Professor McGonagall paced between the rows, occasionally glancing at everyone's notes as she spoke.
"This is very important material. It showed up in last year's O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s three years ago."
"I don't expect all of you to—" she paused for a fraction of a second, "—to master Animagus transformation at thirteen."
She adjusted her tone smoothly, continuing, "But I do hope you'll remember what I just said, at least well enough not to get it wrong on the exam."
"Thirteen years old, becoming an Animagus? That's impossible," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Just because you don't know it's possible doesn't mean it isn't, Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall lightly, casting a not-so-subtle glance at Harold.
Harold pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes glued to his parchment.
Ron didn't seem convinced. He leaned over when McGonagall wasn't looking and whispered to Harry and Harold, "If anyone manages to become an Animagus before they're seventeen, I'll wear Percy's 'Head Boy' badge and run around the castle, then wash Fred and George's socks for a year. By hand. No magic."
"You're going to be busy," Harold replied. "Knowing Fred and George, they'll probably change socks ten times a day just for fun."
"Only if someone under seventeen manages it," Ron scoffed. "That's not happening. I bet even Dumbledore couldn't do it."
"Oh right," he suddenly added, "Nymphadora Tonks doesn't count."
Nymphadora Tonks had graduated the same year they entered Hogwarts and immediately joined the Aurors, becoming a rising star in the Ministry.
Not because of outstanding grades—though she'd done well enough—but because she was a Metamorphmagus, capable of changing her appearance, body type, and even hair color at will. Whatever look she wanted, she could take.
A pretty enviable ability, Harold thought.
But as he mulled over the idea of shapeshifting, another magical creature popped into his mind—possibly a beast: the Boggart.
Grouped alongside the likes of Lethifolds and Hinkypunks as classified magical pests, no one knew what a Boggart actually looked like in its natural form—because it would always turn into whatever its observer feared most.
And unlike a Metamorphmagus, it wasn't limited by species. It could become a human, animal, object, even a corpse.
Harold rubbed his wrist, thinking seriously.
Now that he'd mastered Animagus transformation, the wand he'd made with Professor McGonagall's hair as the core had become less useful.
Sure, it still helped with the transformation spell—but once the spell was learned, it was just a matter of refining technique.
It was time to make a new Transfiguration wand—and a Boggart might be the perfect wand core.
Despite being pests, Boggarts weren't rare. They thrived in places where magic lingered but people hadn't visited in a long time—old wardrobes, chests, storage rooms...
Compared to Lethifolds or Hinkypunks, Boggarts were downright common. And infinitely more annoying.
Imagine cleaning your house and opening a closet—only to find your greatest fear staring back at you.
A spider the size of a basin.
A python thicker than a car.
Or worse... a loved one's corpse.
Most people would faint on the spot.
The shopkeeper across from Ollivander's wand shop had once opened a trunk with a Boggart inside—and spent a full week recovering in St. Mungo's.
Afterward, he hired ten wizards and blew the entire trunk to bits with a barrage of Blasting Curses.
By the way, Boggarts only looked like ghosts. They weren't actually spirits, and could be destroyed in many ways.
Blasting Curse was just one option—albeit a rather violent one.
After Transfiguration class ended, Harold joined Harry and the others for a noisy lunch in the Great Hall.
Then, before their afternoon lessons, he made use of the time to hunt down a Boggart—just a quick side mission, since his real goal was to prepare for a new wand with a five-foot shaft and specialized Transfiguration runes.
To him, Hogwarts had more than enough unused classrooms. Finding a couple of Boggarts shouldn't have been hard.
But after an hour of searching between the Entrance Hall and the eighth floor—nothing.
The abandoned classrooms were suspiciously clean. Not a single trace of a Boggart.
It was as if someone had gone ahead and cleared them out.
Frustrated but undeterred, Harold expanded his search to the far towers.
Finally, beside the Astronomy Tower, he heard something shuffling in an old, unused broom cupboard.
His heart leapt.
That had to be one.
He rubbed his aching legs, excitement building, and flung open the cupboard.
Suddenly, the air warped. Something was starting to take form.
It was a Boggart.
It would now turn into whatever he feared most.
Still holding the cupboard door, Harold subtly turned his wrist so the back of his hand faced the creature.
A flash of golden-orange light burst forth.
The Basilisk's gaze worked on Boggarts too—and even more conveniently so.
The shapeshifting mass vanished in an instant, leaving behind something... indescribable.
Like a wisp of cloud locked inside the cupboard. You could see its shape and color, but when Harold reached in, his hand passed through it as if it wasn't there.
That won't do, he thought. If he couldn't take it, what was the point?
He regretted using [Serpent's Eye] now. Maybe he should've tried the Unicorn first.
Should he look for another?
The thought had barely formed before he shook his head. No—too much work.
This single Boggart had already taken over an hour to find. Hunting another would take even longer.
And class was starting soon. If he really wanted to continue the search, he'd have to wait until the afternoon or evening. But by then, he had other plans—like finalizing the runic formula for the five-foot broomshaft wand.
That came first. The Boggart thing had been an impromptu idea.
Still, there were a few minutes left. No harm in experimenting a bit more.
He tried everything—jars, gust spells, charms—but none worked.
Finally, in frustration, he slapped the side of the broom cupboard.
With a creak, it shifted slightly to the left.
Then Harold noticed something strange: the cloud of residual Boggart magic still floated inside.
And like the old mop bucket beside it, it hadn't moved at all.
His eyes lit up. An idea struck.
He gritted his teeth and shoved the entire broom cupboard—still containing the wisp—into his enchanted lizard-hide bag.
Strangely enough, even though he couldn't touch the thing, it didn't pass through the cupboard walls.
It was as if it belonged inside.
…
(End of Chapter)