Compared to the traditional Animagus transformation, the procedure Vizette was undertaking delved deeper into each step's purpose and mechanics. This wasn't mere ritual magic rooted in old habits—it was a precise magical experiment. Flitwick and McGonagall were eager to observe every detail, documenting the process meticulously for their research papers. Yet the experiment's novelty carried risks: dangers and unforeseen variables that demanded caution.
Dumbledore and Snape's presence aimed to mitigate those uncertainties. Snape stepped forward, wand in hand, and directed a subtle spell at the mandrake leaf. Flitwick stretched on his toes, his expression grave, while McGonagall adjusted her spectacles with a stern focus.
Snape's magic scanned the leaf, a emerald glow rippling across its surface to confirm its potency and reveal any flaws. "Intriguing," he muttered. "Proceed." With that, he swept from the grounds without a backward glance.
McGonagall relaxed, lowering her hand from her glasses. Flitwick dropped back to his heels, twisting his neck with a relieved chuckle as his beard quivered. As Vizette buried the bottle in the earth, the professors departed together.
"Albus, this spot is ideal," McGonagall noted approvingly. "Hagrid can watch over it—no one will tamper easily."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, stroking his beard. "Spacious and secure. Now we await the storm. I wonder how well Vizette has grasped the weather charms?"
Flitwick replied steadily, "He's exceptionally talented. He's mastered the Clear Sky Charm and Drizzle Charm, though their range is limited for now."
"Practice will expand it," McGonagall said. "He's so disciplined, it exhausts me just watching."
Dumbledore and McGonagall nodded in unison.
...
Hagrid lingered after the others left, leaning toward Vizette. "So ye're tryin' the Animagus trick yerself?"
Vizette glanced up curiously. "Someone else buried a potion here before? For the same ritual?"
"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid blurted, clapping a hand over his mouth. His beetle-black eyes sparkled with mischief before dimming to resignation. He crouched beside Vizette, voice dropping to a rumble. "Aye, I can tell ye, but swear ye won't breathe a word to Harry an' the others."
"Of course," Vizette assured him.
He was more concerned about Hagrid's loose tongue than his own discretion. It had happened multiple times last year—Hagrid's slips had tipped Harry off about the Philosopher's Stone, at least. The trio trusted Hagrid implicitly, and for good reason: he was loyal to a fault. But his heart was on his sleeve, secrets spilling out like ale from an overfilled mug.
As they climbed the moving staircase, Vizette prompted gently, "Hagrid, the full story? It'll help me steer clear of trouble."
Hagrid sighed enviously. "Wish I had yer smarts. It's nothin' major... We're headin' to James's old hideout, that's all."
"James?" Vizette echoed.
"Harry's dad," Hagrid explained gruffly. "Top-notch wizard, finest bloke ye'd meet. Lily—Harry's mum—was brilliant too."
Vizette raised an eyebrow. "If it's his father's secret, why hide it from Harry?"
"It's complicated," Hagrid muttered, scratching his head. "James an' his mates... they were wild. Harry had enough hardship as a kid; can't have him chasin' their reckless shadows."
"Trouble waiting to happen?" Vizette murmured, a flicker of déjà vu hitting him—Fred and George came to mind.
"Aye!" Hagrid barked a laugh, ticking off fingers. "James, Sirius, Lupin, an' Peter. Thick as thieves! They'd sneak into the Forbidden Forest to visit me, more daring than ye lot. Pranks, adventures—ye name it."
He paused, eyes distant. "Harry takes after James, Hermione's got Lupin's brains, Ron echoes Peter in spots. Uncanny, innit? Those days... fightin' You-Know-Who... darker than a moonless night."
Relief washed over him as he spoke. "Feels good to get it off me chest. Haven't jawed about the old times in ages!"
Vizette smiled faintly. "What if there was a way to seal those memories? Keep 'em locked so slips don't happen—like a mental ward."
Hagrid brightened. "High magic, that! Occlumency or summat?" He jabbed at a painting ahead—a familiar drum kit. "Here we are!"
Hagrid puzzled over the entrance. "How to knock, now?"
Vizette drew his wand and tapped the drums in a steady rhythm.
"That's it!" Hagrid boomed, slapping his forehead. The sound thundered down the hall. "How'd ye know? Been here before?"
"Someone showed me once," Vizette said.
The drums shimmered into a narrow wooden door. Magic widened it just enough for Hagrid's bulk, but the passageway beyond was a squeeze. He sucked in his gut, edging sideways with grunts and shuffles.
Emerging into the chamber, Hagrid froze, gasping. "Merlin's beard! It's... empty?"
The room, once brimming with relics of mischief, stood bare—dusty shelves mocking the void.
—