Snape pulled open a drawer, took out a small vial of Felix Felicis, and tossed it to Arthur. He knew Arthur wasn't short on money, so this was his chosen form of payment.
Arthur caught it, eyeing the tiny bottle that held barely a single gulp's worth.
"That's it?" he asked, dissatisfied.
"One bottle every year," Snape added, "and if she ever needs anything, she may come to me."
"Now that's more like it." Arthur nodded in satisfaction and handed the Felix Felicis to Hermione.
Hermione, in turn, took a folded sheet of parchment from her pocket—the formula for the Gender Transformation Potion—and handed it to Snape.
Snape accepted it, waved his hand, and gestured for them to leave.
As Arthur reached the doorway, he suddenly turned and asked, "You're not planning to research how to extend its effects, are you?"
Snape said nothing. He simply flicked his wand, and the office door slammed shut.
When they returned to the common room, Arthur and Hermione found Harry and Ron sprawled lifelessly on the sofa, looking as though they had been thoroughly broken by life.
In just that short time, everyone in Hogwarts already knew the two of them had turned into girls.
Some mischievous souls had even given them new feminine names—"Harriet" and "Ronnie."
Every so often, students from other houses would drop by the Gryffindor common room—not for anything else, just to take a peek at the two of them.
Within Gryffindor, though, no one seemed particularly shocked. The only one who remained unbothered was Ranni, who was calmly reading in a corner.
To someone like her—a literal demigod—it wasn't strange at all. She could split her consciousness into male and female forms if she wished; she just didn't bother. Radagon was Marika's male form, after all.
And there was Miquella, another demigod, whose female form was called St. Trina.
The two lilies in the game—one for Miquella and one for Trina—were nearly identical, which was a clear hint.
Soon, Colin came running in, camera in hand, eager to snap a photo of the transformed pair.
Harry and Ron leapt up and pinned him down immediately.
Are you kidding? They had already been socially executed within Hogwarts—if photos got out, the entire wizarding world would know about it.
Spotting Arthur enter, the two of them rushed over to him.
"Arthur, please help us!"
Harry quickly explained the speculation he'd come up with that morning in the dorm.
After listening, Arthur spread his hands helplessly. "Can't help you there," he said, then motioned for Ranni to follow him out of the common room. He genuinely didn't know how long the potion's effects would last.
Hermione left with him too, though she turned back to smile sweetly at the two of them.
"This," she said, "is your punishment for losing all of Gryffindor's points last time."
Her words struck Harry like lightning, and everything suddenly fell into place.
He finally understood why this had happened.
It was Hermione's revenge.
No wonder she hadn't been angry when he and Ron lost all the house points—she'd been plotting payback, and it came so late he'd almost forgotten about it.
Harry hurriedly explained his realization to Ron.
Ron's face twisted in outrage. "How could she do this to us? That's outrageous! I'm going to confront her right now!"
He stood up, ready to storm off.
Harry's quiet voice came from behind him. "You're not afraid she'll just dose you again? Maybe this time you'll stay like that forever."
Ron froze mid-step, sat back down, and grumbled stiffly,
"Forget it. A gentleman doesn't fight with women."
That night, the potion's effect wore off—they were back to normal.
Apparently, Hermione's Gender Transformation Potion lasted only a day.
Harry was deeply relieved. The next Quidditch match was coming up in a few days, and riding a broom felt very awkward when… certain parts were missing.
A few days later, during the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match—
Slytherin, with their brand-new equipment, had the clear advantage and quickly took the lead, 90 to 30.
Harry barely had time to catch his breath when a Bludger shot toward him.
He dodged it in time.
"Watch out, Potter!" Wood shouted as he flew by—only to take his own advice too late. The returning Bludger smashed the handle of his broom, and he plummeted.
Harry couldn't even check if Wood was okay, because that Bludger had turned on him again—flying faster and faster, relentlessly.
From the stands, Hagrid bellowed through his binoculars, "Harry's being chased by a rogue Bludger!"
Arthur sighed beside him. No kidding, he thought. The thing was tearing through the stadium, smashing holes in the stands—anyone could see it was out of control.
He also knew exactly who was behind it—the Malfoy family's house-elf.
As the Bludger chased Harry for several minutes and none of the professors had yet intervened, Arthur began to wonder—has this kind of thing happened before?
And if so, why hadn't anyone thought to redesign these things? They were made of solid iron—getting hit meant minimum a fracture. A hit to the head could end a career—or a life.
"Cousin, please, help Harry," Hermione pleaded, tugging at his sleeve anxiously.
It wasn't that she didn't want to help—Harry and the Bludger were moving too fast. A single wrong spell might hit Harry instead.
Arthur sighed, drew his wand, and decided to solve the problem once and for all.
Locking his mind on the Bludger, he cast Reducto—and the iron ball exploded mid-air.
Harry turned toward the stands and gave him a grateful look.
At that moment, Draco flew past and sneered,
"Nice performance, Potter. Were you practicing ballet?"
Harry didn't even look at him—his eyes were locked on the Golden Snitch just behind Draco.
With a burst of speed, he darted forward. Draco flinched, thinking Harry meant to ram him, and swerved away—only to realize Harry had gone straight for the Snitch.
He turned and saw it too, and immediately joined the chase.
The two of them weaved through the air, speeding into a blind spot below the stands where the wooden scaffolding made the space tight and chaotic.
Just as Harry stretched out his hand to grab the Snitch—
another Bludger came out of nowhere and smashed into his arm.
That's right—there were two Bludgers in a Quidditch match.
Arthur, who honestly didn't care much about Quidditch, hadn't known that.
Harry gritted his teeth through the pain of a fractured arm, clutching the broom with his other hand to stay airborne.
Draco burst out laughing at his misery—only to slam the front of his broom into a crossbeam.
The impact flipped the broom, catapulting him into the air.
A moment before, Draco had thought smugly that since he was flying low, he'd probably just tumble a bit.
A moment later, he landed in a full split on the ground, sliding two meters forward for good measure.
Considering the Malfoys only had this one heir… hopefully Draco's future as a father survived intact. Otherwise, Lucius would have to "go again" himself.
When Harry flew back into view, clutching his broken arm to his chest, Arthur immediately noticed that another Bludger was chasing him.
Where the hell did that one come from? he thought, puzzled—but he didn't hesitate. Another Reducto blew it apart.
A second later, Harry snatched the Golden Snitch with his good hand—then lost balance and fell off his broom.
Fortunately, he landed in the cushioned sand below the pitch.
The match was over, and everyone rushed down to check on him.
(Wood and Draco: No one's gonna check on us, huh?)
Among the crowd, Lockhart ran fastest.
Arthur strolled along at the very back, hand-in-hand with Ranni. He knew Harry wasn't going to die—and he hated being part of a noisy mob anyway.
When he finally arrived, Lockhart had already managed to turn Harry's arm into something resembling a boneless chicken wing.
"Good news, my boy," Lockhart said cheerfully. "Your bones aren't broken!"
Hagrid, failing to see the humor, roared, "Of course they're not—there's no bones left!"
He looked ready to throttle Lockhart if Ron hadn't held him back.
"Come on, Hagrid, priority's getting Harry to the infirmary."
Hagrid nodded, scooped Harry up, and hurried off, with everyone else following.
"You should've come to me directly," Madam Pomfrey scolded as she poured a foul-smelling potion down Harry's throat. "Mending bones is far easier than regrowing them."
Harry gagged but swallowed the Skele-Gro.
"How long till I'm better?" he asked.
"By tomorrow," she said. "But tonight, dear boy, will be… agonizing."
Her sympathetic look made Harry's scalp crawl.
While everyone crowded around Harry, Arthur wandered over to another bed—where Draco lay.
Seeing him approach, Draco's two cronies started forward to shoo him away, but Draco stopped them.
He'd seen Ranni behind Arthur. If his lackeys annoyed her, they'd likely end up gone.
"Relax, Draco. Stop pretending—your father's already left," Arthur said casually.
Draco exhaled in relief—and sat up. Relief, because Lucius hadn't scolded him. Disbelief, because his father had actually left without a word.
As a school governor, Lucius had every right to attend Hogwarts matches—and of course, he'd come to watch his son's Quidditch debut.
But what he'd seen was Draco falling off his broom… in front of all the other governors.
Humiliated, Lucius had promptly left before anyone could mock him.
"Why… why did Father just leave?" Draco murmured, eyes downcast.
To Arthur, he suddenly looked like a lost child—one who had just realized the world no longer revolved around him.
And truthfully, that wasn't far off. As an only child, Draco had always been doted on, everything centered around him.
But at Hogwarts, everyone's attention went to Harry.
At first, Draco had wanted to befriend him—after all, the best should stick together. But Harry had rejected him outright.
That rejection festered into resentment.
Then, to make matters worse, Arthur, Hermione, and others consistently outperformed him in class.
Even his pure-blood pride had been shattered by Arthur before term began.
So he thought—if he could just beat Harry, everyone's eyes would return to him.
He'd persuaded his father to donate new brooms to Slytherin so he could join the team and challenge Harry directly.
And now… he'd ruined everything.
Worse, his father hadn't shown an ounce of concern.
He wasn't truly injured—he'd stayed in the hospital wing just hoping his father would come comfort him.
But Lucius was long gone.
"Why did things turn out like this?" Draco asked softly, eyes unfocused.
Arthur sighed. "Do you remember what I told you in Flourish and Blotts?"
Draco thought for a moment. "That only by becoming strong yourself can you earn respect and recognition?"
Arthur nodded, then looked over at Harry surrounded by admirers.
"And now I'll add this—only those who succeed will be noticed."
Draco hesitated, then asked hopefully, "Then… will you teach me?"
But this time, Arthur shook his head.
"You and I aren't even friends. I've no reason to teach you. I do have ways to get stronger fast—but you can't afford the price. Go to Snape. Isn't he your godfather?"
That was all Arthur said before turning away.
He'd only given this much advice because Draco happened to be Snape's godson.
Draco silently memorized his words. He'd go to his godfather—and next time, he would surpass Harry. He'd prove himself, no matter what it took.
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