Dumbledore called out in a ringing voice, "He accomplished something even I would find difficult—he saved a professor's life! For that, one hundred points to Ravenclaw!"
As the applause swelled, he whipped out his wand and gave it a dramatic flourish. The eagle banner behind the teachers' table suddenly soared into the air, transforming into a magnificent, living eagle.
The eagle was enormous, its wingspan nearly blotting out the ceiling. Every feather was rendered with breathtaking detail, and its piercing eyes swept the hall with regal authority—it looked for all the world like a real, living king of the skies!
With a twinkle in his eye, Dumbledore demonstrated his unparalleled mastery of Transfiguration, sending the eagle gliding in a grand circle around the Great Hall. Then, with a thunderous crack!, it burst apart, dissolving into a sparkling rain of sweets that drifted down upon the students.
Wyzett reached out instinctively, and a chocolate frog landed neatly in his palm.
He glanced up just in time to catch Dumbledore winking at him, the headmaster raising a finger to his lips in a conspiratorial gesture for silence.
…
On the day of departure, exam results were finally posted. Unsurprisingly, Wyzett claimed the top spot in his year.
Outstanding marks in every subject were expected, but the real talk of the school was Snape awarding him an "O"—the last bit of gossip before the summer holidays.
Other than a handful of Slytherins, no student from any other house had ever received an Outstanding from Snape.
Naturally, the Slytherins were desperate to know why, but when they knocked on the Potions office door, they were turned away.
According to Filch, Snape had left the castle early that morning to begin his summer break.
Once again, Wyzett found himself in the hospital wing, planning to try his Mundus Totalus spell to see if it could help Quirrell.
Dumbledore was already there, smiling as if he'd known this would happen. "I knew you'd come."
"I asked Madam Pomfrey—Professor Quirrell still hasn't woken up." Wyzett raised his wand. "So I wanted to give it a try…"
Dumbledore nodded. "The wonders of a Guardian are always beyond our imagination. That's why I came here and asked Madam Pomfrey to let me spend a little time alone with Quirrell."
"All right, here goes!" Wyzett swept his wand in a graceful S-shaped arc. "Mundus Totalus!"
A silvery-blue light erupted from his wand, forming a swirling vortex that circled Quirrell and drew out only a faint, gauzy wisp of black mist.
Dumbledore studied the vapor. "It seems the Philosopher's Stone embedded in Quirrell's body is the main reason he remains unconscious."
Suddenly, Quirrell's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for breath.
He looked around, dazed and disoriented. "The… hospital wing? Wyzett? Why are you here too?"
Wyzett waved cheerfully. "Good morning, Professor Quirrell!"
"Quirrell, you've been unconscious for several days," Dumbledore said gently. "We came to check on you."
"What's wrong with me now?" Quirrell tried to sit up, but his arms trembled so badly he couldn't manage it.
Dumbledore explained, "The Philosopher's Stone, your soul, and your body are out of sync. That's why you're so weak."
He went on to explain further, mentioning Nicolas Flamel.
"Incredible!" Quirrell's eyes widened, but then he let out a huge yawn. "After all that, I'm actually going to become… a student of Nicolas Flamel!"
He forced himself to stay awake, turning to Wyzett. "Wyzett, Headmaster Dumbledore—I owe it all to you. I'll never forget your help, ever!"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, I didn't do much—just poked you with a stone, at most."
Memories washed over Wyzett, and he felt his nose sting. "Me too… Honestly, you were always looking out for me."
"No… that's not… true…" Quirrell yawned again, his eyelids drooping. "I'll come back… and when I do, we'll…"
Before he could finish, he drifted off, falling into a deep, childlike sleep.
"This has nothing to do with dark magic," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. "It's the purity of Quirrell's soul—his body just isn't used to it. But… there are worse ways to say goodbye."
Wyzett looked out at the blazing sunlight and couldn't help but smile. "Yes! We'll meet again!"
…
Leaving the hospital wing, Wyzett planned to pack his trunk and meet his roommates on the platform to wait for the train.
But to his surprise, as he reached the eighth floor, Trelawney suddenly popped up again.
Just like at the start of the year, she appeared without warning—one moment the corridor was empty, the next, she was right behind him.
Trelawney still reeked of sherry, hiccuping repeatedly as she muttered to herself.
"Bearing a four-leaf clover… hic! The new star will one day… hic! reach the ancient… hic! gears… hic! turning the wheels of fate… hic!"
"A triangle… hic! entwining all things… hic! the mist, so strange… hic! growing ever more… hic! indistinct!"
Wyzett had never encountered a professor quite like Trelawney.
He strained to make sense of her ramblings, but she was so drunk—and her speech so slurred—that her words were nearly impossible to decipher.
The hiccups only made things worse, breaking her cryptic prophecies into even more inscrutable fragments.
At the far end of the corridor, a tabby cat appeared. With a leap, it transformed mid-air into Professor McGonagall. "Wyzett, she hasn't been bothering you, has she?"
Without waiting for an answer, she flicked her wand and conjured a bright, patchwork blanket, wrapping it snugly around Trelawney.
Now fast asleep, bundled up like a caterpillar, Trelawney looked almost endearing.
Professor McGonagall waved her wand at a suit of armor in the distance. The armor clanked over, picked up the "caterpillar," and hoisted her onto its shoulder.
"She's always such a handful!" Professor McGonagall sighed, sounding every inch the exasperated mother. "What a sight for the students—honestly!"
She watched as the armor carried Trelawney away, disappearing at the end of the corridor.
After a moment, she turned back to Wyzett. "Let's find an empty classroom and have a proper chat about Transfiguration, shall we?"
Wyzett nodded, following Professor McGonagall as they moved quickly down the corridor, soon finding a classroom with its door wide open.
Inside, the room was a scene of chaos—chalk stubs, scraps of paper, and broken bits of limestone statue littered the floor. The air was filled with the clatter of destruction.
"No more footsteps echoing in the corridors, the staircases are yawning from boredom. Pranks and scares will have to wait for next term…"
"My playmates, my little friends, have all donned their invisibility cloaks, leaving me here—unable to sing a cheerful song even to a pile of scrap metal…"
Floating near the ceiling was a humanoid figure, humming an off-key tune as it drew chalk doodles on the plaster above…
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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