Sirius Black's Completely Hypothetical Treatise...

The Animagus Transformation

A Purely Hypothetical Treatise

Practice N.E.W.T. paper

Transfiguration - Instructor: Professor M. McGonagall

Sirius Black, Gryffindor, sixth year

The Animagus transformation is immensely complex, difficult, and time-consuming. Years of study of the theory, and practice of the requisite spells, are required in order to achieve the initial change at will, from human to animal. (Not that I'd know first-hand, of course.)

To become an Animagus, a witch or wizard must first learn magical theory relating to the transformation itself. (Note: In the remainder of this paper, I shall refer to those undertaking Animagus-related magical study as "wizards". It's not that I think only boys can be Animagi; after all, Professor McGonagall, you make quite the fetching tabby. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you: How do you keep yourself from getting fleas? They're quite itchy and annoying, and have caused a great deal of grief in our dorm as of late. Little buggers end up in everything.)

Said theory includes four Primer Spells, all in the field of Transfiguration. (SOURCE: The following information is taken from the book Animagus Transformation Made, If Not Easy, At Least Less Impossible by Alterius McBrute, listed as "missing" from the Restricted Section on 12 Nov 1973.) The steps needed to achieve a full, voluntary Animagus transformation are as follows:

The first incantation, Scizorsrauckpapierius, stems from ancient Aramaic, and is devised from a proverb translating most closely into English as, "I don't want to - you do it." Once this spell is mastered, the Animagus wizard is able to change parchment to shears, shears to boulder, and boulder to parchment, and all other possible combinations therein. Which of these three elements is the most powerful has been an issue of contention between wizards everywhere. (A discussion on this subject was recently observed while someone else was nicking Firewhiskey from behind the counter of the Hog's Head, from under an Invisibility Cloak).

The second spell is the Agualiquori spell, which enables the caster to turn water to wine. Useful little spell, that one is. With hard work and concentration, this spell can be learned to perfection in one hour flat on a Saturday afternoon, and used multiple times in rapid succession, late into that same night.

Thirdly, the wizard pursuing the Animagus transformation must learn to turn one living thing to another. This was studied in O.W.L. Transfiguration class last year with our lovely and talented professor. Plant-to-animal conversion; i.e., turning geraniums to gerbils, or mandrakes to monkeys, is covered first; later, one studies animal-to-animal transformation, such as turning a pig into a panda. Transfiguring mammals other than humans is an essential first step to achieving Animagus status. Of course, Cross-Species Switching Spells are difficult, and those termed Cross-Class - for example, turning a newt into a nightingale, or making your friend's toad become a tiger (that was James' idea, so don't blame me; who knew Peter is oddly phobic of stripes?) are exponentially more so. The incantation, Envario, is quite similar to that of the Engorgement charm (Engorgio). At least, it seems to be, after excessive use of the Agualiquori spell. My aim was a bit off, all right? It's not like James had a problem with it, until he realized he'd have to tuck it into his sock if he ever wanted to leave the room again. Anyway, I digress. Once Cross-Class Switching Spells are mastered, the Animagus candidate is ready to progress to human transfiguration.

Human transfiguration is intensely complicated. Complete concentration is needed in order to be successful in any sort of magic involving the change of your own, or another's, appearance. Changing outward attributes, such as hair or eye color, is a necessary primer for beginning to change less obvious aspects of a wizard's physical structure. Practicing these spells is essential; it is not without extensive study that a wizard can change his own body structure into that of an animal at will. Many wizards are able to achieve a partial transfiguration, and are content to stop there. There have been a paltry half-dozen Animagi registered through the Ministry this century. (SOURCE: Ministry of Magic Archives, Animagus Registry, 1900-Present.) It goes without saying that it is a very talented few who are willing to devote their time, energy, and copious brain power to achieving full Animagus status. I might add that good looks never hurt, either.

An Animagus takes the form of an animal unique to the individual wizard's personality. Extensive examination of the behavior of specific animal traits is imperative in order to be successful as an Animagus. To illustrate: I have snogged every girl in Sixth Year. Well, all the ones who aren't ugly cows, of course. I've also planted one on James in front of Lily a fair few times, which seems to infuriate him, for some strange reason. As I seem to enjoy slobbering on others' faces, I might be a dog. A large, black dog. A very handsome large, black dog. Theoretically speaking.

Now, should I myself become an Animagus, I would have several points to make on the transformation. Firstly, it is painless (from what I have heard). It is nothing like Remus goes through each and every month. Remus pitches a screaming fit when he transforms, and what's worse is that it doesn't seem worth it. I mean, he's really pitiful in wolf form, all scrawny and shaggy-looking. I would make a much finer dog than he does a wolf, I'm sure. Of course, I'd know firsthand that Remus is a shrieking sissy-wolf if I actually was an Animagus; werewolves are not a danger to animals, or Animagi, as they are to humans. (SOURCE: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander - We wrote a letter to Mr. Scamander telling him that he hadn't told us to look in our dorm room, though no owl in response was received.) We could transform with our friend, and run around the castle grounds each full moon. That'd be wicked, wouldn't it, Professor?

Of course, were I an Animagus, I would face an entirely new set of dilemmas aside from my usual, daily battle: Namely, to spend enough time on my hair. In Animagus form, instead of this glorious head of sleek black locks with which Nature graced me, I might have fur. You know. Like a dog? Anyway, with fur comes fleas. (The fleas in our dorm room are there by completely unrelated means, I'd like to add.) Dogs also have different tastes than humans do. See, were I ever to become an Animagus, I could nick a box of Happy Crup Treats from Kettleburn's cabin, and I'd be set. (He said he was going to my Head of House to attest that he's sure I've been stealing his class supplies. I didn't. There's no evidence. He can't prove a thing.)

As you know, I have three best friends: James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. Remus already becomes an animal each month, not without a lot of carrying-on, mind you; studying the Animagus transformation would be a moot point for him to undertake. However, were my two other mates to study to become Animagi, I wonder what they might become...

James Potter likes to prance around and thrives on challenge. He makes it a point to daily jinx Severus "Snivellus" Snape, who has been clinically proven to be a greasy git. (SOURCE: "Greasy Git Litmus Test", administered via hair sample during Potions class, 15 Feb 1976. I didn't think it could turn that bright a shade of purple when we invented it.) I think James would make a wicked stag. However, with antlers would come problems, I'm certain. For instance, puncture wounds, not dissimilar to the strange perforated pattern discovered on the bum of one Remus Lupin one morning last spring. The injury occurred after a fierce, protracted battle over the last Chocolate Frog. The Hospital Wing matron was unable to determine a cause of injury. (SOURCE: Interview with Poppy Pomfrey, 30 May 1976. Concluded abruptly at 10:18 AM, when Madam Pomfrey asked if I wasn't supposed to be in class.)

Peter might transform into a rat. He'd make a total wuss of a rat, I'm certain, all pudgy and grey with stupid tufty ears. Of course, rats are useful. They fit into small spaces. In fact, a rat with a human mind could easily slip into a little-known passage on the third floor of the Hogwarts castle, carrying a camera, and snap a photo of a certain Transfiguration professor clad in nothing but a tartan negligee, locked in a compromising position with our esteemed Headmaster. (SOURCE: I'd be a bloody fool to tell you where I've got the photographs hidden.)

In conclusion: Wizards electing to pursue the Animagus transformation are few and far between, mainly due to the complex nature of the process. The same could be said for my lack of homework turned in this term; it was indeed time-consuming. However, I need an Outstanding in this course in order to remain on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Thank you, as always, for a wonderful year filled with new opportunities and expertly imparted knowledge.

Mr. Black:

Your performance in class this term was, indeed, abysmal. Your participation in my classroom was virtually nonexistent, unless you count the time you hit Lily Evans in the back of the head with a Color-Change charm. Honestly, Mr. Black, if she says she doesn't want to go into Hogsmeade with your friend, that is between herself and Mr. Potter; there was no need to turn her hair green. Despite repeated threats of detention and dismemberment throughout the past six months, you have failed to turn in a single item of homework. All things considered, you have earned a failing grade.

Class participation: Poor

Coursework: Dreadful

Final Essay: Acceptable

Final Course Grade: Outstanding

I expect to see two things on my desk on Sunday morning: One is the Quidditch Cup, and the other is that photograph, and all copies thereof, Mr. Black. I won't go to Albus or the Ministry authorities if you don't go to the Board of Governors or the Daily Prophet. I believe this is fair, don't you?

One last thing: Next time you are in Kettleburn's cabin, could you pick up a bottle of Kneazle's Friend Hairball Potion? It's next to a large blue bottle; take that as well. Mr. Lupin's Prefect duties may not include bathing you, but unless he wants to continue having to scratch himself as fiercely as he was in class today, he'll do well to administer the treatment. Mrs. Skower's Flea Dip and Rats' Nest Remover works wonders. You wouldn't believe the difference it has made in Albus' beard.