Chapter 109: The First Step to Animagus, Dumbledore Takes the Blame
Moonlight poured over the Forbidden Forest.
Leonardo slid a single Mandrake leaf beneath his tongue.
He flicked his wand. "Colloshoo."
The simple charm fixed the leaf securely to his palate.
That was step one to becoming an Animagus.
From one full moon to the next—an entire month—the Mandrake leaf had to remain in the mouth. It could not be swallowed or removed for any reason. Fail, and the process restarts from the beginning.
It felt odd, something glued to the roof of his mouth. At least it wouldn't be accidentally swallowed while sleeping or eating, and it barely affected his speech.
He reviewed the steps ahead. At the second full moon, remove the leaf and place it into a small crystal phial filled with his saliva, set beneath pure moonlight. Add a strand of his own hair and a teaspoon of dew. Finally, drop in a chrysalis of a Death's-Head Hawk Moth. When complete, hide the phial somewhere quiet and dark. Do not touch or disturb it again until the next lightning storm.
After speaking with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, the full procedure was clear. To become an Animagus required not only Transfiguration talent and study, but luck.
On the night of the second full moon, the leaf needed moonlight. If clouds hid the sky, the leaf would have to be replaced and the process begun anew.
Pressed for a workaround, Dumbledore offered a practical solution: the critical requirement was that the leaf receive moonlight within one minute of removal from the mouth. If clouds were heavy, fly above the cloud layer on a broom. Or reach a high enough peak to glimpse the moon.
Man versus circumstance.
He had quickly added a caution: flying above the clouds demanded exceptional skill and a high-performance broom.
The message was obvious: do not attempt recklessly.
Leonardo's eyes drifted to Aurelius, who was attempting a Mooncalf-like dance. Flight above the clouds? Not difficult. He had tested that when Aurelius first entered his growth phase. Compared to that, brooms were quaint.
Plans unfolded in his mind. Animagus training would now take priority. The Chimera Manual had rocketed his progress with living Transfiguration. It provided deep biological references, and having crafted a true chimera had sharpened his understanding of living systems. Watching Scabbers—a man who had maintained Animagus form for over a decade—had also taught him much. By the next full moon, when the leaf needed moonlight, he expected to have living Transfiguration well in hand. Then all the prerequisites would be ready.
Headmaster's office.
Snape sat before Dumbledore, who had donned pajamas and a nightcap. Snape produced a small bottle from his robes.
"This month's tooth-rot prevention potion. Dumbledore, you could brew this yourself."
Dumbledore accepted it with a cheerful smile, uncorked it, and downed it in one swallow.
"Dental potions aren't my specialty—not compared to our youngest Potions Master."
Snape snorted. To him, Dumbledore simply preferred having others do the work. As for claiming he hadn't studied Potions much, only fools or complete outsiders would believe that. The greatest wizard of the century had only two modes: strong and stronger.
Unperturbed, Dumbledore tapped his wand. A plate of Chocolate Frogs and a jug of sweet, fizzy water appeared on the table.
Watching Dumbledore munch chocolate and sip sugar water made Snape's eyelid twitch.
"Truthfully, sweets taste better after a potion. Cleanses the palate. Try it, Severus."
He nudged the frogs toward Snape, who declined. He had business.
"Dumbledore, you should attend the next Quidditch match in person."
Dumbledore took a measured sip of fizz before replying, "I know today's match was dangerous for Harry, but it ended well, did it not?"
Snape's brows knit tighter, his tone edged with frustration.
"Yes, you can watch from afar. Which means you know exactly who tampered with the broom, who wanted the boy dead. Quirinus Quirrell, isn't it?"
He leaned forward, palms on the desk.
"And you know who is behind him."
Dumbledore's voice remained calm. "There is only one person in the world who most desires Harry Potter's disappearance. Voldemort."
At the name, Snape's expression flickered. Dumbledore set down his cup.
"No need for fear, Severus. If we cannot even say his name—"
Snape flared.
"Of course you aren't afraid. You are Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive. You can do anything. If you aren't afraid of Voldemort, why not simply finish him? You saved Harry this time. What about next time?"
Dumbledore's expression had been steady—until that point. He knew what Snape assumed. He also knew the truth.
He hadn't been the one who intervened.
He'd seen, via magic, exactly who had helped Harry—and he had no intention of telling anyone.
How would that even sound? That a first-year, Leonardo Grafton, had matched an accomplished adult wizard from across the pitch?
Better to shoulder the credit and let the world believe.
He stayed silent. It was natural for Snape to think Dumbledore had acted. After so many so-called feats, people had come to assume Dumbledore could do anything—stop a curse from afar, turn tides with a whisper.
But not this time.
And likely not only Snape. Quirrell—and the one behind him—would also think Dumbledore had been the hand that blocked them, displaying some deep and inscrutable magic.
Dumbledore had purposely stayed away from the match to see what Quirrell would do. Would the once-bright Ravenclaw graduate plunge deeper into the dark, obedient to Voldemort? Or would he struggle, seek help, or show some resistance?
The answer was plain.
Dumbledore had contingencies. If Harry truly fell into mortal danger, he would have acted. He needed to temper Harry, not sacrifice him. The boy was not yet ready; growth was necessary if he was to approach the future the prophecy hinted at.
Thanks to Leonardo's timely "surprise," intervention was unnecessary.
Sometimes, being Dumbledore was lonelier than it looked. Secrets could not be shared. People would credit him for rescues he had not made, and he could not explain otherwise. At least, this time, he could speak with the one who had actually acted. He found himself looking forward to their next tea. Time with Leonardo often brought unexpected ripples to a long, quiet life.
"Severus, calm yourself. Strength alone does not determine the future. The prophecy—"
He stopped, and so did Snape. Silence stretched. At length, Snape stood and turned to go.
His voice was low and tired.
"Prophecy? The Boy Who Lived? That was Lily's protection—her life. How could a one-year-old defeat Voldemort?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I will attend the remaining Quidditch matches."
Snape's steps paused briefly, then continued. "I'll bring next month's potion at the full moon."
On the way to Potions class.
Malfoy sidled up alongside Leonardo, checked that no one was near, and spoke in a low voice.
"Leonardo, can we make a deal?"
"I'll bring you another grimoire—or name your price."
"I want to learn something more."
Leonardo glanced at him. "Second thoughts about Potions?"
"No, no. You teach brilliantly. I was just wondering why Potter's been improving so fast and then realized—well, never mind. The point is, I want to learn that."
He freed a hand from his Potions kit and traced shapes in the air.
"From Halloween night. The way you defeated the troll. That..."
Leonardo understood. The chimera. It had clearly left an impression.
But learning it? Not simple.
"Don't bite off more than you can chew. Heard that saying?"
Malfoy nodded at once. "It means if you chase quantity, the learning suffers. I get it."
Pleased by Malfoy's tact, Leonardo added, "What you want falls under Transfiguration. Advanced Transfiguration. It isn't a one-term or even one-year kind of thing."
Malfoy's expression said he understood perfectly. "Got it. I'll bring more books next year. Much more. After all, knowledge is precious."
Leonardo winced inwardly. That was a bit too eager.
He had no intention of extorting classmates. He was not a bully, nor was he collecting protection money.
He shook his head with a faint smile and took his seat in the Potions classroom.
When the bell rang:
"Zabini, why must Ashwinder skin be soaked in quicksilver?"
"Boot, when must Moondew be harvested, and how?"
Snape's questioning was more relentless than usual. Named or not, the first-years shrank like quail in winter.
Leonardo arched a brow. Someone had seriously annoyed Snape. Harry wasn't even in class today, and yet the frequency of questions had spiked, with nearly a third beyond first-year material.
"Leonardo, what are the hallmarks of superior unicorn hair?"
"Pure white without dust, faint starlight speckling the strand, and a silvery trail when flicked."
"Correct. Ravenclaw gains one point."
Then came brewing—and the real trial.
The weather was frigid, and the dungeon colder still. The only warmth was the glow from the cauldrons. After eviscerating one student's mistake, Snape glided to the next target without a pause, pointing out errors in a voice colder than the room.
"Bosder, the spine of a Dried Rat must be powdered. Those chunks—planning to eat them?"
"Dock, Goldroot first, then soaked fish bladder. Your method exceeds my instructions. Perhaps you should teach this class."
Leonardo worked with unhurried precision, the storm swirling around him as if he were elsewhere. Even Slytherins were not spared today. The bat was in rare form.
The cauldron before him burbled. The potion was nearly complete.
A thought wandered through his mind.
On a day this cold, a hot pot after class sounded perfect.