"Not yet," Vizette said, shaking his head. "I'll start with a quick search using those keywords you mentioned."
Hagrid nodded thoughtfully. "It was a long stretch—six full years from when James and the others started at Hogwarts to when he finally got together with Lily."
"Took its sweet time," Hagrid sighed. "He was always on about Lily back then. I figured they'd been an item for ages."
Vizette met his eyes. "Do you want to seal away all six years of those memories, or keep a few?"
"Can't wipe it all clean," Hagrid replied firmly. "Some bits are worth holding onto—things we can still share."
"In that case," Vizette murmured, "I'll need more specific keywords to narrow it down."
Hagrid scratched his beard. "How about 'James and Snape not getting along'? That should do it."
Vizette's brow furrowed. "On bad terms with Professor Snape?"
"Aye," Hagrid confirmed. "Slytherins never mixed well with the other houses back then. Still don't, much. Though in my day, it wasn't always so bad. Some Slytherins were decent enough to chat with... not all, mind you. Ah, best not dwell on it."
He shivered, as if shaking off a bad recollection. Vizette didn't press, instead drawing his wand and diving into his mind. The new keyword sharpened the focus immediately.
To his surprise, memories of that particular grudge surfaced in droves. As he sifted through them, the magic pulled him in, letting him relive the scenes as vividly as if peering into a Pensieve.
...
It was a crisp late-autumn afternoon in the Hogwarts grounds. Hagrid trudged along, leading a pack of Crups on leashes. The ropes strained in his massive fists, but he looked utterly at ease, whistling softly as the fork-tailed hounds strained ahead, yipping and darting every which way.
These wizard-bred dogs resembled pit bulls at a glance, but their loyalty to wizards ran deeper, and their tempers fiercer. "Easy now, you lot," Hagrid cooed. "Home's just round the bend—be good for me."
Vizette's attention drifted from Hagrid's easy rapport to raised voices nearby, laced with mischief and malice.
"Padfoot, over there!" a cocky, drawling tone called out. "Quick, before Lily shows up. And no jumping in later, yeah?
The nickname confirmed her suspicions—the Marauders, and that voice belonged to James Potter, Harry's dad.
Leaves crunched underfoot as the group approached. "Well, look who it is—Snivellus!" James jeered.
Vizette winced at the cruel moniker. Magic wove the memory into a full tableau, drawing from Hagrid's distant observations. He edged closer in the vision and spotted four boys blocking a solitary figure's path.
The lone student was unmistakably young Severus Snape—pale, rigid, like a dormant nightshade, all sharp edges and hidden venom.
James stood out too, his narrow face a mirror of Harry's, though his hair stuck up in wild tufts like a startled hedgehog, with faint pink streaks at the tips.
Snape's gaze slid over them dismissively, as if they were so much driftwood.
"You spiked the Potions lesson, didn't you?" James said, his hazel eyes flashing. "The brew I left on the desk—it blew up in my face!"
A handsome lad slung an arm around James's shoulders, chuckling with polished charm. "I'll never forget that shade of pink."
James shrugged him off with an eye-roll. "Padfoot, cut it out."
"Apologize!" piped up a squat boy with mousy gray hair and a shrill edge. "You owe us one!"
Snape yawned theatrically. "That glue trap in the corridor? Your handiwork, right?"
He lifted his chin, locking eyes with James in a cold stare.
"Prongs," a gaunt young man interjected wearily, "why not call it even? No point dragging this out."
James shot him a skeptical look. "Moony?"
"Headmaster Dumbledore said yesterday he wants peace between houses," Moony pressed with a sigh. "He's got a point."
James nodded absently. "Dumbledore's always spot on... but we've got to sort this first."
His wand was out in a flash. Snape was quicker, as if he'd sensed the move coming. Their feud clearly ran deep—Snape's reflexes screamed practice.
"Langlock!"
An unseen force rippled out, scattering leaves. James's mouth gaped, his tongue glued fast to the roof.
Vizette recognized the vicious jinx at once: a homemade spell to silence and humiliate. He'd never seen it cast before—Snape's own invention, no doubt.
"Snivellus has some bite after all," Padfoot remarked, sounding almost impressed but staying put, arms folded.
James lunged forward despite the curse, closing in fast.
"Sectumsempra!"
Snape retreated, wand slashing twice. Blades of light rent the air, shredding foliage into a whirlwind of debris.
"Protego!"
The spell caught James square, but Moony stepped in, shield snapping up to deflect the ethereal cuts. "Prongs, drop it," he urged. "This isn't worth it."
"Let him have his fun," Padfoot drawled lazily.
James, undeterred, spat out a muffled curse around his stuck tongue, eyes blazing with defiance. The standoff hung thick in the autumn chill, a snapshot of rivalries that would scar them all.
Vizette pulled back from the memory, his mind reeling. Hagrid's past held more layers than she'd expected—echoes of friendships forged in fire, and enmities that lingered like smoke. As he surfaced, he glanced at Hagrid, who watched him with quiet concern.
"Find what you needed?" he rumbled.
"Enough to start," he said softly. "But sealing this... it won't be simple."
—