Chapter 12 - A New Day, A New Term

"Sister An wasn't kidding when she recommended Mr. Ollivander," Vincent muttered, eyeing the craftsmanship in his hands. "I wonder what kind of things he'd make if he wasn't in the wand trade."

He was inspecting a pair of black gloves—sleek and finely stitched. Silver lines ran from each fingertip to the back of the hand, delicate and precise, like veins of light. At the knuckles, small engraved pieces of silver glinted under the cabin's dim lighting, and in the center of the back plate was a flat, square-shaped slot—clearly designed to hold something.

Vincent slipped one glove on. From his bag, he retrieved a small, flat square of enchanted glass, within which a gleaming silver liquid swirled faintly—the Thunderbolt potion. He slotted it into the glove's backplate with a soft click.

The reaction was immediate. The silver lines lit up gently, the glow spreading from the potion chamber through each finger.

Vincent flexed his hand, and a translucent blue shield flickered to life in the air before him, following the movement of his palm. A slight twist of his wrist made it shift position; a clenched fist made it vanish instantly.

"The Thunderbolt potion works even better than I expected," Vincent murmured, pulling the glass square from the glove and turning it over in his fingers. "Even a small amount can power this for hours. I really did end up creating something dangerous, didn't I?"

With help from Sister An—and a few rare ingredients he'd tracked down in Diagon Alley—Vincent had managed to brew and seal several vials of the Thunderbolt potion for later use. These vials now served as compact power sources for the gloves.

He wasn't entirely sure what enchantments Sister An had placed on the potion containers, but whatever she'd done, they held firm—no amount of pressure, shaking, or impact could trigger the volatile contents. They were completely stable.

His pouch had been enchanted too, likely with the same protective magic. No matter how fragile the items inside, nothing ever broke, no matter how roughly he moved.

Although… if the bag itself were ever destroyed, it might very well release everything at once. Vincent wasn't keen on imagining what that would look like, considering the vast amount of items he now possessed—both explosive and dangerous included.

Once again, Vincent silently thanked his lucky stars for meeting the woman who had become his guardian.

Not much had happened since his encounter with Axel and the thugs he came across on the first day. Besides that chaotic night, life had been quiet—something Vincent wasn't about to complain about. As a rule, wanting excitement tended to come with a side of someone else's misfortune in that line of work.

Instead, he spent time back at the orphanage—snowball fights, baking, helping the younger kids with chores. It was peaceful, and he was grateful for it.

Ollivander had completed the prototype just the day before Vincent was set to return to Hogwarts—a surprise, given that the old wandmaker had said it would take longer. Even more surprising, Ollivander gave him the gloves for free.

Vincent had been uneasy about that. After all, he'd only provided an idea—Ollivander had done all the real work. Eventually, he managed to convince the old man to accept ten galleons in exchange, though Vincent still felt it was far too little.

But Ollivander had waved him off with a smile.

"It was a fun challenge," he said. "And giving them to you… it feels strangely fitting."

That part stuck with Vincent.

"What did he mean by that?" he wondered, watching the countryside roll past the train window. He pushed the thought aside as the trolley witch came down the aisle.

"Anything off the cart, dear?"

"No thanks," Vincent said with a polite shake of his head. He grumbled under his breath, "Spent nearly everything I had at Diagon Alley anyway."

His gaze shifted to the small pink snake curled up in his lap—his impulsive purchase from the pet shop. The creature flicked its tiny tongue and coiled more comfortably against him. Vincent sighed, stroking its head. It hissed softly, pleased.

"You were the main reason for that, you know…" he muttered. "Hope Nyx likes you."

Finding Platform Nine and Three-Quarters hadn't been difficult. Sister An had pointed it out beforehand—a brick wall between platforms nine and ten, enchanted so subtly that most Muggles never gave it a second thought. Vincent had even seen other students vanish through it without anyone around seeming to care.

He'd asked Sister An about it. She explained the reason: strong charmwork. Magic woven into the very space to repel Muggle awareness. Even if someone saw something strange, the enchantment made them disinterested. They'd forget. They'd move on.

Vincent, however, had passed through with no problem.

Knowledge was power—and in this case, it rendered the charm ineffective due to such.

He leaned back in his seat now, gloves in hand, snake on lap, potion still glowing faintly in the little glass cell. All this as the shadow of Hogwarts faintly appeared in the distance.

"I wonder if those three managed to pull off that Polyjuice stunt," Vincent muttered, thinking about his friends. "Well… with Hermione there, they should be fine… right?"

Later...

"What the hell happened while I was gone?!" Vincent blurted, staring at a fur-covered Hermione.

Hermione quickly buried her face behind the quilt, mortified. Harry and Ron stood awkwardly at her bedside, scratching their heads as Vincent stormed into the hospital wing. The moment he returned to Hogwarts, he'd heard rumors that Hermione had been petrified—and raced straight there. Instead of a statue, though, he was greeted by the sight of a very embarrassed cat-girl huddled beneath hospital blankets.

"Welcome back, Vince," came Hermione's muffled voice from under the covers.

Vincent sighed and pulled over a chair. "…Catch me up. What exactly have you three been up to?"

Harry and Ron launched into the story. The Polyjuice Potion had worked—sort of. The real issue came after. Hermione, unfortunately, had used a hair she plucked from Millicent Bulstrode during their scuffle at the Dueling Club… only to find out, too late, that it was cat hair. Hence her current state. Vincent made a mental note: Polyjuice + animal hair = Strange results (Must test later).

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron had successfully gotten hair from Crabbe and Goyle. Using the potion, they'd disguised themselves and grilled Malfoy for information… only to discover he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. Whether he was lying or not was another matter—but their investigation had hit a dead end.

"…The only thing we really got was that the Chamber was opened fifty years ago," Ron said gloomily. "But we still don't know who did it."

"And we haven't figured out what the monster is either," Harry added, rubbing his neck.

Vincent frowned, thoughtful. "It's probably some kind of snake."

Both boys looked at him in surprise.

"I thought about my encounter with it while I was away. From the sounds it made to the symbol of Salazar—everything points to a snake. And a big one at that."

"There're plenty of snakes that can paralyse,," Hermione's muffled voice came from under the quilt, "but to petrify someone to that extreme? Unless they're turning to stone—there's no snake I know that can do that. Well… there is one that kills, but… hmm."

"You figured something out, Hermione?" Vincent asked, leaning forward.

"I have an idea of what it could be," she said slowly. "But I'll need to do some more research."

Vincent stared at Hermione for a moment… then let out a sigh and pulled the covers off her head.

"Hey—don't!" she protested, too late.

Her face was fully feline now—whiskers, fur, cat ears, and a small pink nose. If she'd looked normal, Vincent was sure she'd be bright red from embarrassment.

"It's a bit rude to hide from someone who just got back," Vincent said with a chuckle. "At least say hello properly."

Hermione shot him a withering glare. "You're enjoying this."

"You're overreacting. It's not that bad."

"Liar."

"I'm serious," Vincent said, giving her a crooked smirk. "Honestly, I'd even call it… cute."

Hermione immediately looked down, ears twitching in clear embarrassment. He couldn't see her face under all the fur, but he was pretty sure she was blushing.

His eyes drifted up to her cat ears. "So… are those real?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Vincent, if you so much as touch them, I will hex you into next week."

"…Shame. But duly noted," he replied, and there was just enough genuine regret in his voice to make her twitch in irritation.

"On that note," Vincent added, changing the subject, "do you guys still have any of that Polyjuice Potion left?"

"Still have most of a cauldron's worth in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Ron said slowly. "Why...?"

He trailed off. Harry's face went pale, and Hermione shot Ron a sharp look—one that clearly said, "Why on earth would you say that?"

But Vincent was already on his feet and sprinting out of the room.

The three exchanged glances.

"…He's not gonna do anything too stupid with it, right?" Ron asked, sounding unconvinced.

"I hope not," Hermione muttered, both sets of ears twitching.

…

"So this is your hut," Snape said curtly as he led Vincent across the school grounds toward a modest little structure tucked away near the edge of the field.

It looked remarkably similar to Hagrid's, save for a small stall-like extension built onto the front—clearly meant to serve food.

"Your little food shop is here," Snape continued, gesturing toward the attached kitchen. "Ingredients are provided by the school. Try not to burn the place down."

Vincent stepped inside and gave the kitchen a once-over. It was well-stocked and surprisingly tidy. "This is… actually kind of nice," he murmured.

Snape gave him a flat look. "Yes, well, don't get used to it. Come."

He opened the door to the main hut, revealing an interior that looked suspiciously like Snape's own office—stone walls, dark shelves, and empty storage units waiting to be filled.

"This entire area has been reinforced," Snape explained, his voice clipped. "Soundproofing wards, self-repairing charms, and impact barriers have been layered throughout. In case you decide to… experiment again." His tone made it clear he hadn't forgotten about the Thunderbolt Potion incident, and to be fair, Vincent doubted anyone would.

Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "Right… appreciated, Professor."

Snape turned to leave but paused at the doorway. "One more thing. Our 'remedial lessons' are suspended until further notice. The school is dealing with… complications."

"Understood. Thank you, Professor," Vincent said with a respectful bow.

Snape gave a noncommittal grunt and swept off without another word.

Vincent exhaled. "Alright… time to grab Nyx before I get to brewing," he muttered, turning back toward the castle. "Wonder how she's doing?"

The moment he stepped into the Common Room, a blur of blue smacked straight into his face.

"Ow—!" Vincent yelped, stumbling back as he peeled a buzzing pixie off his forehead. "Missed you too, Nyx."

Nyx squeaked and fluttered excitedly, trying her best to wrap her tiny arms around his neck in what could only be called a hug. Vincent chuckled and gently patted her head with one finger.

"Hey, I brought you a friend," he said, reaching into his pocket. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out the small pink snake.

Nyx, slightly bigger than the snake, settled on his palm and tilted her head curiously. The snake looked up at her and gave a friendly hiss. Nyx responded by patting it lightly on the head, making it flick its tongue and hiss in delight.

"At least they get along," Vincent said, watching them with a small smile.

Glancing around, he noticed the Common Room was mostly empty. He checked the time—it was nearly lunch.

"Why don't we grab something to eat before heading to the potions room?" he suggested. Nyx threw up her tiny arms in triumph while the snake let out a soft hiss in agreement.

"I really need to give you a name," Vincent added, glancing at the snake. "Maybe Harry can help with that."

He made a quick stop at the Great Hall for lunch, joining a few friendly Gryffindors along the way. Neville was among them, though he kept glancing at Vincent like he wanted to say something. In the end, he stayed quiet.

Vincent didn't press him—he figured he'd ask later, just to make sure everything was alright.

"I didn't see him on the train back… must've returned earlier," Vincent thought as his eyes scanned the hall. They landed on a familiar blonde over at the Ravenclaw table.

Luna Lovegood caught his gaze and waved cheerfully. Vincent returned it with a smile of his own.

"Looks like she's back too," he thought, a little lighter at the sight .But the mood dipped as his eyes searched for a certain redhead. "...I don't see Ginny anywhere, that's concerning."

He didn't know what it was about her condition that bothered him so much, but since neither Ron nor Harry mentioned anything about it too him, Vincent decided to talk to the girl again the next time he saw her.

Vincent grabbed a plate piled high with grapes for his two small companions and made his way out of the Great Hall—only to nearly bump into someone standing directly in his path.

Malfoy.

Crabbe and Goyle flanked him as usual, both looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Oh, Malfoy," Vincent said casually. "How's it going? Have a good Christmas?"

Malfoy's eye twitched. "My Christmas is none of your concern, Wong. Frankly, I was hoping not to see your face here again. Imagine my disappointment."

Vincent popped a grape into his mouth and chewed. "So Santa didn't answer your letter this year, huh? Maybe if you're a good little boy next time, he'll finally grant that wish."

Malfoy's face turned crimson, glaring daggers at him.

Vincent, unfazed, glanced around the hall. "Well, I'd best be off. Later, Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle."

He strolled past them without another word, grapes in hand, leaving Malfoy fuming.

The Slytherin clenched his fists, nearly shaking with rage. But with hundreds of eyes in the Great Hall and professors scattered about, he knew better than to start something.

"One day," he thought bitterly, taking his seat at the Slytherin table. "One day, I'll pay you back for this, Wong. I seem to recall him receiving a hut of sorts…"

Malfoy silently began his plot of revenge, already feeling pleased at the mere thought of Vincent begging him for mercy.

…

"…This is terrifying," Vincent muttered, eyeing the twitching figure on the table—an exact copy of himself crawling on all fours. "It works on non-human creatures, but…"

The imitation flickered, twitching erratically before collapsing into a shimmer of sparks and reverting back into a beetle. Vincent picked it up with a sigh and tossed it back into the jar with the rest.

"Doesn't last longer than a minute," he muttered, scribbling a note onto the parchment beside him. "Still, partial success. Let's see what happens next…"

He carefully measured out a small vial labelled BOGGART ESSENCE – DO NOT INHALE and tapped in a pinch.

The potion hissed violently, turning a suspicious, almost cheerful pink.

Vincent stared. "That… definitely doesn't seem good."

Then the potion screamed.

"BLOODY HELL—!"

He ducked just in time as the potion erupted like a geyser, spraying a steaming arc across the ceiling. Nyx yelped, flapping her wings wildly as she dove behind a stack of books, dragging the little snake along—who clearly thought this was all some sort of game. The shriek faded into an eerie, high-pitched whine that echoed faintly off the walls.

The cauldron, somehow, remained intact. So did the potion.

"…Progress?" Vincent coughed, waving away the smoke. "Let's see what effects this mix has."

Cautiously, he ladled a sample into a small cup. "So, the normal potion applies mainly to those that are human. But… can it do animals too?"

He pulled out a plain red scale—non-enhanced—and dropped it into the cup. The mixture turned a bright, vibrant red and gave off a faint sizzling sound..

The mixture bubbled ominously, boiled for a moment, then stilled—solidifying into a dark purple with glowing red veins pulsing through it.

"…That seemed to work, let's see if it does anything."

Taking a slow breath he carefully lowered a regular beetle into it, only taking it out once he was certain that the beetle had consumed any of it.

Then he waited.

Five minutes passed.

"…Nothing?"

He leaned in closer. "Did I mess up again?"

He picked up the beetle—only to frown.

"…Did it get heavier?"

Six minutes later.

"Nyx," Vincent said slowly, holding the insect up to the pixie, "this guy's definitely growing, right?"

Nyx shrugged, still nibbling a grape. The snake curled on the table flicked its tongue curiously.

Another ten minutes passed.

The beetle, now the size of a football, was twitching—its legs growing thick, its wings pulsing under a stretched exoskeleton.

Thirty minutes.

"…Why is it still growing?"

The insect's back split open as red scales pushed out. Horns sprouted. Wings emerged—scaled and leathery this time. It flailed awkwardly, knocking over a stack of empty vials.

"Nyx," Vincent said again, backing up, "I think we made a mistake."

Even Nyx stopped chewing, staring wide-eyed.

An hour later.

Vincent struggled to push the now-frantic, room-sized beetle-dragon hybrid out of the hut's reinforced back door.

Two hours later.

Night had fallen. Dinner had come and gone, and curfew was fast approaching—but Vincent hardly noticed. At this point, detention felt like a mercy compared to what he was staring at now.

"…No way," he breathed.

The creature loomed above him, its silhouette blotting out the moonlight. It still had the unmistakable head of a beetle—antennae twitching—but the rest of it had grown into the massive, scaly frame of a dragon. Wings spread wide, tail swaying slowly behind it, the thing let out a confused, warbling hiss as it tried to figure out its own body.

Vincent took a step back, eyes wide.

"Snape's going to kill me."

"Oi! Vincent!" a familiar voice bellowed. "Congratulations on yer—blimey! WOT IN MERLIN'S NAME IS THAT?!"

Vincent turned to see Hagrid standing near the edge of the hut's garden, jaw slack.

"I didn't do this on purpose!" Vincent cried, almost tearful.

Hagrid approached slowly, eyes wide with wonder. "Never seen anythin' like it…"

He ran a hand along the creature's scaly leg.

"What… is it?"

"…A Dretle," Vincent said hollowly.

"A what now?"

"A Dretle."

"…You made this?"

"Yes."

"…Will it wear off?"

"I… don't know."

There was a long pause.

"…Uhh, I've got to check my chickens—"

CRASH!!

Vincent, wide-eyed, dove for cover as the Dretle's tail whipped over his head, the sheer weight behind the strike causing a gust of wind to whip up the surroundings.

The Dretle stared at Vincent.

Vincent stared back.

For a moment, all was still. Until Vincent saw some gleam or recognition flash through the Dretle's eye.

…

It remembered.

The beetle—no, the Dretle now—stood tall, wings flexing like sails in the night wind.

Somewhere deep in its newly colossal, many-legged soul, memories churned.

Jars.

Darkness.

His brethren, forced to consume unknowing substances.

Beetles condemned to die in the name of science. Names unknown. Fates sealed.

It had been one of the few to remain.

It had survived.

It had evolved.

The air reeked of herbs. Of chaos.

Of him.

The Boy.

The Dropper. The Mixer. The Stirrer of Dooms.

There he was now—small, blinking, visibly nervous.

Good.

The Dretle took a thunderous step forward.

Its wings flared dramatically.

A nearby tree groaned in sympathy. The ground trembled beneath the sheer weight of insectile indignation.

It locked eyes with him—the boy who had condemned so many of its kin to the contents of the cauldron.

Its multifaceted gaze shimmered with resolve.

Its antennae twitched, not with curiosity—but with vengeance.

A silent oath was sworn in that moment:

Justice. For beetle-kind.

For one breathless moment, all was still.

Then the Dretle charged.

Vincent bolted into the night, arms pumping, boots thudding. Behind him, the Dretle thundered after him with terrifying speed for something that had once been flicked off a windowsill. Its wings buzzed, and its feet pounded like war drums.

Vincent narrowly dodged a sweeping tail.

It missed.

It would not miss again.

The Dretle surged forward, beetle head noble in the moonlight, a valiant warrior leading a charge for every six-legged comrade sacrificed to magical science.

Vincent leapt over a bush.

The Dretle crushed it.

Nyx, perched on the roof, paused mid-grape. She watched; glowing eyes filled with quiet judgment. The little snake seemed completely unaware of the danger it's new master was in, happily hissing at the interesting sight before it.

The Dretle was gaining fast. Vincent yelled something at a larger figure nearby—Hagrid—who only stood slack-jawed in awe at the approaching beast before finally springing into motion.

The Dretle skidded to a halt inches from a thick tree, its breath fogging the bark. With a loud sound that sounded between a chirp and a roar, a torrent of flame shot out, incinerating the tree, and then some to mere ashes.

Vincent stared, slack-jawed at the destruction it caused, as did Hagrid.

It stared after him.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

The Hunt had begun.

For beetle-kind.

…

The staffroom at Hogwarts was quiet save for the crackle of the fireplace. A meeting was well underway.

"So Miss Granger should make a full recovery?" Dumbledore asked as he glanced toward Madam Pomfrey, seated near the end of the long table.

"She'll be back on her feet in no time," Pomfrey confirmed with a satisfied nod. "Thanks to the Mandrakes, the Restorative Draught will be ready by the end of the week."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers.

"I've shown Mr. Wong to his hut," Snape added flatly. "It's soundproofed, warded, and far from the castle. His… experiments should no longer pose a threat to school property. Or sanity."

"I do hope he refrains from further explosive potions," Professor Flitwick muttered from behind his teacup.

"There's still scorch marks from the fire breath incident," Professor Sprout added, shuddering, eliciting an embarrassed cough from Lockheart.

"He's under supervision," Snape said, clearly restraining a sigh. "And I've halted our 'remedial lessons' for the time being."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore nodded. "And the petrification remedy?"

"Should be completed by term's end. Barring interruptions."

"Good to—"

The door slammed open.

"WE HAVE A DRAGON LOOSE ON THE GROUNDS!" Professor McGonagall's voice cracked through the air like a whip.

Everyone froze.

"…What?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"A dragon," McGonagall repeated, eyes blazing. "Currently charging across the lawn after Mr. Wong."

Snape slowly rose to his feet. "Please tell me this is a metaphor."

"I wish it were."

"Did he summon one?" Professor Sprout gasped.

"No," McGonagall snapped. "He made it."

There was a long, terrible silence.

"Ah, yes… the beast of shadow and scale. Its arrival was foretold in the shifting mists—an omen of chaotic change." Trelawney whispered, eyes widened in reverence.

Lockhart stood up dramatically. "Ah! Dragons! I am rather well-versed in dragon subdual—perhaps you've read Waltzing With Wyverns or Dancing With Deathclaws?"

"No one has read either," Flitwick said curtly.

"Oh, but they've both sold—"

"Enough!" McGonagall cut in. "The creature appears to be some sort of… mutated beetle. With wings. And flame glands. And an intense hatred for Vincent Wong."

There was a quiet cough. It was Professor Sinistra, peering over her glasses. "So… it's a beetle dragon?"

"A Dretle," McGonagall said bitterly. "Apparently that's what he named it."

"Creative," said Binns from the wall.

"Between his antics and my patience, one will run out before the other," Snape muttered under his breath. "That boy will one day be the death of me."

Just then, Filch stormed in, breathless and red-faced. "There's a beetle-headed dragon chewing on my broom shed! And that Malfoy boy and his friends are passed out near the courtyard fountain!"

"Send him my regards," Snape muttered.

Dumbledore stood at last, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he looked, almost amused at the somewhat dire situation. "Well. Perhaps it's time we… intervened."

Lockhart immediately pulled out his wand and struck a pose. "Fear not, colleagues! I shall tame the beast!"

"Please don't," McGonagall and Flitwick said at the same time.

Outside, a distant crash echoed—followed by a very familiar voice ringing through the halls of Hogwarts:

"HAGRID, DID YOU CALL FOR HELP?!"

"I'VE SENT FOR TEACHERS, THEY SHOULD BE 'ERE SOON! I'LL TRY HOLDIN IT DOWN AS MUCH AS I CAN!"

"GET OUT THE WAY, IT'S GOING TO BLOW!"

Sprout stood up. "...Should we be worried?"

Snape sat back down and took a long, slow sip of tea.

"Deeply."

By the end of the day, the new term was underway. For most, things went smoothly. For others… less so.

Alternate Title: Animorph Potion