Harry and the others had decided to visit Hagrid to congratulate him on becoming a new professor. Harold followed along, genuinely happy for Hagrid's promotion to Care of Magical Creatures teacher.
It was just… Hagrid got a bit too emotional. He'd barely spoken a few words before burying his face in a napkin, sobbing uncontrollably. Eventually, Professor McGonagall had to usher the three of them out.
That's right—three. Not including Harold.
"You, come with me. I've got something else to discuss," she said to him.
Harry and the others were curious, but at the sight of McGonagall's raised brow, they fled without a second thought.
Harold assumed McGonagall had finally remembered the matter of registering him with the Ministry as an Animagus. His heart was uneasy as he followed her to her office.
But he quickly realized he was wrong.
McGonagall still didn't mention the Ministry at all. Instead, she handed him a few recent issues of Transfiguration Today.
"These contain tips on using your Animagus transformation more effectively," she said, pointing to a few articles printed in the margins and page creases.
They covered how to shorten the transformation incantation, control wand placement during the change, and even how to manage internal magical flow while in animal form.
Harold skimmed a few—exactly what he needed, and impressively detailed.
The only strange thing was how hard they were to find. They were buried in the worst parts of the magazine, hard to spot unless you looked very closely.
"These are great articles. Why are they tucked away ?" Harold asked, prying open a magazine's spine. "Stuff should be on the front page!"
"That's just your perspective," McGonagall replied with a smile. "How many witches and wizards do you think can actually become Animagi? Maybe a dozen, if that. For most readers, these articles are utterly useless, so of course they're relegated to the corners."
Harold thought for a moment and realized she was right.
These tips only mattered to Animagi, and even if you included the unregistered ones, there were still only about a dozen in all of wizarding Britain.
If this were The Daily Prophet instead of a scholarly journal, these articles probably wouldn't even make it into print.
Harold borrowed a quill and started circling the articles, planning to study them carefully later.
"Goodbye, Professor McGonagall?"
"Wait a moment," McGonagall said. "There's someone else who insisted on coming…"
As she spoke, the door opened and in walked Dumbledore.
There was a trace of fatigue on his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Is it true?" he asked, looking directly at Harold. "Mr. Ollivander, is it true you've mastered the Animagus transformation?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Harold nodded. "Thanks to Professor McGonagall—she picked the best possible location, and when I was about to pass out, she gave me a dose of Buffer's Clarity Draught."
He'd nearly blacked out from the pain when he first transformed, and that potion had brought him back. It enhanced focus and mental clarity—without it, he might've forgotten the transformation sequence entirely.
"Oh, and thank you as well, Headmaster," Harold added suddenly. "For temporarily lifting the anti-Apparition wards around the castle."
Normally, Apparition wasn't possible within Hogwarts. If Dumbledore hadn't lifted the restriction, McGonagall wouldn't have been able to instantly get him from the forest to the Astronomy Tower.
"I merely provided a bit of help," Dumbledore said. He looked at Harold with shining eyes, as if he wanted to say something more but hesitated.
Harold got the message immediately.
He took out his wand, touched it to his chest, and softly incanted, "Amado, Animo, Animado, Animagus!"
In the blink of an eye, Harold became a small black cat with four snowy white paws.
"Incredible…" Dumbledore murmured, eyes lighting up. "You may be the youngest Animagus in history."
"The youngest in five centuries," McGonagall added, pleased. "Records before that are too unreliable to verify."
Dumbledore stood there silently for a moment, clearly deep in thought.
Harold reverted to his human form and glanced at McGonagall.
"Go get some sleep," she said. "And remember—keep this a secret. Don't show off, not even to other professors."
"Of course. I understand." Harold nodded and left.
"Goodnight, Professor McGonagall."
"Goodnight, Headmaster Dumbledore." The source of this content ɪs 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢~𝔫𝔢𝔱
Just as the door clicked shut, Harold faintly heard a wistful sigh from within.
He guessed Dumbledore's real reason for coming was just to confirm the transformation with his own eyes.
A Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, showing up to verify a schoolboy's spell mastery? Sounded ridiculous—until you remembered it was Dumbledore.
Who could've guessed that the magic Dumbledore had failed to master for decades was foiled by something as trivial as… spitting out leaves in his sleep?
Harold was grinning to himself as he reached the seventh floor and stood before the portrait of the Fat Lady.
She eyed him. "Password?"
Normally, the password was given to the prefects first, who then told everyone else after the start-of-term feast.
But Harold had been pulled away by McGonagall and missed the group altogether.
"You know me, right?" he tried reasoning with her. "I was here this morning."
"Yes, that's true," the Fat Lady replied. "So—password?"
"I don't know it. The prefect didn't tell me."
"Then you can't go in."
"But you let me in this morning!"
"This morning, passwords weren't required. Now they are."
They stood at an impasse.
Thankfully, a milky-white translucent head popped through the wall.
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington—Nearly Headless Nick—floated halfway out of the wall.
"I've asked around for you. The password is: Fortune Smiles!"
Harold looked at the Fat Lady. She stared back.
"…Fine. Fortune Smiles."
The portrait swung open.
Harold stepped through into the common room.
"Thanks for the help, Nick."
"No trouble at all," Nick replied, drifting out after him.
"If I ever get the chance, I'll help you fully remove your head."
"Really?" Nick looked delighted, but quickly shook his head.
"Thank you, my boy, but… that's not really possible. I mean, I'm a ghost."
"Nothing's impossible," Harold said. "It's just a shame you didn't learn dark magic when you were alive. If you had, we might've managed it by now."
"Pardon?" Nick blinked. "A shame I didn't learn dark magic…?"
Is that something you're supposed to say?
"Nothing," Harold smiled. "Just saying—we'll figure it out eventually."
"Well… I'll take your word for it."