Wyzett double-checked his Animagus notes, scrutinizing every detail to ensure nothing had slipped his mind.
He took a slow, steady breath, relaxing his body and finding a comfortable stance. In his mind's eye, he restructured the labyrinth of his soul—dismantling the maze and building sturdy walls, clearing a broad, open path straight to his innermost self.
The Animagus transformation was a lengthy, complex process. He couldn't afford to stumble at the very first step over a minor oversight, risking the entire ritual and wasting precious time.
With deliberate care, Wyzett picked up the Mandrake leaf, studying the soft, silken sheen that shimmered across its surface in the moonlight, then placed it in his mouth.
According to the notes, once the Mandrake leaf touched his mouth, a slow transformation should begin. He was supposed to notice the scent of fresh grass, then perhaps a faint, fleeting dizziness—just a flicker at the edge of his vision.
But none of those sensations came.
Instead, he was swept up in a sudden, dizzying rush—like plunging into a Pensieve. Weightless, untethered, he felt as if he'd become the Mandrake leaf itself, drifting along the broad path he'd cleared, floating deeper and deeper toward the core of his soul.
The world around him shifted, strange and wondrous—like the visions granted by his Oculus Magicae, yet subtly different, uniquely his own.
A painting seemed to unfurl before his eyes: The Starry Night. The moon and stars blazed in vibrant yellows, swirling and pulsing in time to some cosmic rhythm. The night sky, once black, now shimmered with deep blues and rich purples, all spinning gently around the luminous orbs above—sometimes clockwise, sometimes counterclockwise.
Wyzett had sampled many potions under Professor Snape's watchful eye. He knew the effects of hallucinogens, and this was nothing like that. This was clarity, not confusion.
Drawing on his knowledge, he reasoned the young Mandrake leaf must be heightening his perception—granting him an awareness of the world akin to the Oculus Magicae. He recalled scattered references in Lockhart's books: theoretical musings about Mandrakes, never anything practical. No wonder Lockhart had once fainted from a young Mandrake's cry and ended up in the hospital wing.
But this was different. This was real.
Beyond the shifting sky, the leaf in his soul seemed to change as well. It settled atop his soul's fortress walls. The stone softened, and a tiny shoot sprouted, swiftly entwining itself with the Mandrake leaf. Together, they flourished—branches stretching upward, new leaves unfurling, a surge of life rippling through them.
He could feel it: this newborn Mandrake was both the original leaf and somehow, himself. The boundary between them blurred. As the Mandrake matured, it shed its leaves, withered, and finally sank—branches and all—beneath the soil, vanishing without a trace.
As the last leaf disappeared, the spinning stars in his vision faded, and the world returned to normal. The Mandrake leaf in his mouth was gone too, melted into a faintly grassy liquid that spread warmth through his body.
When the process ended, Wyzett felt not a hint of fatigue. On the contrary, he was brimming with energy—refreshed, as if he'd drunk a Calming Draught and slept deeply.
He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, then frowned and reached for his Animagus notes again.
"This is nothing like the early stages described here… Though, the later passages do mention something a bit similar… Why did this happen?"
The night was far from over, and with the full moon still shining, he decided to try again.
Luckily, Professor Sprout had cultivated plenty of Mandrakes, and Wyzett had kept several leaves on hand just in case.
"Accio Mandrake leaf!" he incanted, flicking his wand. Another leaf soared to his palm.
This time, he followed the instructions to the letter—and again, the same result.
With two Mandrake leaves now absorbed, his mind felt even sharper, his senses keener.
He pondered the cause as he made his way downstairs. His first thought was the soul itself. Animagus transformation was ritual magic, requiring rare materials and time to safely probe the mysteries of one's soul. Only by truly understanding himself could he avoid losing his way and becoming a half-human, half-beast abomination.
Determined to seek guidance, he returned to Hogwarts and knocked on Professor McGonagall's office door.
"Professor McGonagall, are you in?"
She answered, as ever, in her emerald-green robes and hairnet.
"What's wrong? Did something go awry?" she asked at once.
Wyzett nodded. "Something strange happened, so I came to you. I hope I'm not disturbing your rest?"
"Of course not." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I told you before—if you ever run into trouble, come to me straight away."
"It's the full moon tonight…" She glanced to the window. "Everything should be perfect for the first step. Did you notice anything unusual?"
"Yes, absolutely!" Wyzett replied. "The sky's clear, the moon's bright, and I could even see Jupiter's moon through the telescope."
"I followed the notes exactly—relaxed, dropped my defenses, prepared myself… then placed the Mandrake leaf—"
As he spoke, Professor McGonagall's expression grew grave, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes glinted behind her spectacles as she listened, deep in thought.
After all, everything about Wyzett's experience tonight was exceptional—even for someone as extraordinary as him.
At least in her memory, no wizard had ever had their Mandrake leaf dissolve instantly into liquid during the very first step of the ritual…
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