Professor McGonagall wasted no time, drawing on her expertise. "Vizette, you've already glimpsed your own soul through the Patronus Charm. That's extraordinarily rare—unprecedented, even. Few wizards your age grasp their soul so deeply. And starting Animagus training now? You're a true outlier."
"I see," Vizette replied with a nod. The professor's words lined up perfectly with his suspicions. Gaining new insights led to fresh hypotheses, which her explanations then confirmed. It was active learning, not just cramming facts—knowledge put straight to the test.
He pressed on. "Since I've already connected with my soul, the mandrake leaf isn't shielding it anymore. Instead, it's nourishing the soul directly..."
"Precisely," McGonagall agreed, her eyes lighting up. That was exactly her next point.
"Professor," Vizette ventured, "should we adjust our method? Do I need to rebuild barriers around my soul to mimic ignorance?"
"Rebuild defenses?" She blinked, adjusting her spectacles. "Did Professor Snape teach you Occlumency?"
Vizette shook his head. "Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore showed me a basic intro. Full Occlumency comes after I master that. I'm still working on it."
"Aberforth..." McGonagall's voice held a note of surprise. Dumbledore enlisting his brother for Mind Palace training was unexpected, given their tangled history of grudges. But Vizette's status as an Obscurial must have tipped the scales. A polite, sharp-minded student like him? Aberforth might grumble, but he'd pour every ounce of knowledge into ensuring Vizette succeeded.
With that in mind, McGonagall removed her hairnet, drew her wand, and flicked it to halt the quill scribbling her lesson plans. Sleep could wait; she had to help Vizette iron out this snag and keep the Animagus project on track. Snape and Aberforth were doing their parts—she wouldn't let it stall on her watch. Gryffindor's fire ignited in her chest.
...
Back atop the Astronomical Tower, Vizette reinstated his Mind Palace, layering it with basic Occlumency for soul protection. He summoned fresh mandrake leaves and tried again.
Diving into his inner defenses, he watched the leaves hover at the labyrinth's edge, drifting aimlessly but unable to breach it. Just as success seemed within reach, they ignited in a brilliant flash.
Guided by some invisible force, the leaves wove through the barriers and slipped inside once more. The cycle repeated: fusing with the soul's budding core, sprouting, blooming, then wilting into essence that dissolved in his mouth, leaving a faint, earthy aftertaste seeping into his veins.
McGonagall observed it all, murmuring, "Odd..."
"What just happened, Professor?" Vizette asked, brow furrowed.
"The moonlight's pulling at you," she said, frowning. "It's reacting to the mandrake. The notes mention it—clear nights aid Animagus work for most, but not you."
"Right," Vizette confirmed. He'd pored over the Animagus notebook; he could piece it together himself. "So this ideal setup is backfiring."
Her expression eased. "Exactly. But we don't need to relocate." She raised her wand. "We'll tweak the weather."
She glanced at him. "Enough mandrake leaves?"
Vizette nodded. "Professor Sprout hooked me up with plenty, and I've got an unrepotted plant for more."
"Let's try again, then." McGonagall rolled up her sleeves, grip firm on her wand, determination etched on her face.
Vizette tucked another leaf under his tongue. This time, he kept his awareness outward, gazing at the starry expanse. If gloom was the goal, McGonagall would deploy a Weather Charm—tricky magic, but she'd mastered it.
Vizette recalled Newt Scamander's suitcase in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: not just an Undetectable Extension Charm, but pocket ecosystems. A misty rainforest for the Nundu. Scorched plains for the Graphorn. Even a frozen expanse for a reclusive Obscurus host.
McGonagall aimed her wand skyward, a subtle provocation. Clouds converged swiftly, massing into a thick blanket that swallowed the moon.
Vizette activated his Seer's Eye, studying the shift. It was like a living Starry Night—a swirling vortex in the heavens, siphoning stray wisps of cloud and compressing them into the growing mass. That vortex was her incantation, summoning the overcast.
"Too clear tonight—bad timing," McGonagall said, holding her stance to maintain the illusion. "Vizette, now."
He nodded, chewing the leaf afresh. It lingered longer at the threshold this time, the glow building sluggishly amid the shadows.
Then, Dumbledore's voice cut through: "What a peculiar spectacle! Need a hand?"
…
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