Chapter 592: Potion
Chapter 592: Potion
Before the students could shift their attention to Dumbledore, he had already left, just as abruptly as he had appeared.
Felix knew the castle was warded against apparition, making it impossible for ordinary wizards to apparate within its walls. However, there was no doubt that the Headmaster had special privileges. This time, Dumbledore was clearly in a hurry to confirm the sudden surge of magic in the castle, and he had used the power of the Phoenix to do so.
Felix had at least two ways to achieve the same result.
The first method involved using the magical abilities of magical creatures. He didn't need to transform into a magical creature; instead, he could convert the apparition-like ability into Ancient Magic, thus bypassing the castle's restrictions.
The second method was a bit more ingenious, requiring the use of a part of the castle's defense system—the Room of Requirement. This magical room was embedded in the castle's magic by Rowena Ravenclaw. Once Felix cracked part of its secret, he could indirectly gain access. In theory, as long as the Room of Requirement responded to him, he could use it as a transit point to jump around the castle.
The students in the office were visibly excited and energetic. Felix took out various sweets and biscuits to treat them.
"Are there any canary biscuits in here?" Fred asked nervously.
"You just reminded me", Felix said, waving his hand. Nothing happened, but Fred was clearly frightened, staring at the snacks on the small table without daring to reach out.
Luna picked up a ginger salamander biscuit, took a bite, and said, "I think this one isn't enchanted." She seemed to be trying to reassure him, but the others, including Felix, thought her words had the opposite effect. Fred became even more cautious.
"Did Headmaster Dumbledore just come by?" Harry asked uncertainly. "I think I saw him."
"He came and went", Felix said succinctly.
"Professor", Hermione couldn't help but ask, "why did Harry's Patronus change so much? Is there a trick to it?" The others looked over, curious about the answer. Harry was also eager to know and watched Professor Hup expectantly.
Felix thought for a moment and said, "Earlier, I suggested a hypothesis that the Patronus might have other uses. Some of you—" his gaze moved among them, "may have strong ideals and believe you won't give up, but in reality, these challenges haven't truly happened. Your 'resolve' is just an imagination."
"Potter is different from you. His belief isn't baseless; he has experienced those harsh dangers and setbacks. When he remains undaunted, that courage is very convincing."
The group quietly pondered his words. Harry blushed slightly, pretending to think, but his mind was blank.
Cedric asked, "Professor, can I understand it this way? Thinking you can overcome difficulties only gives you false courage and belief, while proving yourself makes that courage and belief real. The former might be worth encouraging, but... it's like a castle in the air."
Felix smiled and nodded at him.
"Think about it, how many vows have we made in our lives, and how many have we actually fulfilled", he mused.
"Few great achievements in history have been smooth sailing. They, too, had to taste the bitterness of failure, but what sets them apart from ordinary people is their choice after failure. Good heavens, if those people were wizards, their Patronuses wouldn't be too shabby."
In the evening, Felix picked up his quill to write a letter to his pen friend, who was often out of touch.
Starting with "I have a student", he wrote at length about his new discoveries regarding the Patronus Charm. Then, he shifted the topic to the Deathly Hallows by mentioning another student.
"...Of course, I'm not mocking you for using someone else's crest, but I am genuinely curious: have any of your followers raised objections? As a scholar, I must point out the risks: though the Peverell family was one of the first to disappear, this only means the male line was lost. The descendants of the three brothers could still be scattered somewhere. When they see their ancestors' crest being used as a symbol for a notorious organization, how must they feel..."
Nurmengard Castle.
"Annoying little brat!"
When Grindelwald read the letter, a month and a half had passed, and it was early May. Grindelwald's wrinkled face stared at the parchment with a strange smile. "Belief? Far from enough. You must burn yourself."
He turned his head to look at the house-elf.
"Bondy?" Grindelwald said softly.
"Grindelwald, sir."
The house-elf, Bandy, stood far away from the hard bed, bowing his head humbly.
"Why do you fear me? Were you warned by those 'sirs' about how cruel I am?
Little one, you have the right to know more.
Half a century ago, a man named Dumbledore and his group of followers tore apart my vast congregation—right when I was at the peak of my power, ready to set forth. A battle was inevitable. I lost. My magic was bound, and I was stripped of my innate casting abilities, unable to perform even a simple spell. I was imprisoned for half a century."
The house-elf's head lowered even further, his nose almost touching the ground. He couldn't remember how many times he had been warned by the 'sirs' of the International Confederation of Wizards. He had decided that if the man in front of him asked for help in escaping, he would turn and run without a second thought.
With a trembling voice, he said, "Sir, if you don't need a reply, Bandy will—"
"No, no, no, Bandy." Grindelwald said softly, stopping him.
"Your master was once my follower. Even when I entered this place, he remained loyal. Don't you want to know why you were sent here? Why the 'sirs' of the Confederation allowed your presence? They would rather see me starve to death."
"Your master and I shared a common cause. I was just... the one who stood at the forefront."
Grindelwald extended his hand. Bandy hesitated, but was eventually persuaded and slowly approached. Finally, their hands overlapped.
Grindelwald smiled, his youthful appearance long gone, his cheeks gaunt, his eye sockets sunken, and his teeth nearly all gone, making him look like a skeleton. He said to the trembling house-elf, "See, wasn't that easy?"
"Even though I am not your master, I imagine you were instructed to make me as comfortable as possible? I promise that my requests will not go beyond occasionally borrowing your eyes to observe the outside world..."
"I need you, just as I am grateful for your long-term care."
"Now, I want you to show me some of your magical abilities. I used to do better, but now I can only find solace in your casting."
Bandy breathed a sigh of relief and complied with the request. The house-elf did his best, conjuring all sorts of dazzling tricks. He finally stopped, panting, and Grindelwald thanked him, "If I ever get to see more, I will be very grateful."
The house-elf bowed and left.
The small, cell-like room was now empty except for one person.
Grindelwald raised his head and stared at the window—or what passed for a window, a narrow gap between the black stones. The night mountain wind howled, casting eerie shadows.
He was very familiar with everything here, even remembering the inscription at the entrance, "For the Greater Good", which he had inscribed himself. 'Nurmengard' was the name he had given to the prison he built for his opponents.
Ironically, after his defeat, he was not executed but imprisoned here.
Now, he was the only living person left.
His cell was at the top of the dark, grim fortress, on a tower. The view outside was unchanging.
To be honest, he was getting bored.
Especially with that little jerk outside, constantly baiting him with various pieces of information.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Grindelwald came back to his senses. He spread his palm and stared at the dozen or so thin strands of magic in his hand, which swam like fish in the palm-sized space.
It wasn't his own magic, but the magic he had just collected from the house-elf.
...
The graveyard in Little Hangleton village was desolate, with traces of the past battle still visible. The Ministry of Magic had sent people to repair the damage, but they couldn't restore it to its original state. This incident became another strange tale for the villagers.
"It might have been a beast—"
"Bullshit! I bet it has to do with the Riddles' deaths. They spent decades becoming ghosts and finally avenged themselves", Dot said in the Hanging Man pub, his leg propped up and his head tilted to one side, as he always did when drunk, spewing foul-smelling breath.
"You mean the dead gardener, Frank Bryce?" someone whispered.
"Who else? Thanks to the incompetent police, he was acquitted and lived for many more years. Think about it, the Riddles died so mysteriously all those years ago. I say, it was karma."
"What ghosts? Do you have any evidence?" The bartender, who didn't like his attitude, retorted, "Pay for your drink!"
Dot chuckled, "Don't change the subject!" He tilted his head to the other side and said mysteriously, "I do have evidence. I went to the graveyard behind the church, and little Riddle's grave—had been pried open!"
"Really?"
Someone jeered, "Did you make that up? Why don't we check now?"
"You won't see it now", Dot said regretfully. "It's been repaired."
As they spoke, someone had already taken advantage of the night to slip into the graveyard behind the church.
Bellatrix Lestrange's face showed a fanatical expression as she downed the potion in her hand in one go.
"Master—"
"Sleep, my dear Bellatrix", Voldemort said. "I will wake you before the final battle."
Bellatrix sank into a deep sleep, her madness gradually fading into calmness. She lay quietly in the coffin, her hands folded over her abdomen, clutching a golden cup tightly. Voldemort waved his wand, and the coffin lid closed. A series of alchemical symbols on it lit up one by one.
Voldemort waved his wand again, burying the coffin in the pit, covering it with thick layers of soil.
For the time being, he would remain here, guarding the spot until the day of the final battle. He was waiting, and if no one disturbed him during this period, he could risk separating from his Horcrux temporarily to face Dumbledore.
Dumbledore had grown weaker, and Voldemort could see it.
This good news completely overshadowed the shame brought by the traitor, Malfoy.
He knew how powerful his curse was. "Use the excuse of the lingering effects of the curse removal", Voldemort sneered, highly satisfied with Severus's work.
He deliberately chose the O.W.Ls exam period for the final battle, a time when all the professors would be at the school. Moreover, with Severus there, he would receive immediate news if Hep disappeared.
But would Severus alone be enough...
Voldemort's mind raced with various thoughts. From every angle, Severus was a loyal Death Eater, executing his orders perfectly. But Voldemort never trusted anyone, just as he never revealed the secret of his Horcruxes to any of his loyal followers.
Perhaps he should make more preparations... How about using the Wizarding Exam Board examiners as spies? With the Imperius Curse? No, the Anti-Theft Waterfall would prevent that. He needed a more subtle approach. He didn’t need help, just a way to ensure Felix Hep remained at the school.
And then there were the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic...
Voldemort began to devise various devious schemes.
...
After the start of the school year, especially after the first week of career counseling, the fifth-year students had only one thing left to focus on.
Preparing for their exams.
Felix could almost see the students becoming more self-motivated and diligent. It made sense; after the career counseling, each student had a goal or two based on their Head of House's advice.
Moreover, almost every professor, overtly or covertly, emphasized the importance of their subjects.
At some point, a simplified potion-making process began circulating around the school. Initially, young wizards didn’t believe it. According to past trends, this time of year usually saw the popularity of talismans, Brain Boosting Potions, and dragon claw powder.
But actions spoke louder than words, and a series of remarkable coincidences began to unfold.
Neville Longbottom, whose Potions class performance had been average at best, suddenly excelled, along with Harry and Ron, whose grades were also mediocre. This unusual behavior naturally caught the attention of the students and a certain professor. During one Potions class, he loomed over them like a ghost.
Harry’s forehead was drenched in sweat. He hadn’t made any moves for ten minutes, nearly chopping the daisy root to bits.
When Snape disappeared, Harry quickly opened his potion textbook. Inside was a piece of parchment titled 'Restorative Potion.' The writing was dense, but Harry knew the potion could be broken down into seven major steps and three stages.
He quickly read the content of the fifth step, which had a bullet-point summary: 'Enhance the effect of fire lizard blood.' He continued reading, and the new method was much simpler: 'Filter out the residue, stir counterclockwise twice, then clockwise twice, and slowly inject magic.'
Harry grinned. This was almost like a combination of Professor Hup's techniques and those of the 'Half-Blood Prince.'
He muttered a spell, and the parchment on the table quickly transformed into a sieve. He filtered twice, then stirred counterclockwise and clockwise twice, and injected magic. The potion turned a light blue.
Harry looked around; few others were at his stage.
Excited, he bent his head to continue reading the next part when—
"Potter", Snape's cold voice said, making Harry nearly jump out of his seat.
(End of Chapter)
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