Chapter 110: Hotpot Night, The Second Step of Animagus
Headmaster's office.
Leonardo and Dumbledore sat around a round table. In the center sat a shallow cauldron split down the middle: creamy bone broth on one side, bright red spicy broth on the other.
"Leonardo, why a cauldron?" Dumbledore asked.
"Because it feels more authentic?"
"I don't always follow you young people—oh, this is done!"
He scooped out a slice of beef, dipped it quickly, and popped it into his mouth.
"Mm. Hotpot. Had it a few times when I traveled in East Asia years ago. Unforgettable. And by the way, since you taught the house‑elves how to cook Eastern Asia dishes, the students have been loving them."
Leonardo slid more meat into the pot. "Probably because the cuisine has variety and layered flavors."
"And different seasons bring different ingredients and methods," Dumbledore said, nudging his glasses with the back of his hand. "It's truly vast. Hotpot suits days like these. The weather keeps getting colder, and going to Quidditch in person isn't terribly kind to an old man. It was much more comfortable during the first match, tucked by a warm fireplace and watching by magic."
Leonardo kept eating without a ripple. So the Headmaster did have remote‑viewing methods beyond ghosts and portraits. Just how many unusual magics had a century‑old wizard developed?
"Your magic is astonishing, Headmaster," Leonardo said. "When you saw Harry's situation, you must have found it risky too."
Dumbledore nodded and fished out a shrimp ball. "I didn't expect things to go awry so suddenly. Fortunately, Harry had a very good friend helping him."
Leonardo lifted a slice of fish. He stayed calm even as Dumbledore openly acknowledged him. If the Headmaster could monitor the match by magic, it was no surprise he knew who attacked and who defended.
"It was hardly more than lending a hand—and a chance to test something new," Leonardo said. "Besides, in that situation, you could have stepped in and shielded Harry yourself, couldn't you?"
A small smile. "People often imagine I can do anything, that I'm capable of the inexplicable. But this time…" Dumbledore winked. "You're right."
So he admitted it outright. Reasonable—Dumbledore meant to temper Harry, but first and foremost to keep him alive. The Boy Who Lived still had a destiny to fulfill.
"Headmaster, a question. In the Animagus process, there's a step requiring a thunderstorm. Is that purely a matter of waiting on time and luck?"
Dumbledore set down his bowl, a faintly odd look crossing his eyes. "Leonardo, you aren't thinking of conjuring a storm by magic, are you?"
"I considered it."
At Leonardo's serious expression, Dumbledore looked both amused and helpless. "Interesting idea. But the difficulty… Even if you can match an adult wizard, and your magical reserves are unusually high—which, to be honest, surprised me again—an Animagus‑caliber storm is beyond what wizards can produce. And it's best not to interfere with it by magic."
Leonardo nodded lightly, then asked, "What if it wasn't magic? What if we created a thunderstorm large enough without using magic at all?"
That stumped Dumbledore. In ancient times, some Muggles revered powerful wizards as gods, believing they could reshape nature. But all of that, at the root, was magic—not nature itself. And here was a boy asking how to create a natural phenomenon without magic?
Before Dumbledore could answer, Leonardo redirected. "Headmaster, try this beef meatball—springy and tender."
Seeing Leonardo let the topic go, Dumbledore drifted into small talk. "Christmas is nearly upon us again. What sort of gift are you hoping for, Leonardo?"
"Books," Leonardo replied without thinking.
"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled. "A little eagle who loves knowledge. People always send me books every year as well. Though sometimes I think warm wool socks are nice."
Wool socks. In Britain, they carry a touch of family in them—a gift between loved ones.
Leonardo understood. Strip away the aura and the accolades printed on Chocolate Frog cards, and Dumbledore was an old man. An old man without his family. His only living relative wanted nothing to do with him. His beloved was in Nurmengard.
High places are cold.
To climb that high is, willingly or not, to give up many things along the way.
Mid‑December.
Deep in the Forbidden Forest.
Leonardo looked up at the press of dark clouds. "Not ideal."
"Aurelius."
Two or three seconds later, a golden streak speared the sky. Leonardo sat astride the little Qilin, a thin, translucent veil of magic wrapped around him against the cold and the wind. Aurelius climbed fast; in only a few breaths, they burst through the cloud layer.
The full moon hung clear and bright.
Beneath its cold light, Leonardo drew out a crystal phial already filled with his saliva. He removed the Mandrake leaf from beneath his tongue and submerged it. Pale moon‑white spread along the veins almost immediately.
Success.
He plucked a dark‑gold hair and dropped it into the phial. Aurelius held the little bottle aloft on a cushion of cloud. Leonardo took out a small jar of dew collected from a place untouched by sunlight or human hands for seven days. With a silver teaspoon, he measured out just enough and poured it in, letting it mix thoroughly.
Lastly, he produced a chrysalis: pitch‑black, with a white skull‑like pattern upon it.
A Death's‑Head Hawk Moth chrysalis.
The moment it touched the solution, the liquid went black. Within the dark, the leaf's veins gleamed faintly.
Good.
He tucked the phial into a small cotton‑padded box and closed it. Then he patted Aurelius's neck.
"Thanks for the run. Let's head back."
"All right, Master."
"Oh, Aurelius—starting tomorrow, I'll teach you some meteorology."
Aurelius shivered slightly—not from the cold. A small, childlike voice trilled in Leonardo's mind, pleading.
"Could we… not study that?"
Leonardo stroked his mane and laughed softly. "Not everything. Just one segment."
"And after that, you get a month off."
Aurelius brightened. "Master, is that what you call winter break?"
"It is."