Amelia and Gilderoy decided to get on with their research on becoming Animagi.
The moment the bell rang, they practically sprinted toward the library.
They pushed through the doors, the scent of old parchment hitting them immediately.
Finally! Somewhere with books, quiet corners, and no boring lectures. This is my kind of comfort space, Gilderoy thought, a grin tugging at his lips.
Amelia led the way, striding confidently past the towering shelves. "Seventh years are allowed in the Restricted Section now. That's where we'll find anything useful on Animagi."
Restricted Section, huh. Dusty tomes bound in worn leather, ancient spellbooks with warnings scrawled in the margins, and one particularly loud book that let out a shriek when opened—manuscripts only meant for seventh years or those with special permission. Perfect.
Amelia's eyes gleamed with excitement as she guided Gilderoy to a secluded corner.
"Here," she whispered, pulling down a thick, leather-bound tome. "Most books on human transfiguration and Animagus lore are in here. But be careful—some pages are… temperamental."
Gilderoy skimmed the pages, reading the meticulous notes and ancient warnings.
Step one: Transfiguration and Potions mastery. Step two: Mandrake leaf in your mouth for a full moon cycle… I mean, who thought this up? Some sadistic witch or wizard with too much time on their hands.
Amelia looked over his shoulder, smirking. "You actually read all that without skipping anything?"
Well, obviously. It's research. "Of course, my lady. But some of these… illustrations are rather inspiring," he added, giving her a wink.
And yes, some notes are terrifying. Blood-red potion, double heartbeat, painful first transformation… nothing like a casual Tuesday at Hogwarts.
Amelia chuckled softly. "We'll need a plan. We can't just start this on a whim. Gathering materials, waiting for the full moon… it's months of preparation."
True, timing is everything—one wrong move and… better not even think about that.
Gilderoy leaned back, grinning. "Don't worry, Amelia. I'll follow your lead, my redheaded guide to Animagus mastery."
Amelia rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Just focus on not turning into a half-cat, Lockhart. That's step one."
Half-cat? Half-cat? Pfft. Nothing I can't handle. Just a minor aesthetic mishap, really.
Reminds me of Hermione's second-year Polyjuice Potion fiasco—she ended up in the hospital wing, with a cat face and a tail.
Gilderoy shuddered just thinking about being half-cat himself. On second thought… maybe I'll pass on that particular experience.
They settled into the corner, flipping through books, making notes, and quietly plotting their Animagus experiment.
The Restricted Section was quiet, save for the occasional creak of an enchanted shelf.
The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with whispers as students read their new copies of the Daily Prophet. The headline blared in bold letters: "Muggle Family Killed — Death Eaters Suspected."
Gilderoy took a seat, immediately noticing the gloom that hung over the room like a heavy curtain. Students were more quieter than usual, and even the clatter of breakfast utensils sounded muted.
The Muggle-born students exchanged anxious glances, their faces pale but composed, as if they were trying to reassure themselves as much as each other.
"Another one…" someone muttered under their breath, the tightness in their voice betraying the fear they were doing their best to hide.
Half-bloods nodded quietly, a mix of concern and frustration showing in their expressions. They had seen these attacks before, yet each new tragedy carried weight, reminding them all that the threat of the Death Eaters was far from distant.
A few students murmured to their friends, checking that their families were safe, while others tried to steel themselves, forcing their hands to remain steady as they pushed back the creeping anxiety.
Gilderoy read the article carefully, his brow furrowed. Even as he maintained a composed exterior, he felt the tension around him like a living thing, pressing into the edges of his mind.
This wasn't the time for theatrics or idle bravado; this was real, and real danger demanded real preparation.
He turned his attention to Amelia, who sat next to him, her expression calm but her posture tense. She had agreed to help him train, and now there was a clear, urgent purpose behind that promise.
"Amelia," he said quietly, leaning slightly so only she could hear, "you promised to help me train. I think it's time we started properly."
She glanced up at him, her blue eyes steady. "I remember. Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it seriously. No shortcuts, no distractions."
Gilderoy nodded, silently grateful. This wasn't about showing off or performing for an audience—it was about preparation, about ensuring that when the moment came, he would be ready. Amelia was the only one he trusted to guide him properly, having been trained herself by her brother, Auror Edgar Bones.
Around them, the murmurs continued, a subtle backdrop of concern and whispered speculation. But for Gilderoy and Amelia, the urgency of the morning sharpened their focus. They didn't speak further, letting the weight of the news sink in just long enough to remind them that their training was no longer optional—it was necessary.