Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 30

They didn’t quite know how they had done it.

A month had passed with unrelenting discomfort, awkward chewing, and countless close calls—but somehow, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and the Weasley twins had done the impossible: they had completed the first stage of Animagus training. For an entire month, each of them had kept a single Mandrake leaf tucked inside their mouth—never swallowing, never spitting it out, not even while sleeping.

Harry was sure he had nearly swallowed his twice during a dream where he’d been eating treacle tart with Thestrals. George had choked while laughing at one of Fred’s silent pantomimes. Neville had spent a full afternoon using a sticking charm on the roof of his mouth because his leaf kept sliding. But somehow… they had all succeeded.

Now, standing in a circle inside their magically reinforced room in the Room of Requirement, the four friends each held a small phial in their hands. They dropped the shriveled leaf into the phial containing their own saliva, preserved with a pinch of silver salt. The next phase had begun.

"The next full moon is in two weeks," Harry said, unsealing a folded parchment. "That’s our deadline for brewing the Animagus Revelation Potion."

“Two weeks?” Fred raised a brow. “That’s practically tomorrow in potion-brewing terms.”

"And this thing’s got ingredients more exotic than Snape's potion supplies," George added, scanning the list over Harry’s shoulder. "Lionfish spines, Essence of Moonflower, Phoenix feather ash... Where do we get all these?"

"Sirius," Harry said simply. “I already sent him a letter this morning. Told him everything we need, asked if he could get them in time.”

Neville looked nervously at his phial. “So... once we brew the potion, we drop the leaf in, drink it, and… poof?”

“Not quite,” Harry said. “First, the potion reveals our animal form. Then we get to transform for the first time—if we’re lucky. But turning back to human is tricky, and mastering the transformation takes practice.”

“Some wizards take years,” added Neville. “Sirius said it took his dad two years to do it.”

“Well, I don’t want to wait years,” Harry muttered, pacing the room. “If Peter Pettigrew can manage it, we should be able to as well.”

Fred slapped his back. “Don’t worry, mate. If we’ve survived month-long mouth-leaf torture, we can do anything.”

They laughed, and for a moment, the pressure eased.


That night, back in Gryffindor Tower, they gathered near the fire, pretending to study for Herbology, but their eyes kept drifting to the potion recipe Harry had memorized by heart.

Ginny Weasley was nearby, scribbling furiously on a scroll for The Star Magazine. She eyed them with suspicion. “You four have been acting odd for weeks. What are you really up to?”

Fred coughed and sat straighter. “Nothing, little sister. Just… being responsible.”

George nodded with an innocent smile. “Which is, I know, very suspicious in itself.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “You’ve eaten less, you’ve stopped pranking people, and you’ve been completely silent during Club meetings. It’s unnatural. If you’re doing something dangerous or illegal, I am telling mom—”

Fred jumped in quickly. “We’re not. Promise.”

Harry met her gaze. “We’re just… trying something hard. Something that might take time. But it’s not dangerous. At least… not too much.”

Ginny frowned, unconvinced. “If this involves Dark Magic—”

“It doesn’t,” Harry lied smoothly. “Just something we want to try.”

She didn’t press, but her expression warned she wasn’t done watching them.


It happened almost overnight—the subtle tension that had lingered around Harry, Fred, George, and Neville began to lift. Their shoulders loosened. Their jaws stopped clenching. And most notably, the Mandrake leaves were no longer tucked inside their mouths. The month-long ordeal was over.

And with it, came a return to their usual selves.

Fred and George were the first to break the silence. It began in the Gryffindor common room, during breakfast, when Fred whispered something to George, who burst out laughing so hard he spilled pumpkin juice across the table.

"You know what’s worse than a Mandrake leaf in your mouth for thirty days?" George grinned. "Realizing it’s not even good for salad dressing!"

Harry chuckled from the armchair near the fire. “Or waking up every morning and checking if you swallowed it in your sleep.”

Neville nodded. “I still have nightmares about sneezing it out.”

Soon, everything felt almost normal again. Harry had begun speaking more freely, and without the burden of the leaf and secrecy, he returned to helping younger students with their studies. He could often be found in the common room after dinner, explaining Transfiguration principles to struggling second-years, or tutoring a pair of first-year Ravenclaws in defensive charm mechanics.

He also returned to his duties in the Hogwarts Quidditch League. With his renewed energy, Harry organized two more matches that month: the Basilisks versus the Thunderbirds, and the Runespoor versus the Unicorns. The excitement across the school was electric as teams trained harder, posters were updated daily, and the Stars Magazine ran full-page predictions and player spotlights.

“Feels good to breathe properly again,” George said, twirling his quill during a club meeting.

“Feels even better to talk without drooling mid-sentence,” Fred added, earning a collective groan from the table.

Harry leaned back with a grin, glancing around the room where Stars Club members were chatting, reading, and sketching broomstick designs. Even Hermione had eased up—though she still eyed the four of them with suspicion from time to time.


Over the next few days, the Room of Requirement turned into a potion lab. Cauldrons bubbled as steam hissed and rare herbs steeped. Fred and George took turns refining the base solution, while Neville meticulously prepared the lunar blossom extract.

Harry handled the temperature adjustments and timing. He didn’t allow a single mistake.

Every morning, he checked the Owlery for Sirius’s reply—and finally, one morning before dawn, Hedwig arrived, her snowy feathers dusted with frost.

The package was secure, sealed with three wax stamps and a note from Sirius.

Harry,

I got what you need. Took some convincing for the Phoenix ash, but let’s just say I owe someone a favor now. Be careful. This is no joke, and once you start, there’s no backing out.

Don’t tell Hermione. I know she’ll go full Prefect on you.

Good luck, Pup.

—Sirius


Harry tore open the package. Inside were three smaller vials—one containing glowing silver liquid (Moonflower essence), one with powdered Phoenix ash, and a tightly wrapped packet of lionfish spines. It was everything they needed.


That night, they met again in the Room of Requirement.

“All right,” Harry said, steadying his breath. “This is it.”

They assembled the ingredients carefully. The potion shimmered as the final component was added. When the Phoenix ash hit the brew, the cauldron burst into golden flame—then settled into a silvery glow.

Fred whistled. “Well, if this doesn’t turn me into a fire-breathing badger, I’ll be disappointed.”

Harry chuckled, then held up the instructions. “At the next full moon, we drink it.”

He paused.

“Then we find out what we really are.”


On the evening before the transformation, the four friends met again in the Room of Requirement. The space had reshaped itself into a private sanctuary—a tall, round chamber of stone with enchanted windows through which the moonlight would shine at the right time.

In the center of the room stood four tall pedestals, each holding a goblet filled with the Animagus Revelation Potion they had brewed. The silver liquid shimmered softly, pulsing with quiet power.

Harry approached his goblet first.

“Tomorrow night,” he said, voice calm. “This is it.”

Fred gave a theatrical shiver. “I’m betting I’ll turn into something majestic. Like a phoenix. Or a winged badger.”

George smirked. “Or a pygmy puff.”

“Don’t even joke,” Fred said with mock horror.

Neville stared at his potion, expression serious. “What if… what if we turn into something terrible? Like a spider or a toad?”

Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what we turn into. Animagus forms reflect who we are. Not what we want. And we’re doing this to become stronger, not prettier.”

George elbowed Fred. “Still hoping for majestic.”

They laughed, but there was reverence in the air—each of them knew what was at stake. The next step could not be undone.


The morning of the full moon arrived crisp and clear, with thin frost dusting the edges of the windows. Excitement stirred in Harry’s chest from the moment he opened his eyes.

He couldn’t focus in classes. Professor Greaves had to call his name twice during DADA. Even Hermione noticed.

“Are you all right?” she asked during Herbology. “You’re twitchier than usual.”

Harry forced a smile. “Just nervous. Big night.”

“You’re not managing Quidditch tonight,” she said suspiciously.

“Nope. Just… something personal.”

She gave him a long look, then went back to trimming her Screechsnap vines.



The silver light of the full moon bled through the enchanted windows of the Room of Requirement, illuminating every corner of the transformed space. Tonight, the room had taken on the form of a vast hall of mirrors—towering panes of enchanted glass lined the walls and floated midair, reflecting every angle, every movement.

Harry had insisted on it.

“If we’re going to transform,” he had said, voice low with both anticipation and anxiety, “I want to see it. I want to understand it. Every detail.”

The others had agreed, albeit nervously. The ritual had been exact. They had followed every instruction Sirius gave them. The leaves of Mandrake had been carried for a full month, the potion brewed and bottled in time for the moon’s rise. And now, it all came down to this moment.

Harry stepped forward, holding a tray of four glass vials. Each one shimmered with a viscous blue potion, swirling slowly, the surface occasionally glowing with a pulse of magic. One by one, each of them dropped their shriveled Mandrake leaf into their own vial.

As the leaves touched the potion, the liquid pulsed—a single, deep-blue flare like a heartbeat—and the leaves were absorbed completely.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Well," he muttered, half to himself, "here goes everything."

He lifted his vial and drank.

It was like swallowing cold lightning—an electric chill danced through his veins, rushing up his spine and out through his limbs. He staggered slightly, clutching his middle.

Fred, George, and Neville followed suit, each wincing or shuddering as the magic took hold.

Then, it began.

Harry looked into one of the mirrors, eyes wide, as his reflection began to change. His fingers retracted, his nails darkened into talons. His limbs shrunk inward as his shoulders compressed and his spine shifted. It wasn’t painful, just unnatural—like his body was made of rubber and memory, reshaping itself by instinct.

He gasped—but it came out as a sharp, screeching chirp.

His green eyes remained the same, vivid and watchful, but his human form was gone. His reflection now showed a majestic harpy eagle—broad-winged, feathered in deep slate-gray and cream, with piercing green eyes.

Harry blinked.

He was the eagle.

He twisted his neck—strangely natural in this new form—and turned to look at the others.

Neville stood nearby… or rather, perched nearby. A brown barn owl, fluffing its feathers nervously, head tilting this way and that in confusion. Its large eyes blinked slowly, processing its surroundings.

“Neville?” Harry called instinctively, but the sound came out as a sharp caw. The owl blinked and swiveled toward him, hooting softly in response.

Then, in a flash of movement, two lithe forms darted across the mirror room floor—two foxes, chasing each other in tight, looping circles. One was a classic red, with white-tipped ears and tail. The other gleamed silver and black in the moonlight, just as agile and mischievous. The way they tackled each other with toothless nips and darting paws made Harry roll his eagle eyes.

“Fred and George, obviously,” he muttered in thought, though no human words left his beak.

He opened his wings, the feathered limbs stretching wide, and flapped once—hard.

Nothing.

Again. Harder.

With a gust of air and a wild flail, he lifted a few feet off the ground… and promptly crashed into a floating mirror with a dull clang.

CRASH!

Feathers scattered.

From the other side of the room came a hoot of sympathy—Neville had attempted to fly and had spun in an uncontrolled barrel roll before flopping awkwardly against a wall.

The foxes paused mid-wrestle to glance up at the airborne chaos. Then resumed tumbling and tackling, tongues lolling in what could only be interpreted as fox-laughter.

Harry grumbled in his mind. This is going to take a lot more work.

Still, as he flapped again—more controlled this time—he began to feel it. The rhythm of the wings, the balance of the air, the subtle twitch of tail-feathers. He rose steadily, gliding along the room’s edge, talons stretched out for balance. Neville eventually joined him in the air, wobbling unsteadily but flapping with growing confidence.

Below, Fred and George zigzagged through Harry’s talon-created wind currents, barking and yipping, occasionally skidding against mirrors as they turned too fast. Their fox forms were agile, fast, and clever.

The minutes stretched into an hour, and despite a few more crash-landings and awkward midair rolls, Harry felt something shift.

Not in his body. But in his mind.

This eagle… it was him. Not separate. Not a disguise. A part of him, born from his soul and shaped by his will.

As the potion’s magic slowly wore off, they began to revert. Feathers became fingers, fur became flesh, and talons became toes.

They lay on the floor, sweaty, breathing hard, blinking up at the mirrored ceiling as their reflections settled back into human form.

“…Did we just become animals?” Fred asked finally, still panting.

“More like… ourselves,” George said, brushing a stray feather from his sleeve.

Neville groaned. “I think I sprained something.”

Harry sat up slowly. “We did it.”

Fred rolled to his side. “I’m a fox. George is a fox. But mine’s better looking.”

George kicked him.

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve got the form. Next step: control.”

Neville nodded. “And flight lessons. I need those.”

They all laughed—even if weakly.