"Not yet," Wyzett replied, shaking his head. "I tried a quick search using the keyword you just gave me."
"But I realized the span is huge... From when James and his friends entered Hogwarts, all the way until he started dating Lily—six whole years went by."
"It really took that long..." Hagrid sighed, a bit wistful. "He was always talking about Lily back then. I thought they'd been together for ages."
Wyzett asked, "Hagrid, do you want to lock away all six years of memories, or keep some?"
"Of course I want to keep some!" Hagrid said quickly. "There are things that are still fine to talk about."
"In that case..." Wyzett murmured, "I'll need more specific keywords."
"Let me think of another one..." Hagrid scratched his head. "'James and Snape not getting along'... would that work?"
Hearing this, Wyzett instantly frowned. "Not getting along with Professor Snape...?"
Hagrid nodded. "That's how it was back then. Slytherin didn't get along with the other three houses... Actually, it's not much different now."
"It was better when I was in school... Some Slytherins were still easy to talk to... Well, not that easy... Oh, never mind! Let's not get into that!"
He shivered, as if recalling something unpleasant.
Wyzett didn't press further, instead launching straight into the spell, diving deep into Hagrid's memories.
With this new keyword, the scope of the memory narrowed considerably.
What surprised him was just how many memories there were of "James and Snape not getting along."
When Wyzett sorted through the memories, he couldn't help but be swept up in them, experiencing everything as vividly as if he were peering into a Pensieve.
It was late autumn on the Hogwarts grounds. Hagrid was out on the hunt, walking a whole pack of dogs.
He gripped several leashes in his massive hands. Even though the ropes were stretched taut, he looked perfectly at ease, a picture of calm.
Dozens of Crups bounded ahead, straining in all directions, their necks held firmly in check by the leashes.
Crups looked much like Jack Russell Terriers, except for the distinctive forked tail at the end—a breed specially bred by wizards, fiercely loyal and far more aggressive than their Muggle cousins.
Watching their antics, Hagrid called out in a gentle, soothing voice, "Easy now, little ones. We're almost home—settle down, will you?"
Compared to the cheerful chaos between Hagrid and his dogs, the voices drifting from nearby were anything but harmonious.
"Padfoot, look over there!" A brash, cheeky voice rang out. "Lily's not around—let's get over there quick! And remember, don't you dare step in!"
The nickname "Padfoot" confirmed Wyzett's earlier suspicions—the Marauder's Map really was linked to Harry's father.
There was a rustle of footsteps through fallen leaves, and the brash voice grew louder. "Aha! Look who it is—Snivellus!"
At that nickname, Wyzett's brow furrowed.
It was obvious who the target was—Snape.
Thanks to the magic, the memory wasn't just a flat scene; it was a living, breathing world, reconstructed from direct and indirect impressions.
Wyzett followed the footsteps and saw four students forming a wall, blocking the path of a lone boy.
Taking a few steps closer, he recognized the solitary figure immediately—it was a young Severus Snape.
Even as a boy, Snape had a pale face and ramrod-straight posture, like a wolfsbane plant before it blossomed—cold, sharp, and brimming with a hidden danger.
James was easy to spot too: thin face, strikingly similar to Harry's, with the same eyes. The only difference was his hair, which stuck out in every direction like a hedgehog—except, oddly, the very tips were tinged a faint pink.
Young Snape lowered his gaze, looking at the four as if they were nothing more than piles of dead leaves.
"You did that in Potions, didn't you?" James blinked his brown eyes. "That potion I carried up to the desk—the one that exploded!"
A handsome boy beside him slung an arm over James's shoulder, grinning wide.
His smile was exaggerated, but there was an easy, aristocratic confidence to it. "I'll never forget... that brilliant pink!"
James rolled his eyes and shrugged off the boy's arm. "Cut it out, Padfoot!"
"Apologize! You have to apologize!" piped up a short, round-faced boy with gray hair like a rat's.
"Really?" Snape yawned. "And that blob of glue that suddenly appeared in the corridor—that was you, wasn't it?"
He lifted his head, fixing James with a cold, unblinking stare.
"Prongs..." A tired-looking boy spoke up. "Why don't you both just let it go? There's no need..."
James raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Moony?"
"Professor Dumbledore just said yesterday he hopes all four houses can get along..." Moony sighed. "I think he's right."
"Sure, Professor Dumbledore's ideas are great..." James nodded, as if agreeing. "But we'll settle this first!"
In a flash, he raised his wand.
But Snape was faster, as if he'd been expecting it all along.
Wyzett's frown deepened. Clearly, this wasn't their first clash—otherwise, Snape wouldn't have been so quick to react.
"Langlock!"
A ripple of invisible magic swept through, stirring the dead leaves.
James's mouth fell open, his tongue pressed firmly to the roof of his mouth, unable to speak a word.
Wyzett, drawing on what he knew, instantly recognized the jinx: it glued the victim's tongue to their palate.
Most intriguing of all, it was a spell he'd never seen before.
Given what he knew of Snape, this had to be one of his own inventions.
For once, Snape had the upper hand—a rare and rather satisfying sight.
"Didn't expect Snivellus to have any real skill!" Padfoot sounded surprised, but made no move to intervene.
Even under the jinx, James reacted quickly, ducking forward to try and close the distance.
"Sectumsempra!"
Snape backed away, firing off two arcs of silvery light. Leaves and grass exploded into the air, chaos erupting.
"Protego!"
Seeing the spell about to hit James, Moony quickly raised his wand and cast a Shield Charm, blocking the slicing attack.
He tried once more to talk them down. "Prongs, just let it go... this isn't worth it."
"Don't worry about it—if he wants to play, let him play!" Padfoot folded his arms, his voice lazy and unconcerned.
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