December 20th, 1894 — Anne's bedroom, Pennyworth
Anne’s leg began twitching. Her nose itched. Why wouldn’t her hair stay out of her face? Did meditating always have to be so boring? When was breakfast anyhow? Growling, her belly seconding her last question, Anne groaned and stretched. She must have been meditating for hours by now. A glance at the hourglass on her bedside alerted her she’d been meditating less than a quarter of an hour. Oh, good. This was fun. Anne grumbled, flopping back onto her bed in annoyance.
Focus was essential to the animagus transformation. Every book said so and, more importantly, so did Professor Foxwood. He may be a pureblood and have his head in the clouds, but she trusted him when it came to academics. She wasn’t about to argue with someone that could help her become an animal. That is, unless he was wrong about everything and Anne ended up stuck as some sort of insect. She would have words for Basil Foxwood then. Please, Merlin, don’t let her be an insect. Or a snake, or anything lizard-like. The list of things Anne didn’t wish to be was quickly outpacing what she wouldn’t mind becoming. That didn’t bode well, because from what she read, she had very little say in the matter.
Her bedside desk was a mess of her notes and scribbles, the last days of winter break fading away into the grey expanse of winter. It had been almost a year since Anne began her quest in earnest. She knew she would be an animagus, because why wouldn’t she? Professor Foxwood took her through the basics (past the fun part of dreaming) and was now trusting her to research on her own. Anne had read everything she could touch on the subject, but this ‘patience,’ mindfulness,’ and ‘meditation’ part was killing her. Anne didn’t do still well. At all. Ever. Still, something in her knew to try again, just once more and then once more again. She was a witch, she was Anne, and she could do anything. Just wait until someone mouthed off to her once she had sharper teeth. Anne, for one, was very excited for that day to come. Imagining chasing her fellow Slytherins around the common room in the shape of a lion, a thought she had more than once, Anne buckled down to concentrate. Again.
Focus was essential to the animagus transformation. Every book said so and, more importantly, so did Professor Foxwood. He may be a pureblood and have his head in the clouds, but she trusted him when it came to academics. She wasn’t about to argue with someone that could help her become an animal. That is, unless he was wrong about everything and Anne ended up stuck as some sort of insect. She would have words for Basil Foxwood then. Please, Merlin, don’t let her be an insect. Or a snake, or anything lizard-like. The list of things Anne didn’t wish to be was quickly outpacing what she wouldn’t mind becoming. That didn’t bode well, because from what she read, she had very little say in the matter.
Her bedside desk was a mess of her notes and scribbles, the last days of winter break fading away into the grey expanse of winter. It had been almost a year since Anne began her quest in earnest. She knew she would be an animagus, because why wouldn’t she? Professor Foxwood took her through the basics (past the fun part of dreaming) and was now trusting her to research on her own. Anne had read everything she could touch on the subject, but this ‘patience,’ mindfulness,’ and ‘meditation’ part was killing her. Anne didn’t do still well. At all. Ever. Still, something in her knew to try again, just once more and then once more again. She was a witch, she was Anne, and she could do anything. Just wait until someone mouthed off to her once she had sharper teeth. Anne, for one, was very excited for that day to come. Imagining chasing her fellow Slytherins around the common room in the shape of a lion, a thought she had more than once, Anne buckled down to concentrate. Again.
![[Image: rOjzpw3.png]](https://i.imgur.com/rOjzpw3.png)