Compared to the traditional Animagus ritual, the process Wyzett was now undertaking was far more deliberate and profound—every step held clear significance and purpose.
This wasn't just ritual magic passed down by rote, but a methodical magical experiment.
Both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall were eager to witness the process firsthand, meticulously recording every detail to prepare for their forthcoming paper.
Of course, such groundbreaking work came with its share of danger and a host of unpredictable variables.
That was precisely why Dumbledore and Snape were present—to reduce those uncertainties as much as possible.
Snape stepped forward, drew his wand, and pointed it at the Mandrake leaf, giving it a gentle wave.
Flitwick craned his neck and rose up on tiptoe, his face unusually grave.
McGonagall wore a similar expression, adjusting her glasses with one hand poised on the frame.
Snape cast a potion-detection spell, probing the Mandrake leaf for hidden properties.
A greenish glow swept back and forth over the leaf, testing whether it met expectations—and whether it concealed any danger.
"Interesting. Continue," Snape said curtly, then turned on his heel and left the grounds without another word.
As soon as he'd gone, McGonagall relaxed, lowering her hand from her glasses.
Flitwick let his heels touch the ground, rolling his neck with a soft crack; his whiskers trembled with relief.
Once Wyzett had finished burying the bottle, the professors departed together.
"Albus, you chose this spot well," said Professor McGonagall approvingly. "With Hagrid keeping watch, it's not likely to be disturbed."
"Isn't it? And there's plenty of space, too—a perfect place!" Dumbledore agreed, stroking his beard.
"Now it's just a matter of waiting for the storm. I do wonder… how skilled is Wyzett with Weather Charms?"
Flitwick replied unhurriedly, "Wyzett's got a real gift. He's already mastered the Clear Sky Charm and the Drizzle Charm, though his range is still a bit limited."
"He just needs more practice to get a feel for the casting. But honestly, I never worry about him—he's so diligent that sometimes I get tired just watching him."
McGonagall and Dumbledore both nodded in wholehearted agreement.
After the others had left, Hagrid ambled over to Wyzett. "So, you're trying to learn the Animagus transformation too, eh?"
That piqued Wyzett's curiosity. "Has anyone else ever buried a potion here? Were they also trying to become an Animagus?"
"Oh! Galloping gorgons!" Hagrid exclaimed, shaking his head and clapping a hand over his mouth.
His eyes flashed beetle-bright for a moment before he let his hands drop, stirring a faint breeze.
Crouching beside Wyzett, Hagrid lowered his voice to a conspiratorial rumble. "I s'pose it's all right to tell you—but you can't say a word to Harry and the others, all right?"
"Of course!" Wyzett nodded.
Truth be told, he was more worried about Hagrid letting something slip than himself. After all, this sort of thing had happened more than once last year.
At least when it came to the Philosopher's Stone, Harry had confided in Wyzett several times.
And the reason Harry and his friends were so certain was simple—their information always came from Hagrid, whom they trusted completely.
Hagrid really was trustworthy—he just wasn't very good at keeping secrets.
The trouble was, he never meant to blab; things just slipped out.
It was probably just his nature—big-hearted, open, and honest to a fault. He simply couldn't keep secrets bottled up…
As they rode the moving staircase, Wyzett ventured, "Hagrid, could you tell me the whole story? That way, I'll know what to watch out for."
"I wish I had a head as careful as yours," Hagrid sighed. "But really, there's not much to it… the place we're headed is actually James's secret storeroom."
"Oh! You probably don't know James, do you? He was Harry's dad—a brilliant wizard, and a genuinely good man… Lily too, Harry's mum."
Wyzett was surprised. "If it's Harry's father's secret, why can't we tell Harry?"
"It's complicated, and I'm not sure I can explain…" Hagrid scratched his head, looking troubled. "Maybe it's because James and his lot… well, they liked doing dangerous things. Harry's had enough trouble as it is—he doesn't need to go getting into the same scrapes as James and his friends."
"Scrapes?" Wyzett echoed, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu—he couldn't help thinking of Fred and George.
"Exactly!" Hagrid chuckled, counting off on his fingers. "James, Sirius, Lupin, and… oh! Peter! The four of them were thick as thieves! Sometimes they'd drop by to visit me in the Forbidden Forest, just like you do. But they were even more mischievous—always sneaking off where they shouldn't."
"That's right! Harry really is a lot like James, and Hermione's got a bit of Lupin in her, and Ron… well, they're all more alike than you'd think. Funny how fate works, isn't it?"
It was as if Hagrid had been holding these memories in for ages. He reminisced all the way, sighing over the dark days of fighting Voldemort and the weight of the past.
"Feels good to get all that off my chest!" Hagrid let out a long breath. "It's been ages since I talked to anyone about those days—never this much, anyway!"
"Wyzett, wouldn't it be something if there were a lock that could seal up my memories? How would you put it…?"
"I mean, the memories would still be there, but it'd keep me from blurting things out—sort of like a warning, you know? That's exactly it!"
"A lock for your memories?" Wyzett repeated, pondering the idea.
"That'd be some advanced mind magic, wouldn't it?" Hagrid grinned, pointing ahead. "Well, here we are!"
The painting ahead was instantly familiar to Wyzett—a drum kit.
"Let's see… how did the knocking go again?" Hagrid mused, scratching his head, his thick hair hiding his furrowed brow.
Thump-thump-da…
Wyzett took out his wand and tapped the drum kit in rhythm.
"That's it! That's the rhythm!" Hagrid exclaimed, slapping his forehead with a sound like distant thunder that echoed down the corridor.
"How'd you know? Have you been here before?" he asked, delighted.
Wyzett nodded. "Someone brought me here once."
The drum kit painting shimmered and morphed into a narrow wooden door. Thanks to a bit of magic, even someone as enormous as Hagrid could just about squeeze through.
It was the short passage behind the door that proved tricky.
Hagrid had to take a deep breath, turn sideways, and inch along, shuffling through the tight space.
When he finally made it into the secret room, he stopped short, eyes wide.
"Galloping gorgons!" he gasped. "It's… it's empty?!"
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