Professors McGonagall and Flitwick emerged from the Pensieve, blinking as the office swam back into focus. The real world felt almost dreamlike after the swirl of silver memories, and they both let out a relieved breath.
Animagus transformation was one of the rarest branches of magic—dangerous, intricate, and demanding. Few wizards dared pursue it, and even Hogwarts' vast library held scant resources on the subject. Yet Vizette had pieced together so many details from its very first step. Her insight was nothing short of prodigious.
"Mr. Lovegood," Professor McGonagall said, her voice sharp with admiration, "have you considered publishing a paper?"
Vizette paused, still lost in thoughts of shifting forms. "A paper?"
"Yes! In Transfiguration Today." McGonagall's words tumbled out faster than usual, her stern facade cracking with rare enthusiasm. "They have a Most Promising Newcomer Award. You'd be a shoo-in."
"Not just a chance," she added, eyes gleaming like a Gryffindor spotting a winning play. "A paper on Animagus? You'd win it outright."
Vizette tilted his head. "Professor, I think we should wait until I've completed the full transformation. Explaining the steps is one thing, but demonstrating it would carry more weight."
"Quite right," McGonagall agreed briskly. "And the journal's format is strict—you'll need to familiarize yourself with it."
Vizette's mind raced ahead. "Actually, I had another thought about those steps. What if we treated the Animagus process like crafting a magical artifact? Engraving runes onto the 'siphon' to imbue the final form with extra properties?"
Dumbledore leaned forward, intrigued. "Enchant it, you mean? So the animal shape gains magical attributes?"
"Exactly," Vizette said. "The creation mirrors wandmaking or potion brewing. And since I understand mental magic, I can control the memory infusion precisely. What if we inscribed pure magical memories directly onto it—memories tied to spells or essences?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Feasible, I'd say. Worth experimenting with."
McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged uneasy glances. "But the risks?" Flitwick squeaked.
"Vizette grasps the soul's nature—that's our first layer of protection," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Mental magic mastery adds the second. With his unique background and talent, I'm confident. Aren't you?"
The professors' concerns lingered, so Dumbledore pressed on. "I'll oversee the final stage myself. No mishaps on my watch."
Vizette flushed. "That... that's too much trouble for you, Headmaster."
"Nonsense!" McGonagall and Flitwick chorused.
Dumbledore chuckled warmly. "Any more questions?"
"One more," Vizette said. "Weather Charms can summon storms, right? Could we use one to trigger the Animagus lightning, instead of waiting for a natural one? Storms aren't guaranteed, especially in awkward spots."
"A standard Weather Charm won't suffice for Animagus," Dumbledore said gently, his gaze holding a subtle depth. "Not one cast conventionally, at least."
Vizette caught the implication: ancient magic might bend those rules. He had his own ace—the devastating "Lightning" spell from his arsenal. Still, knowledge was power.
"I'd like to learn the Weather Charm anyway," he decided. "Another tool in the kit never hurts. Any recommended texts?"
Flitwick beamed. "It's straightforward. Too late to start tonight, but drop by my office anytime—I'll walk you through it."
"Thank you, Professor!" Vizette's gratitude was genuine; their time was gold, and they were offering it freely.
Dumbledore rose with a contented stretch. "It's late, everyone. Off to bed—dream of transformations."
...
Vizette and the professors filed out, leaving the office hushed. The portraits on the walls stirred with sleepy whispers.
Snape slipped in moments later, his robes swirling like shadows. "They've gone?
Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "I assumed you'd turned in for the night."
Snape's eyes flicked to the uncovered Pensieve, its silvery surface still rippling faintly. The castle was eerily still tonight—no scampering house-elves or creaking portraits. Just silence, thick as a shroud.
"Vizette's fine," Dumbledore assured him. "A splendid evening! We watched a groundbreaking theory take shape through his memories."
"He shared them?" Snape arched a brow. "The ones you extracted?"
"No, he extracted them himself." Dumbledore's tone held quiet pride. "Masterful mental magic—barely a whisper of intent. Effortless. Care to dive in?"
Snape sneered, stepping back as if the basin might bite. "Pass."
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled like an old fox's. "Severus, fancy borrowing the Pensieve?"
"Tch." Snape crossed his arms.
Leaning in, Dumbledore murmured, "He uncovered something intriguing with those young mandrake leaves. Don't you wonder?"
Snape's scowl deepened, but his gaze lingered on the Pensieve, curiosity warring with disdain. The night held its breath.
…
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