Hearing Luna's words, Vizette recalled the previous night's mishap and managed a wry smile. "It was just an accident. I've been getting plenty of rest."
Dawn light filtered through the Hospital Wing windows as Vizette drew his wand and pointed it at his chest, murmuring, "Amado, Animo, Animado, Animagus."
He settled back into bed just as Madam Pomfrey bustled in with a bowl of porridge. "Getting ill is always an accident, dear. No one sets out to catch a cold. Was it too much of that Wit-Sharpening Potion?"
(Achoo! The Weasley twins sneezed in unison elsewhere in the castle.)
(George's eyes gleamed. "Sneezing till your nose bleeds! This Fever Fudge is brilliant for skipping class, eh?")
(Fred grinned. "Perfect for Potions—Snape would hate it! Jot that down!")
Satisfied that her patients were recovering, Madam Pomfrey gathered up several empty potion vials and hurried out.
Vizette cradled the warm porridge and glanced at Luna and the others. "Have you all eaten? Go grab some breakfast. I feel fine now—last night was a fluke."
"Speaking of flukes," Hannah said, "Neville just mentioned Colin had one too. His camera was smashed by whoever petrified Filch."
"Huh? Really?" Harry shoveled the last spoonful of porridge into his mouth, frowning skeptically. "But—"
Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, striding straight to Harry's bedside and cutting him off. "Good morning, Harry! How's the arm?"
Neville shrank back, eyes wide with worry, stiffening as the headmaster approached.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry set down his bowl and, as he'd shown Madam Pomfrey, flexed his arm, making a fist. "Good as new!"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Splendid! Mind if we chat privately for a moment?"
"No problem at all!" Harry swung his legs off the bed and slipped into his shoes. "Where to, Professor?"
Harry and Dumbledore departed, and Neville exhaled sharply, slumping in relief. "Thank Merlin he didn't chew me out. I thought I'd spilled the secret."
"Wasn't it my fault?" Hannah fretted. "I didn't think it through..."
"Relax," Vizette said, setting aside his porridge. "There's no Heir of Slytherin—just some show-off stirring trouble. Publicizing it helps calm everyone down."
"If Dumbledore pulls you aside, it's probably to urge you to spread the word and reassure the students. Right?"
Neville scratched his head, forcing a grin. "Yeah... I suppose so. That does ease my mind a bit!"
"I'm just terrified of losing house points," he admitted, voice trailing off. "Snape docks them if I grab the wrong ingredients, and I always stutter my incantations..."
His shoulders sagged, dejection settling in.
"Professor Sprout sings your praises," Luna said dreamily. "She's seen loads of Gryffindors, but you're her favorite—the most unique one."
"Yes!" Hannah chimed in quickly. "She says that all the time."
Luna nodded. "Remember? She told us you're so patient and careful with every magical plant, tending them like old friends."
Neville and Hannah's cheeks flushed pink; they exchanged a quick, embarrassed glance, spotting the same heat in each other's faces.
"Exactly," Vizette added with a smile. "Sprout's always going on about it. Maybe start with what you love most, then branch out from there."
"That's my approach," he continued. "I'm strong in Transfiguration, so I tie new spells to that foundation. It makes everything click."
"Using Transfiguration to grasp other magic?" Neville leaned forward eagerly. "What about us?"
Vizette paused thoughtfully. "Got it—you know the Rictusempra charm Professor Flitwick's been drilling us on?"
Neville nodded sheepishly. "Sure, but I muck it up every time..."
"No worries—it's new material." Vizette dismissed it with a wave. "Let's recap Flitwick's lesson. The incantation's 'Rictusempra,' not too tricky to say. The trick is that little trill at the end, like a chuckle building up."
"And with it," Vizette went on, "you flick your wand—light, quick, rhythmic. Mimicking a feather-light tickle, just as Flitwick demonstrated."
They nodded. "Spot on."
"Pixie—come here!" Vizette raised his wand, summoning a small iron cage that floated through the open window and into his hands.
Inside, a pixie gripped the bars, its face blank as it eyed Vizette, then Neville and the others.
"Rictusempra!"
Neville and Hannah drew their wands and aimed at the creature. Twin silver sparks darted out. The pixie twitched, letting out a few forced giggles before resuming its sullen stare, somehow even more aloof.
They deflated. "Same as class—barely worked."
"It's fascinating, though," Vizette said. "Flitwick stressed the lightness, the speed—like a wand waving in a breeze."
"Picture this: You're in the greenhouse, watering two rows of plants. A gentle wind stirs, and the soft, emerald leaves brush your legs, tickling just a bit."
The frustration eased from their faces; they looked inspired.
"How was the greenhouse this morning?" Vizette prompted.
"Relaxing," Neville admitted, rubbing his neck. "So... you link Herbology to other spells like that?"
"Just an example that fits." Vizette shrugged. "Hannah, what about you—back in the greenhouse?"
She hesitated. "Same as Neville. Calming... even joyful, really."
"Right—channel that. Feel the breeze through the leaves, the tips grazing your skin like a playful nudge. Now try again."
"Leaves tickling..." Neville breathed out, relaxing his stance.
"Happy... light." Hannah swished her wand, imitating the motion.
"Rictusempra!"
Brighter silver beams erupted from their wands. The cramped cage gave the pixie no escape; it was struck full-on.
The creature convulsed in mirth, rolling and chortling uncontrollably as silver wisps danced around it. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, drawing startled glances from passing students outside.
Neville's eyes widened in delight. "Blimey—that actually worked!"
Hannah beamed, her uncertainty gone. "It felt... natural. Like the charm was part of the garden."
Vizette chuckled. "See? Build on your strengths. Herbology's your edge—let it unlock the rest."
Luna tilted her head, a distant smile playing on her lips. "The Wrackspurts must have cleared out. Your spells look brighter already."
As the pixie wheezed its last giggles and the group shared relieved laughs, Vizette felt a quiet satisfaction. Magic wasn't about force; it was about finding your rhythm, one strength at a time.