William had previously suggested replacing bracelets with belts, and he had even implemented this among his werewolf soldiers. Recently, William was also researching how to use the Capacious Extremis to hide a full set of armor inside a bracelet. If successful, wouldn't he have a "Card Face Fighter" army?
Tsk, suddenly I want Lupin to bite me so I can try transforming myself.
Aside from a few days each month, this lycanthropy is actually kind of cool... Wait, wouldn't that mean he'd master three forms of transformation directly?
Thinking about it, William's eyes suddenly brightened, feeling more and more that the plan was feasible. Of course, the premise is that the conventional Animagus and that Secret Technique Animagus don't conflict. At that time, first, see what he can transform into, then use his weaker animal in the secret form, finally transforming into a werewolf—
Hiss, isn't he afraid of sneak attacks as a fragile wizard? But the self-healing ability of werewolves in this world is like those in fairy tales, much stronger than normal people. By then, as long as he doesn't take a Killing Curse, he can just twist the bracelet...
No, still shouldn't rush it.
William paused. He still didn't know how long to hold this leaf, persist for a month each time, can't swallow or use charms to control it—no wonder the number of conventional Animagus is so scarce. It requires patience and a bit of luck...
He asked Professor McGonagall. That cat had failed four or five times before succeeding.
Prepared for a long battle, William took a deep breath, "Gulp—"
The swallowing motion made his form slightly freeze... MM's.
...
...
Every October, the Scottish Highlands were always drizzly. The chilling cold air, wrapped within layers of clouds, lingered above the castle. A sleepy feeling engulfed everyone in the castle as the annual flu appeared once again, as usual.
"Ah-choo—"
In the Gryffindor Common Room, a warm fire danced in the fireplace. Sitting on the sofa nearby, Harry blew his nose hard and shook his drowsy head. Forcing himself to stay awake, he accepted the cup of hot water Hermione handed him.
"Logically, after swallowing a bottle of magic potion, I should be fine?"
Seeing the sickly Harry, Oliver Wood gritted his teeth in dissatisfaction—since they had to train in the rain every week, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team actually had colds. But after Madam Pomfrey gave them a bottle of magic potion, everyone else was back to their lively selves, except Harry, who was still under the weather.
"Wait, Wood, you're not planning to drag Harry off to practice like this, are you?"
From the side, George Weasley's exaggerated inquiry came. He stared at Wood, and at his side, Fred chimed in, "How can you call that training? That's clearly murder—"
"Tsk, you two scram, I'm just trying to... never mind, Potter, have a good rest and get better soon."
"Oh..."
Harry replied weakly; he was a bit confused as to why his illness was so severe. After all, he caught the flu before the last two years, but with a bottle of magic potion, he wasn't instantly cured, but he was fully recovered after a good night's sleep.
Surely it's not because he's been consuming too many magic potions and developed resistance?
Yes, Harry was still committed to cosplaying Captain Flamehead, the green flames blazing stubbornly.
After coughing twice, Harry was just about to speak when he saw Hermione, who had just handed him water and sat back down, suddenly tense up. She then looked up at the clock on the wall, quickly excused herself without a word, and dashed like an arrow towards the stairs to the girls' dormitory—
Harry opened his mouth in confusion, and suddenly a bubble of snot escaped from his nose.
"Cough cough—"
Flustered, he slapped the silly scene away and had barely raised his head when Hermione, who had left less than a minute ago, suddenly returned. She approached Harry, her tone somewhat odd, "Uh, Harry, Professor Snape wants to see you—"
"Alright, Senior William wants to see me... wait, who did you say wants to see me?"
Upon hearing the name, Harry's drowsy mind suddenly cleared. He paused for a while, incredulously asking—he didn't know why, but recently, messages for him and Cedric from William were always delivered by Hermione, so he automatically assumed it was William looking for him, but...
What does Snape want?
Why is that old bat bothering him without reason? Did he offend him recently or something? No...
Hermione's voice wasn't quiet, so naturally, others nearby heard as well. Ron looked up from his Wizard Chess game, giving Harry a sympathetic look, "You're doomed."
"I... what did I do?"
Harry stuttered, asking.
"I don't know, but Senior William is also there—"
As Hermione finished speaking, Harry finally felt a bit relieved. As long as he wasn't facing Snape alone, he could handle it!
Saying this, he got up from the sofa, bypassed the others, and walked towards the common room exit. Just after moving the Fat Lady's portrait away, Harry was met with Snape's face, which looked as grim as the sole of a shoe—
Snape's mood was evidently bad; his face was as dark as a cauldron. His low aura sent the surrounding students who wanted to greet William scattering.
"... Follow me."
Snape said succinctly; he turned and briskly walked to the stairway without waiting for Harry to respond.
"What's going on?"
Completely baffled, Harry looked at the smiling William standing nearby, sniffled, and curiously asked.
"..."
William didn't answer him, he just gave him a look telling him to follow—after a month of trials, he had decided to remain silent three days ago. There were just two days left before the one-month leaf holding period was over and no one was going to make him break his Silent Meditation!
Thus, the three of them proceeded with Snape leading the way, and the other two followed him down to the Slytherin Dungeon, arriving at the Potions Classroom.
Once the door was shut, a somewhat unpleasant smell rushed into William's nose, making him wrinkle it. His gaze was drawn to the steaming cauldron on the desk. If he guessed correctly... oh well, it seemed Harry was in for a bit of trouble.
William laughed unsympathetically to himself; after all, he wasn't going to be the one drinking it.
Just as William expected, Snape quickly walked to the desk, poured out a thick, brown-gray liquid from the cauldron, then poured the still steaming liquid, resembling quicklime in water, into a goblet and brought it to Harry.
"Drink it."
Snape's voice was very calm, but to Harry, it seemed like the whispers of a demon. The boy, wide-eyed in terror, looked at the cup, which seemed like it was scooped from hell, gulped hard.
How to describe this smell... uh, let's just say it, Harry felt his sinuses, blocked for the past three days, were cleared.
William had already stepped back two paces and casually covered his right-side second pocket—Kabuda was still asleep in there, didn't want the smell to keep it sleeping forever.
"W-what is this?"
Harry swallowed hard, subconsciously glancing back at William... Wait, why was he so far away? At this point, Harry found that William had somehow retreated eight meters away, with a helpless expression on his face.
What is this?
It's a modified magic potion—William had previously raised this issue with Dumbledore, and after a month, Snape had finally mixed this up. But the presentation... oh well, as long as it's effective. Besides, William didn't believe Snape would harm Harry, especially after understanding the connection between Snape and Harry's parents.
As for whether it was unpleasant to drink... after all, he wasn't the one drinking it.
"..."
After a long silence, Harry blinked blankly. Neither of the other two had a mind to explain to him and remained staring at him wordlessly. After a moment of silence, Harry finally took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and raised the goblet.
As the liquid swayed, a "refreshing" pungent odor invaded the boy's nose.
"Urgh—"
Harry almost spat out half of it before he even started drinking.