In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Becoming an Animagus was one of the most difficult and respected feats in the field of human Transfiguration.

It granted a wizard the power to transform into a specific, non-magical animal, making it the perfect tool for espionage, escape, or simply concealment. But the process was far from simple.

To even begin, one had to place a freshly picked Mandrake leaf under the tongue and keep it there for a full lunar cycle, from one full moon to the next. If the leaf was swallowed, spat out, or lost at any point, the entire ritual had to be restarted.

At the next full moon, the leaf was to be removed and placed into a small crystal vial filled with one's own saliva. That vial had to be left under direct moonlight, cloudy skies would ruin the brew and demand a fresh leaf.

To this, a strand of the caster's hair was added, along with a silver spoonful of dew collected from a location untouched by sunlight or human presence for seven consecutive days. Finally, the mixture had to be completed with the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawkmoth and stored in a dark, silent place until the next thunderstorm. During this time, the vial must never be disturbed or seen.

The entire ritual required an unusual mix of patience, precision, and luck. Most witches and wizards failed long before reaching the final step. Only a rare few succeeded.

But Sylas had always considered himself lucky.

The moment he officially received the Animagus incantation from the system, curiosity burned in his heart. What animal would he become?

He glanced up through the wooden skylight at the glowing full moon. The silver light washed over him, and a quiet certainty welled up in his chest, luck was on his side tonight.

Reaching into his magical pouch, he pulled out the Mandrake, carefully plucked its newest, tenderest leaf, and placed it under his tongue.

It tasted a little bitter and clung awkwardly to the roof of his mouth, but it didn't stop him from speaking or eating. With the first step completed, Sylas stretched out across the straw-filled bed, utterly exhausted.

They had crossed mountains, battled Goblins and Wargs, and narrowly escaped death more than once. Sleep came quickly.

He wasn't worried about the giant bear prowling outside. Sylas had already recognized it as Beorn, the skin-changer and friend of nature. Unlike the wary Dwarves, he knew Beorn was a righteous soul, a guardian of these wild lands. Just like Gandalf, Sylas trusted him completely, and with that peace of mind, drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, sunlight trickled through the cracks in the shutters.

One by one, the companions stirred awake. Curious, Bilbo peered out through the crack in the door, expecting to see the towering beast from last night. But the bear was gone.

Instead, a broad-shouldered man stood outside in the yard, chopping wood with effortless grace. His long beard gleamed like woven silver, and his arms moved with a strength that could easily match any beast.

"Beorn's back in human form," Gandalf muttered softly, already halfway through lacing his boots. Then, turning to the others, he gave quiet instructions.

"Stay inside for now. I'll bring you out two at a time when the moment's right. Beorn's hospitality doesn't extend well to Dwarves, at least not all at once."

He gestured to Sylas and Bilbo. "You two, come with me."

As they stepped outside, Bilbo glanced sideways at Gandalf and chuckled nervously.

"You look a little uneasy, Gandalf. What's the matter?"

Gandalf huffed, brushing off the question with a wave of his hand. "Why would I be nervous?"

Sylas, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. It was rare to see Gandalf even slightly unsettled.

Then again, it wasn't every day you spent the night in the home of a giant skin-changer without asking first.

The trio, Gandalf, Sylas, and Bilbo, walked slowly across the dewy grass toward the towering figure ahead.

The man standing by the chopping block was enormous, nearly three meters tall. His black beard was thick and wild, and his hair hung down to his shoulders. His upper body was bare, and each swing of his great axe sent thick logs splitting in two with explosive cracks. Muscles rippled down his arms and chest with every movement, and he seemed entirely uninterested in his unexpected guests.

"Ahem… good morning!" Gandalf called out politely.

No response.

"Er—good morning!" Gandalf tried again, louder this time.

The man finally stopped and turned slowly, resting the axe against his shoulder. His deep-set eyes were cold and sharp as a hawk's, and the way he stared at them made Bilbo instinctively take a step back.

"Who are you?" the man asked in a gravelly tone.

"I am Gandalf," the wizard said, straightening his robes. "Gandalf the Grey."

He gestured toward the others. "This is Sylas the Black-Robed, and this is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

The man looked them over without expression. "Never heard of you."

Gandalf cleared his throat awkwardly, his smile faltering. "Ah. Well… perhaps you've heard of Radagast? He lives near the western edge of Mirkwood."

"What do you want?" the man asked, eyes still narrowed.

"We came to thank you for your hospitality," Gandalf said without hesitation. "You see, we… may have taken shelter in your house last night."

The man's frown deepened.

"Two wizards and a Hobbit," he said slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a bit of a tale," Gandalf admitted. "We ran afoul of a pack of Orcs in the mountains. They chased us for days. If it weren't for Sylas slaying Azog yesterday, we might not have made it here alive."

At that, the man's expression changed completely. His eyes widened, and in a flash, he stepped forward with such force that Bilbo yelped and ducked behind Sylas.

"Who did you say was killed?" the man demanded, his voice like thunder as he advanced on Gandalf, who quickly raised his hands and backed away.

"Azog!" Gandalf said quickly. "You heard right. Azog the Defiler. Slain yesterday by Sylas here."

The man's eyes locked on Sylas. For a long moment, the two stood face to face.

"Is that true?" he asked.

Sylas offered a casual shrug, meeting the giant's wild gaze without fear. "Hard to lie about something like that. News like this tends to spread."

The man held his stare for a few more seconds before the fierce aura around him seemed to wane.

Then, slowly, he gave a rough, crooked grin.

"I believe you," Beorn finally said, his deep voice quieting the morning air. "The Orcs have a blood feud with my kind. If you truly slew their leader… then you are my friend."

Just as the mood was beginning to ease, the front door creaked open. The Dwarves inside, mistakenly thinking Gandalf had signaled, began filing out in pairs.

Beorn's friendly demeanor vanished in an instant. His hand shot to the haft of his massive axe, and his eyes narrowed with hostility as they fell upon the Dwarves.

"You brought Dwarves too?" he growled, voice low and dangerous.

"Ah...yes, well...I may have forgotten to mention…" Gandalf stammered, caught completely off guard. "That is… a few of us happen to be Dwarves…"

Beorn's eyes widened with disbelief. "You call that a few?"

Gandalf raised his hands placatingly. "It's only thirteen. That's not too many, is it?"

Despite his initial anger, Beorn did not attack. After a long pause, he lowered his axe.

"I don't like Dwarves," he muttered. "They're greedy, and short-sighted. But Orcs, I hate them more."

His eyes darkened with memory. "My people once lived in peace across these mountains. Then the Orcs came from the north. Azog the Defiler butchered my kin… left none alive but me."

He looked back at Sylas with a solemn nod. "You're being hunted by Orcs. That makes us allies. The enemy of my enemy is my guest. You may stay."

With that, Beorn led the entire company back into the house. Though his hospitality toward the Dwarves remained cold and wary, he showed Sylas genuine warmth, inviting him to sit beside him at the head of the long wooden table.

There, Beorn listened with intense interest as Sylas recounted the battle with Azog. Occasionally, Gandalf chimed in with dry commentary, adding colorful details or clarifying moments Sylas had skipped over.

As they spoke, Sylas grew increasingly fascinated by Beorn, not just his strength, but his abilities. The man could transform at will into a colossal bear, a form Sylas suspected was not achieved through Animagus magic. More than that, Beorn could speak to animals in their own tongues: he growled, chirped, clicked, and they responded like loyal subjects.

The entire manor was alive with intelligent animal helpers: four pure white horses, several grey hunting dogs, a jet-black ram, and snowy sheep grazed the outer fields. Inside, cows provided milk, hens laid eggs, bees buzzed between flower beds, and even mice seemed to help in their own quiet way. Everything operated in harmony.

To the others, it was a curiosity, perhaps even a little eerie.

But to Sylas, it was envy.

Beorn's powers reminded him of the ancient Druids: not only did he transform into a magical beast, but he also commanded an entire animal kingdom. Compared to that, Sylas's own linguistic gift, Parseltongue, felt pitifully narrow. And although he had begun the arduous Animagus transformation ritual, even success would only make him a regular animal.

Beorn, by contrast, became a towering magical bear, one whose hide was tougher than chainmail, whose roars could shake trees.

'If only I could understand how he does it,' Sylas thought, glancing sideways at Beorn, 'and fuse that method with Animagus magic… could I become the first wizard in history to transform into a magical beast?'

Of course, that dream still lay far ahead. First, he had to complete the Animagus transformation.