Teaching Wyzett was almost effortless.
Some concepts needed only the briefest mention, and he would immediately draw connections, weaving together everything he'd learned to uncover the deeper meaning beneath the surface.
Professor McGonagall had planned to spread the Animagus lessons over several weeks, guiding Wyzett step by step to maximize his chances of success. She never expected that, after just one session, she had already given away all the knowledge she could possibly impart.
It left her feeling oddly unsatisfied, as if something important had been left unfinished.
But McGonagall understood: on the road of magical exploration, a professor could only serve as a guidepost. To go further, the student had to rely on their own curiosity and insight.
Still, she couldn't help thinking that, in this case, being the "guide" felt almost too easy—she was little more than a sign on the path. Wyzett had simply glanced at the signpost and instantly found the right direction, ready to forge ahead on his own.
With that thought, she stood and fetched a notebook from her desk drawer, handing it to Wyzett.
"Professor McGonagall, is this...?" Wyzett accepted the notebook with both hands, curiosity shining in his eyes.
"These are some insights I recorded while learning the Animagus transformation," McGonagall explained. "And I've also written down my thoughts from when I was working out the ritual itself."
Wyzett flipped through the notebook. The entries were detailed, and her personal reflections were highlighted in color for easy reference.
"Professor, this is priceless!" he exclaimed, delighted. "I promise I'll take the utmost care of it and study every word!"
Faced with a notebook so full of magical wisdom, he couldn't help but thank her again and again.
"It's the least I can do," McGonagall said, waving his gratitude away. "There's still some time before the full moon. You can try the first step now."
"And you can also start on the second—gathering the materials you'll need. If you run into any trouble, don't hesitate to come see me."
…
Wyzett thanked her once more, then backed carefully out of her office.
He slipped the notebook into his pocket with great care. If he meant to protect it, he certainly couldn't risk reading it while walking.
He couldn't study McGonagall's new notebook on the way, but he could review his own notes as he walked.
As he rounded a corner in the corridor, he heard Ron's voice, sounding rather glum. "Hermione, you don't know how to fix it either?"
Hermione replied, "You were in the library with Harry and me just now—we looked through so many books, but none of them had a way to repair a broken wand."
"Even Professor Lockhart's Year with the Yeti says that once a wand is broken, it can't really be restored. Even if you mend it, it's only the outside that gets fixed."
Harry suggested, "Why not write home and ask Mr. Weasley for a new one?"
"They'll never buy me another!" Ron's voice was desperate. "It broke because I was fighting—Mum will just say I got what I deserved…"
A broken wand?
Wyzett's interest was piqued. He wondered what kind of damage it was, and whether it resembled the damage caused by Ancient Magic.
Harry and the others were getting closer.
Ron was clutching his wand, which was snapped clean through the middle. A slender unicorn tail hair was all that held the two halves together, just barely preventing the wand from splitting in two.
"Wyzett!" Harry jogged up, excitement bright in his eyes. "Did you hear? The Slytherin team just got new gear—everyone's got a brand-new Nimbus 2001!"
Wyzett smiled. "Now that's what I call deep pockets."
The Nimbus Racing Broomstick Company was a relatively new player, but their revolutionary Nimbus 1000 had quickly won over Europe's top Quidditch teams. Since then, the Nimbus line had dominated the industry, each new model outpacing the last—and costing a fair bit more than ordinary brooms.
Usually, school Quidditch matches didn't use racing brooms; they were simply too fast, and only those with real talent and practice could handle them.
Harry mimed the shape of the Nimbus 2001 as he recounted the morning's events, with Ron chiming in to fill in the details.
As a die-hard Quidditch fan, Oliver Wood had always dreamed of winning the Cup. Over the summer, he'd devised an elaborate training plan, hoping to get a head start by beginning a week early.
But, as it turned out, the Slytherin team had the same idea. They showed up at the pitch with a signed note from Snape, ready to train their new Seeker.
Harry said, "Malfoy's the new Seeker for Slytherin. And all those brooms? His dad bought them."
"The Slytherin team made a huge show of their Nimbus 2001s and mocked Fred and George's brooms—said they looked like they belonged in a janitor's closet."
"So Ron couldn't help himself," Harry continued, "and said at least his brothers made the team on talent, not by buying a load of new brooms."
Wyzett glanced at Ron's wobbling wand. "And then… you all started fighting? And that's how your wand got broken?"
Harry nodded. "After the Slytherins finished bragging, Fred and George quietly cast a spell and turned the ground into a mess of little mud pits. Flint's leg got stuck and he went sprawling."
"That Flint—he's Slytherin's captain—he must have troll blood! He got up and came at us like last year's troll, roaring and flailing…"
Harry and Ron both acted out the chaos, arms waving as they recreated the brawl.
In the heat of the moment, Ron gestured a bit too wildly. His already fragile wand spun through the air in a shaky arc.
"Accio wand!" Wyzett reacted instantly, raising his own wand and flicking it upward. The broken wand soared into his hand.
Ron's face flushed crimson. He stammered, "That's… exactly how I lost it before. Then that big Slytherin bloke stomped on it…"
Wyzett laid the wand flat on his palm. "Both magic and brute force can damage a wand. They're actually quite fragile—after all, they're just wood and core at heart…"
He activated his Oculus Magicae, peering into the wand to inspect its magical circuits.
Compared to wands destroyed by Ancient Magic, most of the magical channels inside Ron's wand were cleanly severed. In theory, it could be repaired.
But before trying anything, he asked, "Ron, what do you plan to do with this wand?"
Ron's face turned even redder—almost the same shade as his hair. "Honestly… I was just going to tape it up and try to get through the year…"
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