor McGonagall pressed her fingers to her temples, startled by the outburst.

“Calm down, Mr. Jones! Don’t make a fool of yourself in front of the younger students. The door is still locked. The Niffler is in the room somewhere.”

She scolded him and instinctively glanced toward the now-vacant round table.

She’d been too absorbed in her lecture to notice where the little creature had wandered off to. But after scanning the room, she spotted a wriggling shadow in the unlit fireplace.

“There,” she pointed.

Jones dove forward, ignoring the ashes, grabbing the Niffler’s soft body with both hands and reaching for the pouch on its chest.

He was immediately met with a loud screech and two furious paws clawing at his face.

“You idiot,” Avery said as he walked over. “If Professor Kettleburn saw your technique, he’d regret giving you a passing grade.”

Avery flipped the Niffler upside down and scratched its soft belly.

In the next moment, a cascade of shiny objects spilled from its pouch as it cackled wildly.

“My ring—thank Merlin!” Jones snatched up the precious item and wiped it on his shirt, cheering loudly.

Then he looked down at the Niffler, which was now furiously stuffing the rest of its loot back into its belly pouch, and turned curiously to the side.

“Avery, didn’t you lose anything?”

“Oh, just a dozen Galleons or so,” Avery replied casually, making the Ravenclaw girl twitch at the nonchalance in his voice. “Consider it a tip for coming all this way.”

The Slytherin boy approached Dawn, extending a hand with a gentlemanly air.

“Murphy Avery… may I have the pleasure of meeting you, junior?”

Dawn met his eyes and lightly shook his hand. “Dawn Richter.”

Avery gave a faint smile.

He studied the first-year student who had been invited to the club by special exception and nodded gently, without pushing the conversation further.

Instead, he left behind a single parting remark before turning to go:

“If you ever run into trouble at school, or need help with anything… just come to Slytherin. I’ll handle it for you.”

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