After the Christmas holiday, Malfoy was once again taken away by his father. Rumor had it he broke his leg coming down the stairs at night. The incident became the latest joke at Hogwarts, and Malfoy was mocked for days.
During breakfast that morning, Harry and the others were still talking about it. Every time it came up, the whole table would burst into laughter.
Neville chuckled as he looked up at the magically enchanted ceiling.
"The post should be here soon. I think my gran will be sending me a few things I forgot."
Harold had just taken a bite of toast when, sure enough, a ruckus erupted overhead as hundreds of owls swooped into the hall, dropping letters and packages onto the crowd below.
A large gray package plummeted straight onto the Gryffindor table, knocking over every nearby plate. Milk and pumpkin juice splattered everywhere.
"What happened?" Harry asked, holding half a slice of bread that was now dripping with pumpkin juice.
It was his jug that had been knocked over—half full, now all over him.
"Sorry. That's my package," said Harold quickly, grabbing the item off the table.
"Garion Ollivander…" Harry, still wiping his hair, noticed there was a letter in his plate. He didn't recognize the sender's name at all.
Wait a second—Ollivander…
"Harold, I think this one's for you too," Harry said, handing him the letter. "It must've gotten flung over to my side."
"Yeah," Harold said casually as he opened it. "It's from my dad."
"What'd he send you?" Ron asked curiously.
Harold opened the package to reveal a large brown flowerpot, filled with soil.
"He sent you a plant?" Ron asked in disbelief, staring at a green-stemmed sprout growing from the dirt. "By owl?"
"Ron, that's not an ordinary plant!" Hermione interjected.
"Looks pretty ordinary to me." Ron touched the leaves, then sniffed the small purple flower blooming at the top.
It seemed just like the ones growing around the Burrow's vegetable garden.
"That's a Mandrake," Neville said suddenly from the side.
Hermione, who had just opened her mouth, shut it again and shot Ron an exasperated glare. "Sometimes I seriously wonder if you've ever been to Herbology. We literally covered this three months ago."
"No way," Ron replied. "I remember Mandrake leaves looking nothing . You're just messing with me."
"Professor Sprout showed us juvenile Mandrakes," Neville explained. "Once mature, their leaves shrink and they grow purple flowers."
"Harold, did your dad really send you this?" His voice was filled with disbelief.
This plant wasn't common—and more importantly, the cry of a mature Mandrake was lethal…
More students had the same thought, and in the next moment, everyone near Harold bolted. They stood at a safe distance, as if the Mandrake root might pop out of the pot at any second.
"No need to panic," Harold said, half laughing. "You really think I'd just yank it out?"
Only then did the others cautiously return.
Hermione was in the lead, though it was clear she was still uneasy.
Even if Harold didn't pull it out—what if it slipped and smashed on the ground?
In a way, Mandrakes were scarier than dragons. At least you could try to run from a dragon.
"Relax. It's totally safe," Harold reassured them, grabbing the stems and yanking upward.
"Ahhh!" Hermione shrieked reflexively, nearly deafening Harry.
But when the moment passed, she saw the Mandrake hadn't moved at all. Even the soil was undisturbed.
"The pot's enchanted," Harold explained. "The root can't be pulled out, and the pot's reinforced too. You could drop it from fifty feet and it wouldn't break."
Everyone finally relaxed and quickly gathered around Harold.
"That really is a Mandrake…"
"Genuine article," Harold confirmed.
"But your parents—why would they send you that?" Neville still didn't understand.
Mandrakes were valuable, yes, but too dangerous for casual growing. And this one was fully mature.
"Probably just because it looks nice," Harold replied vaguely.
The truth was, he wanted to begin his Animagus transformation—and for that, he needed a fresh Mandrake leaf.
He had originally planned to sneak one from the school's greenhouses, but for some reason, Professor Sprout had hidden all the Mandrakes. Not even a clump of soil could be found.
Buying one wouldn't work either. According to Dangerous Human Transfigurations, Animagus transformations required a freshly plucked leaf.
Even sending one from Diagon Alley would take at least half a day.
With no better option, Harold had written to his parents, claiming he was interested in Herbology and wanted to observe a Mandrake daily.
His parents were both magical botanists—getting a Mandrake was easy.
Though they didn't question his excuse, they had taken proper precautions, enchanting the pot so the root couldn't be pulled out and the container couldn't be broken without a powerful spell.
It was all detailed in their letter.
To Garion and Lila, this was perfectly safe.
They never imagined Harold was planning to study Animagus transformation—who in second year would?
After breakfast, Harold carried the Mandrake back to the dormitory, plucked a leaf, rinsed it, and placed it in his mouth.
The first step of becoming an Animagus was to hold a Mandrake leaf in your mouth on the night of the full moon—and keep it there, without swallowing or spitting it out, until the next full moon.
And tonight just so happened to be a full moon.
Had the package arrived a day later, he would've had to wait an entire month to try again. Harold felt genuinely lucky. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩•𝗳𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝕟𝕖𝕥
Unfortunately, later that evening, he bit into the leaf mid-sentence while talking to Harry.
A bitter, astringent taste filled his mouth, ruining even the fried pork chops.
Still, Harold figured that since it was still the same day, maybe it would still count.
So once he returned to the dorm, he immediately put a new leaf in his mouth.
The next morning, Hermione looked at the sluggish Harold and asked, "Did you not sleep well last night?"
"I slept great," Harold sighed. Too great, actually—he had woken up to find the leaf, which should have been in his mouth, lying on his pillow.
He must have spat it out in his sleep.
No use crying over it—he'd have to wait for the next full moon. In the meantime, he decided to keep practicing, so he didn't throw the leaf away, and continued carrying it in his mouth.
It was uncomfortable—eating, speaking… everything felt off. After just one Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall noticed.
When she heard how unclear Harold's speech had become, she immediately realized he had started attempting the Animagus process.
After class, she kept him back and asked directly, "Where did you get the Mandrake?"
After numerous reminders, Pomona had moved the maturing Mandrakes to Greenhouse Nine, which was off-limits to students. Harold shouldn't have had access.
"I—I bought it," Harold said, mouth tight, nearly swallowing the leaf again.
"You…" Professor McGonagall stared at him in disbelief. "You dare attempt Animagus transformation after reading a few books? Do you know how dangerous it is?"
"I'm just doing the prep work… Professor." Harold spit out the leaf and continued, "I'm not planning to transform any time soon—just trying to get the preliminaries done."
"I've read Modern Transfiguration. Many wizards spend ages just on the first step. One wizard—Barta—spent twenty years and never succeeded."
McGonagall's mouth twitched. She hadn't expected Harold to know that.
Barta, an American Transfiguration expert on par with her, had never succeeded at becoming an Animagus.
He was stuck on the very first step—unable to keep the leaf in his mouth until the next full moon—for twenty years.
And it wasn't just Barta. Even Dumbledore himself…
Yes, Albus Dumbledore, the legendary white wizard and former Hogwarts Transfiguration professor, was not an Animagus.
It sounded like a joke, but it was true. He always chewed the Mandrake leaf while eating, ruining the process. Five years in a row.
But that was a secret—only McGonagall knew. Most just assumed Dumbledore didn't need such magic.
"I just want to have the prep work done," Harold explained. "That way, when the time comes, I won't waste time getting started."
"For most wizards—well, for most—it's not even that hard," said McGonagall. "They usually succeed within six months. Why rush?"
Harold simply smiled.
He hadn't been in a rush—until he unintentionally created the Horcrux Grimoire and discovered its [Magical Following] ability.
It was well-known that Animagi couldn't use wands—not even someone like Professor McGonagall.
But what if you didn't have to hold the wand?
Even as an animal, a wizard's magic wouldn't disappear—and the Grimoire could draw directly from Harold's magic.
Maybe—just maybe—he could become the first wizard to cast spells while in animal form.
And if the animal was small enough, an enemy wouldn't even have time to fight back.