Hagrid inhaled deeply, stirring up a cloud of dust that sent him into a thunderous coughing fit. The echoes boomed through the cramped room.
"Hagrid, did you drag me here to hunt for something specific?" Vizette asked, peering around curiously.
"It's... cough... their Animagus notes," Hagrid rasped, finally catching his breath. His words came out haltingly.
"Animagus notes?" Vizette's brow furrowed, his mind flashing to the Marauder's Map.
Marauder's Map...
Prongs...
Padfoot...
Animagus...
A room meant for Animagus notes...
Connecting the dots led to two intriguing conclusions. First, at least two of the map's creators were Animagi—James Potter, Harry's father, among them. Second, the notes had likely been swiped by Fred and George; this dusty hideout had been their secret lair.
Hagrid scowled, rubbing his chin. "Filch might've nicked 'em. Him and that mangy cat of his know every hidden nook and secret passage in the castle."
"If they've got 'em, we're in trouble," he grumbled. "Filch hates kids on principle. Look, Vizette, ask a professor to sort it—get the notes back!"
"If that's awkward, come to me. Fang'll be thrilled to pitch in. I'll distract Filch, Fang'll keep Mrs. Norris busy, and you snag the book."
He held up his massive hands, fingers splayed awkwardly. "It's about this thick. Cover's Hebridean Black dragon hide—purplish tint. Burned into my memory."
His earnestness was plain; he truly wanted to help Vizette recover whatever he needed.
Vizette nodded, waiting for him to finish. "Hagrid, you mentioned locking away memories earlier?"
"Aye!" Hagrid bobbed his head. "Didn't mean to spill secrets... but I gab too much sometimes. Could wreck everything!"
"Like last year—Harry and his mates visit, spot a headline, ask a question, and blimey, I let it slip..."
After hearing out Hagrid's concerns, Vizette replied thoughtfully, "I can't craft a lock that seals memories on demand. But for old stories you want to keep private yet preserve? I could try something."
"You reckon?" Hagrid's eyes widened, excitement flickering. "Just worried it'll mess with the good bits."
Vizette probed gently. "Won't it affect Harry badly?"
"Yes!" Hagrid's voice cracked with feeling. "Everyone wants their dad to seem perfect... like mine was to me."
"He was tiny, raised me alone. I was a daft kid—mad as hell, I'd hoist him onto the wardrobe. Scared or not, he'd soothe me, crack jokes. Best dad ever."
Tears carved paths through his bushy beard as he spoke. Hagrid wore his heart on his sleeve, unguarded with friends.
He cleared his throat gruffly, whipping out a handkerchief the size of a bedsheet to honk into it. "Right, off track. What now, Vizette?"
"I need to be clear," she said firmly. "To set this 'lock,' I'll see those memories too."
"You'll see 'em... I trust you to keep quiet. Least of all, not to Harry."
"I won't breathe a word."
"Then fire away. How?"
"Give me keywords—like triggers—to anchor the memories."
"Keywords? Anchor?" Hagrid scratched his wild mane, baffled.
It was the fruit of Vizette's recent studies: a blend of Obliviate and Occlumency, laced with clever tweaks he'd picked up.
Lockhart was an odd duck of a wizard, no doubt. But Vizette had gleaned real insights into memory charms from him.
Unlike stuffy professors droning theory, Lockhart spun yarns from his "adventures," doling out just enough to tantalize. His classes devolved into theatrical reenactments of his books, with students playing the parts.
Private sessions? Pure storytelling—tales of narrow escapes, quirky locals, exotic vistas. Probe deeper into the magic, and he'd dodge like a Snitch, steering back to flattery.
He loosened up on Obliviate, though. After a few chats, Vizette caught on: bait him with praise, reel in the details like a pro angler.
He explained to Hagrid, "In essence, I'll weave Obliviate with its counter to bury the memories without erasing them."
"Got it! How's it work?" His eyes sparkled; he nodded vigorously.
"Keywords first. Say, 'James before he dated Lily'?"
Vizette affirmed, "That's spot-on—narrows it precisely."
He drew his wand. "Now for the spell. I'll press it to your temple."
"Go on!" Hagrid plopped down, tilting his head and shoving hair aside.
His half-giant build posed issues—the magic barely pierced his tough hide, rebounding like a repelled hex. A shiver of frustration hit Vizette; he switched to Ancient Magic, easing the flow.
The keyword honed in on the era, but James hadn't truly courted Lily until seventh year—more teasing than dating.
Vizette's eyes fluttered open. Hagrid leaned in eagerly. "All set, Vizette? Felt nowt..."