"Hermione Granger, Professor."
The moment he heard her name, Slughorn immediately thought of the founder of the Distinguished Potion-Makers' Guild, who was also a Granger.
Naturally, he asked with great interest if the two were related.
Unfortunately, they weren't—one came from a Muggle family, the other from a wizarding one.
True to his word, Slughorn showed no prejudice toward Hermione.
Instead, he smiled warmly, not the least bit embarrassed for having made the wrong connection.
"Ah yes—'I have a good friend who's Muggle-born, one of the best in her year.' That's the one you were talking about, isn't it, Harry?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry confirmed.
It was obvious Slughorn had already decided to add her to his "collection."
"Excellent, excellent. Twenty points to Slytherin for Miss Greengrass, and another twenty to the brilliant Miss Granger," Slughorn said cheerfully.
His generosity made the classroom feel like it had become the girls' domain.
Still smiling, Slughorn added, "Of course, Amortentia cannot truly create love. Love can neither be manufactured nor imitated. This potion only produces obsession and infatuation—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful brew in this entire classroom."
As Slughorn spoke, he noticed several students craning their necks toward the potion. With a deliberate motion, he replaced the lid.
The intoxicating aroma vanished at once.
"Now then, we should actually begin our lesson," Slughorn said with a genial smile. He deliberately skipped over the fourth cauldron, leaving everyone even more curious.
Ernie Macmillan, ever the inquisitive one, pointed at the final black cauldron. "Professor, you haven't told us what's in that one yet!"
That cauldron was certainly eye-catching—the potion inside bubbled cheerfully, shimmering like molten gold. Large, gleaming drops leapt up and fell back into the brew, never once spilling over, like golden fish swimming in liquid light.
Slughorn noticed his little bit of showmanship had worked perfectly—their curiosity was hooked.
"Ah, yes, I nearly forgot that one," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Does anyone know what it is?"
This time, besides the two usual girls, a third hand went up.
"Malfoy?" Slughorn asked, genuinely surprised.
Even Harry blinked in disbelief. Malfoy knew that potion?
"That's Felix Felicis," Malfoy said proudly.
"Well, that is unexpected," Slughorn admitted, intrigued. "May I ask where you've seen it before?"
"Ahem… John drank it once," Malfoy replied, coughing to cover his awkwardness.
"Incredible," Slughorn exclaimed, eyes widening. "As far as I know, there's no commercial supply of Felix Felicis on the market. Did he brew it himself?"
"Yes," Malfoy confirmed with a nod. "He brewed it and told me it's a potion of good fortune."
"I should have known! Remarkable things always seem so normal when it comes to him," Slughorn said excitedly. "That he managed to brew it doesn't surprise me in the least."
Felix Felicis was notoriously difficult to make. John had brewed it once in his second year and again in his fourth.
"Excellent answer—ten points to Slytherin."
Slughorn awarded the points with satisfaction before addressing the class in a lively tone. "This, my students, is a most curious little potion—extremely difficult to prepare, and one small mistake in the process can lead to catastrophic results."
He blinked conspiratorially, then added, "But if brewed correctly, it will look just like this—golden and radiant. For as long as its effects last, everything you attempt will succeed."
Terry Boot from Ravenclaw eagerly raised his hand. "Then why doesn't everyone drink it all the time?"
Slughorn didn't answer him directly. Instead, he turned back to Malfoy. "Perhaps you can tell us, Mr. Malfoy—what happens if one takes too much?"
"Overuse causes dizziness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," Malfoy replied promptly.
"Splendid, splendid! Another ten points to Slytherin."
By now, the points lost in Defense Against the Dark Arts earlier that day had all been earned back.
The rest of the class turned into an easy, pleasant discussion. Slughorn reminisced fondly about the two times he had taken Felix Felicis himself—saying, with a wistful smile, that those had been the happiest days of his life.
Once everyone's curiosity was fully piqued, Slughorn took out a small glass vial filled with shimmering golden liquid. "This bottle of Felix Felicis will be the prize for today's lesson."
The moment he said it, the students' breathing quickened. Every pair of eyes locked hungrily on that tiny vial.
That was precisely the reaction Slughorn wanted. With a satisfied smile, he began the practical portion of the class.
"Please turn to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We'll be brewing a Draught of Living Death. Whoever produces the best potion will win this bottle of Felix Felicis."
At his announcement, the classroom burst into motion.
Daphne leaned toward Malfoy and asked quietly, "How did you know what happens when someone overdoses on Felix Felicis?"
Malfoy shrugged carelessly. "Remember second year? John drank too much of it and went straight to Snape's office to drink poison."
Back then, Daphne had been taken away by Tom Riddle's diary, so she hadn't seen it herself.
But Malfoy recounting John's dark little history like that—wasn't he afraid of payback later?
...
Meanwhile, John had gone to find Hagrid to request some materials.
When he arrived at Hagrid's hut, he stopped silently at the door.
An old man stood before him—or rather, had just stepped out of the hut.
Seeing John, Dumbledore smiled kindly. "John, I believe you should have a Potions class today."
"What are you doing here, Dumbledore?" John raised a brow. "Oh, right—I remember now. You decided to stay at the castle."
"Yes, Horace was worried about people outside the school," Dumbledore replied mildly. "Perhaps an old fool like me makes for a decent choice."
"John, there you are!" Hagrid emerged at the sound of voices, beaming with delight. "You wouldn't believe it—Professor Dumbledore's staying at the school as gatekeeper! Isn't that brilliant?"
"Truly brilliant," John said flatly. "The greatest wizard of the century guarding the gate—what an honor for Hogwarts."
Gatekeeper. The title sounded more like something reserved for an old caretaker than the famed Headmaster of Hogwarts. Other than his age, nothing about Dumbledore fit the role. Even if the gate were made of gold, it still wouldn't suit him.
"Hagrid, I came to ask for some materials—to make toys."
Hagrid immediately remembered what John had mentioned that morning. He'd only just said it, and now here he was already. The efficiency—it was very John-like.
"I'll fetch them from the Forest!" Hagrid said, hurrying off toward the trees.
That left only John and Dumbledore by the hut.
John glanced at Dumbledore's singed beard and remarked, "I thought you'd be off chasing Grindelwald again, Dumbledore."
"Please, there's no need to be so wary," Dumbledore said, shaking his head calmly. "The school must be protected."
"The school? You sure you don't mean Harry?" John gave a cold laugh. "What are you really thinking, Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore's eyes, deep behind his half-moon spectacles, met John's. "The same question could be asked of you, John."
"Oh? You want to talk about the consequences of meddling with forbidden things again?" John's tone was cold. "You know all too well how Slytherin views certain matters—with indifference. If you're truly so free, why don't you go find him yourself—have another grand duel like you did in 1945?"
John let out a tired sigh. "Dumbledore, I've always thought of you as the greatest wizard of this century. Unfortunately, in this matter, you're nothing but an obstacle."
Dumbledore only shook his head gently. "I believe in you."
"Then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," John said curtly, refusing to return the courtesy.
The old wizard blinked slowly and tapped his temple with a finger. "Even a foolish old man has his own methods."
John took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to lose his temper—not against this man. Even without the Elder Wand, Dumbledore was still the most powerful wizard alive.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from muttering under his breath, "Old fox."
Just then, Hagrid returned, arms full of materials.
John accepted the supplies and left without another word. Every extra moment near Dumbledore felt like a battle of willpower he didn't care to fight.
...
Meanwhile, Harry, too, found himself intrigued by the bottle of Felix Felicis.
He opened his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, only to find, to his irritation, that its previous owner had scribbled all over the pages.
The blank spaces on the pages were just as dark and smudged as the potion diagrams themselves.
Harry lowered his head to study the list of ingredients.
All around the classroom, students were sneaking glances at one another's cauldrons. Even Daphne and Hermione were comparing their books line by line.
Steam filled the air.
As Harry worked on preparing his ingredients, he noticed a note scrawled in the margin by the book's previous owner:
"Crush with the flat of a silver knife—it releases the juice more easily than slicing."
He'd been struggling with his sopophorous beans for ages. Gritting his teeth, he decided to give it a try.
Then his eyes caught another line beneath it, written in a different hand:
"Twisting the sopophorous root by hand yields the same result. Add one extra drop to the cauldron to enhance the potion's potency."
________
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