CHAPTER I

Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

Monday, September 15, 2008... 3:17pm

When she was younger, Detective Agatha Thomas always had difficulties understanding the difference between a wizard's animagus form and what shape his patronus took. Both dealt with ideas of spirituality and connections with nature, and both were supposedly reflections of the soul housed within the body. While there were some people that never bothered to study either branch of magic – because they had no interest or just simply lacked the innate abilities required for them – there was a disproportionate amount of people who never took advantage of their animagus form compared to people who never learned to cast a patronus.

To become a successful animagus, one had to be completely sound of mind and body. Discovering the inner self usually took several hours of deep meditation and soul-searching. Confidence in the transformation was key. If a wizard went into it feeling too nervous or unsure, things were almost guaranteed to go horrendously wrong.

On the other hand, casting a full-fledged patronus required a great deal of emotional and magical strength. Recent studies done at one of the more prominent universities showed a link between the inability to produce a patronus and the various forms of depression. Whereas an animagus transformation became almost instinctual once learned, a patronus was something that took effort and energy each time it was performed.

The only thing the detective could not understand was why there was a difference between the two animals. For example, the police chief was a registered animagus whose form was a jaguar. However, his patronus was widely known to be a lemur.

It was this problem that had created a block in the detective's mind, and her instructor theorized it was the only thing keeping her form discovering her true animagus form.

Agatha Thomas growled, twirling her wand idly between her fingers as narrowed eyes studied the pages of the textbook before her. The department encouraged all wizards with the ability to become animagi to take full advantage of it. Successfully registering your animal form with the state came with a lovely little pay increase.

The textbook was explaining what her mind already knew. She knew her animagus form could be completely different from her patronus. She knew a patronus represented what made her feel safe, just as she knew the form of a patronus could change due to midlife crisis while an animgus form could not.

And yet whenever she tried to discover her animal, her brain always attempted to shift her body to match the elegant form of a tiger – the animal form her patronus had adopted. It felt indescribably wrong on so many levels. Before she could even begin to correct her mistake, the spell backfired and usually ended with her being flung halfway across the room by her own magic.

There was a loud 'thud' as Agatha's forehead met the smooth oak surface of her desk.

"This sucks," she muttered to it.

Thankfully, the desk did not respond.

"Careful," a new voice said. "People might think you're crazy."

The detective tilted her head to the side and aimed a razor-sharp glare at the enchanted window hanging on the wall next to her cubicle. The skies were dark and stormy; rain pelted against the glass silently, while lightning flashed every few minutes. Maintenance – which consisted of one lonely wizard – was obviously still feeling vindictive about her refusal to date coworkers. Her window had shown nothing but terrible weather for the last two weeks, despite the truly sunny skies outside.

Sergeant Dogwood's image was leaning casually against the window frame, not bothered in the least by how quickly the rain was soaking through his clothes. Since fireplaces were rather conspicuous in what was for all intents and purposes a predominantly muggle police station, enchanted windows served in place of the floo network favored by larger precincts.

"What do you want?" Agatha asked, not bothering to raise her head from the desk.

Dogwood grinned. "You're muggleborn, right?"

"You know I am." Her tone was exasperated.

The sergeant had grown up with her eldest brother and was a close friend of the family. He was from one of the few remaining pureblooded wizarding families in the area whose lives crossed with muggle society very little. Modern technology, fashion trends, and anything else prominent in the muggle world meant nothing to them.

It was one of the main reasons the police department had been agreeable to hiring Agatha. A muggleborn witch – a minority, which was a plus for their employment statistics – made dealing with cases involving muggles much easier to handle. She was someone who had extensive knowledge of both worlds. It eliminated some of the need to work with their muggle police counterparts too extensively.

"Good, I've got a job for you," he said brightly. "Got reports of an illegally enchanted sports car on the south side of town. Suspect is a teenage male by the name of Samuel Witwicky, parents are Ronald and Judith Witwicky. The file should be arriving momentarily."

On cue, a paper airplane zipped down the hall and landed neatly on her open textbook. Agatha sat up, tapping the airplane with her wand, and waited as it unfolded itself into a large manila envelope. She opened the file, not waiting for the wrinkles to finish straightening themselves out, and began to read.

"All right, boss," she muttered, her lips quirking in a grin, "I'll get right on it."

"Tell your mom I said hi!" And with that, he disappeared.

Agatha delved into the file, grateful to have something to distract her from the frustrating process of becoming an animagus. Seventeen years old, brown hair, brown eyes... Samuel Witwicky was unremarkable in virtually every manner. The file didn't say if he were muggle or wizard, but since a wand registration form was not attached and his school records were from the muggle public education system, it was probably safe to say the boy didn't have a magical bone in his body.

According to the anonymous informant, the car in question was a canary yellow Chevy Camaro with black racing stripes. It had been seen driving itself, opening and closing the family's garage door unaided, and had a peculiar talent of holding an intelligent conversation using what was believed to be sound bites from the boy's iPod.

A glance at her watch told her it was half past three. School was more than likely over for the day. If Mr Witwicky was truly a muggle, the situation needed to be investigated more thoroughly. There might be more to deal with than just a sentient vehicle.

Agatha stood up from her desk with a grimace. Obliviating people was never an enjoyable experience. To modify a person's memory – especially that of a muggle – according to law standards, the old information couldn't just disappear. Removing memories created variously sized holes in the victim's recollection, making it obvious to them that something was wrong.

Obliviation was an art form, really. Memories had to be coaxed, perceptions needed twisting, and information was either to be camouflaged or buried. It took above average levels of creativity to successfully manipulate a person's mind, which was something the detective felt she didn't have.

Thankfully, muggles were easier to fool than wizards.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I don't own Harry Potter or Transformers or any concepts either series may encompass. This has been written for my sole entertainment in an attempt to explore the subjects of: how magic effects electricity and vise versa, interspecies relations, the difference between a wizard from the United States and one from the United Kingdom, and just how exactly does one become an animagus.