Vizette had struck a careful balance between study and downtime. His days revolved around classes, library dives—including the Restricted Section—and digging into Animagus lore. Now, Professor Flitwick's private lessons had kicked off, introducing him to the Weather Charm.
Like the Animagus transformation, the Weather Charm's principles were intricate and impractical for most wizards, which explained its obscurity. Weather magic encompassed a wide array of spells. The simpler ones, like the Whirlwind Charm, whipped up gusts to scatter foes or shove aside debris. Trickier variants included the Drizzle Charm for a fine mist or the Smoke Charm to blanket an area in fog.
The real challenges were spells like the Blizzard Charm or Rainstorm Charm, capable of unleashing fierce storms but demanding precise control. At its core, Weather magic mirrored levitation charms, reshaping intangible elements—air, water vapor, clouds—into atmospheric phenomena. Wizards guided ambient conditions with their wands, condensing or redirecting them to alter the sky.
Vizette saw why Dumbledore had warned it wouldn't mesh with Animagus work. Without natural lightning nearby, you'd hit a wall, much like Professor McGonagall's failed attempt to summon clouds over a clear Hogwarts sky. Flitwick's workaround? Drawing moisture from the Black Lake and vaporizing it into fresh clouds. But conjuring lightning from thin air was another matter—wizardly bolts paled against nature's fury, and you couldn't just import enough to spark a storm.
Flitwick's guidance was masterful. On a crisp, cloudless day, he began with the Clear Sky Charm, easing Vizette into the spell's fluid motions.
After a few sessions, Vizette nailed it. The incantation—"Clear Skies Renewed"—required sweeping outward motions to disperse lingering clouds or humidity, banishing overcast gloom. He even adapted it on the fly, channeling the charm through the gaps in the castle's enchanted ceiling to flood the Ravenclaw common room with genuine sunlight.
Luna beamed brightest at the change. "Now I can fill the hall with pots of dirigible plums," she said dreamily. "They'll love the light."
...
Come the weekend, Vizette wrapped up Quidditch drills and lounged on the front steps. He'd relocated his personally grown mandrake to the entrance hall, where the new sunlight would nurture it safely—far from dorm mischief.
True to habit, he arrived ten minutes early outside Snape's office. Inside, a familiar silver basin gleamed: the Pensieve, last seen in Dumbledore's lair. Its presence stirred a flicker of excitement. The second full moon loomed, just days away.
Drawing on potion-making parallels, Vizette had infused the mandrake leaf in his mouth with layered enchantments. Basic spells like Wingardium Leviosa, Diffindo, and Incendio formed the foundation, topped with fresh Weather Charms: Clear Skies and a light Drizzle. To feed his curiosity, Flitwick had added a bonus lesson on the Lightning Summoning Charm—a crackling invitation to storm magic.
Snape's voice sliced the air. "You mentioned nothing of the Animagus to Dumbledore or the others?"
"No, Professor," Vizette replied steadily, pulling out his notes.
These were a polished draft for his "Transfiguration Today" essay, finalized just yesterday. With a quick Duplication Charm from The Standard Book of Spells, he handed over a copy. "This covers young mandrake leaves in detail."
Snape's lips thinned. "I'll be blunt." He jabbed a finger at the Pensieve. "You know why it's here."
Vizette nodded, setting the notes on the desk. He drew his wand to his temple and murmured the Memory Extraction spell, silver strands spiraling into the basin.
...
In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he sealed another parchment. He set aside his quill, stretched, and grinned at Fawkes, whose plumage seemed a touch duller. "Severus is nothing if not deliberate. A whole month to borrow the Pensieve... Was he just probing the mandrake notes, or is there more at play, old friend?"
Fawkes trilled a low, resonant note, two syllables of weary wisdom.
Dumbledore chuckled, tugging his beard. "My thoughts exactly." He snatched a handful of Cockroach Clusters, then popped a Peppermint Toad for good measure. The mix hit like a jolt—sweet and crunch—leaving him shuddering amid a foggy exhale.
"A full moon rarely stirs fond memories," he mused. "But this one? It could mark a turning point."
Fawkes dipped his head, a single feather drifting free to ash in the air.
...
Cloudless nights had blessed the Scottish Highlands lately, a stroke of luck. The full moon rose like a luminous pearl against the velvet sky, unmarred by haze.
A cloudy night would have reset everything, but precautions abounded. Hagrid patrolled the Forbidden Forest's edge, backed by Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick. Snape's unexpected arrival drew Hagrid's wide-eyed stare.
Spotting it, Snape's scowl deepened. He swept his robes aside and stalked to a shadowed vantage.
Vizette thanked them all, then withdrew the mandrake leaf. Bathed in moonlight once more, it shimmered—veins like etched emerald, translucent with dancing specks of light.
"Remarkable," McGonagall said first, leaning in. "Mine only turned a deeper green. Nothing this striking."
Vizette felt the magic thrumming, the leaf's essence syncing with the lunar pull. The professors watched, wands at the ready, as the transformation deepened. Tonight, under their vigilant eyes, the Animagus ritual would test its final bounds—or shatter them.
—