novelraw Chapter 58: The Potions Master's Weakness
Chapter 58: The Potions Master's Weakness
Chapter Text
An antique silver letter opener slowly sliced through the gap in the kraft paper envelope, revealing a hastily folded piece of parchment inside.
Draco set down the handle with its intricate silver pattern, eagerly extracted the letter, and unfolded it to read.
Draco,
I was glad to receive your letter. No, I don't need any help right now. Ron's telephone call infuriated Uncle Vernon—he's never liked the way wizards use Muggle objects—and he's forbidden me from speaking to you by phone anymore.
Besides, Uncle Vernon has forbidden Hedwig from delivering letters, and she's going stir-crazy. I can only give this letter to your eagle owl. I can't write much; if he sees such a conspicuous messenger, he'll probably fly into a rage and board up my window.
P.S. Sirius plans to collect me at Grimmauld Place on my birthday. Will you come to visit?
P.P.S. The large bag of treacle tarts you sent was absolutely delicious, thank you!
Harry
Looks like next time he'd need to find a less conspicuous owl to deliver post.
Draco finished reading and poured some owl treats for the eagle owl standing regally by the window. She sniffed them, gave a satisfied hoot, and began pecking at the food slowly.
Sirius Black hadn't immediately gone to collect his godson and bring him home for a family reunion.
How peculiar! What was he doing?
Draco stared thoughtfully at the few lines on the parchment, his fingers unconsciously tapping the window frame.
The sound attracted the eagle owl's attention. She tilted her head and looked at Draco with a puzzled expression, seemingly uncertain whether she should continue eating.
"Guinevere, this doesn't concern you. Eat," Draco said gently, turning to settle back into the wooden Windsor chair.
It made sense. Sirius Black was assuming control of the Black family's considerable wealth—the treasures in Gringotts, the properties in various locations, the numerous investments in the wizarding world, and perhaps some unknown hidden assets... all of these required proper procedures.
As for Grimmauld Place, it was probably in such a dilapidated and neglected state that it would take considerable time to clean and prepare before Harry could move in.
What was his house-elf's name again? Kreacher?
Draco drifted into thought until Guinevere finished eating and hopped over to peck his fingers, pulling him back to reality. The eagle owl was in good spirits; she tilted her head, glanced at him, spun around, and flew out the window into the lush green garden.
Like Guinevere, Draco often spent time in the garden.
It was a private garden connected to the kitchen, planted with several oak trees and a large patch of roses. He'd even found some Malfoy Manor varieties there, which gave him a sense of familiarity.
The garden was part of the sanatorium suite where Draco was staying temporarily.
Lucius and Narcissa, as always, were willful and carefree, taking advantage of the summer holidays to enjoy themselves in South America, rather neglecting their son. As a result, Draco had been deposited at his grandfather's residence by these "runaway parents," where he'd been given a suite in the sanatorium adjacent to Abraxas.
The suite was adequate—from a holiday perspective. In the words of the smiling receptionist, "Here you have a sitting room, bedroom, study, garden, kitchen, and bathroom—everything a wizard needs for their holiday."
From an ordinary wizarding tourist's perspective, this was indeed a comfortable place to pass the time. The pale yellow walls of the suite complemented the dark brown solid wood furniture, echoing the pastoral scenery beyond the windows.
The room featured elements of traditional English architecture, such as intricate carvings and decorations, as well as the modern charm of herringbone flooring. Several potted broad-leaved plants were placed in corners, creating an elegant yet vibrant atmosphere.
The sanatorium's owners also possessed a good sense of humor. This was because Draco had discovered an old-fashioned rotary dial telephone—the kind only Muggles used—on his study desk.
What an unexpected bonus! The number on the coaster could finally be put to use.
Unfortunately, Draco hadn't yet found a suitable reason to try the Muggle telephone. Besides, he was busy replying to letters—earlier that day, he'd received one from George saying they'd developed a miracle cure for acne.
"We've already tested it on Ron's face, and it works brilliantly!" George had written.
Draco chuckled softly.
He took a sip of hot tea, pondered momentarily, picked up a white quill, and hastily wrote on the parchment:
"The progress on the acne remedy is satisfactory. We should also begin considering those magical hair care and cosmetics items. We probably need to send out another survey to determine what products witches need.
It's no use staying cooped up at home pondering this. Ask your female friends, your sisters, your mother, even your girlfriend. They'll all be our customers... Determine what will make them willingly empty their purses..."
For some reason, he suddenly thought of a certain girl. Her thick, unruly curly hair looked exceptionally lively when tied up; that hair had become so bright, sleek, and radiant at the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament—she must have used Sleekeazy's Hair Potion then.
But it had only happened once. Draco pursed his lips, trying to understand why the girl had abandoned such efforts.
Perhaps styling one's hair consumed too much time. A pragmatist like her would probably prefer to save time reading or busily applying ink to parchment with her quill.
"...Of course, it would be even better if we could improve upon existing products. We hope our products will significantly reduce the time witches spend on grooming, making it convenient, quick, and effective." He added this sentence.
Not that he found her curly hair unattractive. She looked adorable like this.
Draco was unaware he was smiling. He busily added his flourishing signature to the bottom of the letter.
The magical tea set provided in the suite automatically refilled with black tea, a wisp of steam rising from it. He stared at the cup in a brief daze, then pulled out fresh parchment and wrote in flowing strokes:
Ron,
Stop telephoning Harry. If you want to contact him, send a clever, quiet owl in the middle of the night, so his Muggle relatives don't discover it.
Draco
He called Guinevere back from the garden and handed her two letters. "Go find Ron, and his brother George or Fred. Be careful."
Guinevere rubbed her beak against his hand, then flapped her wings and flew out the large window. In moments, she became a tiny speck in the sky.
"Dobby," Draco said to the apparently empty room, "go and deliver something to your idol, Harry Potter."
With a sharp crack, Dobby the house-elf appeared in the room. He clenched his fists as if some cherished wish had come true, his bulging green eyes widening, his mouth stretching almost to his ears.
"My great, noble, and admirable young Master, Dobby is so happy!" he squealed, jumping and skipping, startling a sparrow that had just landed at the window.
"Where did you learn all these phrases? Quiet, Dobby," Draco said impatiently. His head was buzzing from Dobby's shrill voice.
Dobby's voice abruptly stopped, as if he'd been throttled. The small elf, though no longer speaking, continued nodding and swaying in place, secretly pleased.
Draco sighed, rubbing his temple with his left hand while quickly scribbling on parchment with his right: "Yes, I would love to visit you and Sirius. I've sent Dobby the house-elf to deliver this letter instead of an owl, so the Muggles won't discover it. He can become invisible. If you suddenly find this letter on your table, don't panic."
He handed the letter to Dobby and instructed him: "Go invisibly, and don't let anyone see you. Don't use any magic, to avoid causing trouble for Harry. Take the treacle tart and chocolate cake from the kitchen table to Harry. Return immediately after delivering them, and don't linger."
He had to bind Dobby with numerous rules. The elf was powerful and usually quite rational; however, regarding Harry, he'd become overexcited and sometimes act foolishly clever. Draco still vividly remembered last year's "Rogue Bludger incident."
Dobby nodded enthusiastically, his pointed ears fluttering as his large head bobbed. The small elf deftly collected the two parcels and vanished.
The room finally regained its desired peace.
Draco frowned, his gaze sweeping over the small pile of unopened letters on the desk.
Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Marcus Flint, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle... and several Muggle estate agents and investment managers...
He sighed softly. Replying was such a chore.
However, there were more important matters to address.
He placed the quill in a porcelain white inkwell, shook his hand, picked up a gold-wrapped gift box from the table, and walked out of his room.
He followed the long, winding corridor until he stopped before an antique, carved door. Draco knocked gently three times, waited patiently for five or six seconds, and finally Horace Slughorn's languid voice came from inside. "Come in."
Slughorn's room was large and contained an unusual amount of items. It was filled with overstuffed chairs, footstools, decanters, a piano, books, boxes of chocolates, and numerous plump cushions.
At the room's far end was a writing desk with a collection of gleaming silver photograph frames and a large stack of envelopes—all letters from his former students.
Looking at the seemingly chaotic yet orderly arrangement, Draco inexplicably recalled some distant great-aunts—those fastidious, sophisticated, elderly pure-blood witches.
Clearly this was a peaceful, comfortable space dedicated to enjoyment.
Slughorn sat in a slouchy armchair, smiling as he deftly unwrapped the gift box Draco handed him with plump fingers.
"Crystallized pineapple! I'll wager your grandfather told you about these, you sly fox! But this confection is truly to my liking."
He selected a candied fruit, placed it in his mouth, and squinted with pleasure. "So, what brings you to this old man today?"
"I'd like to ask you several questions about Potions, if you have time," Draco said, bowing slightly.
"One can never have too much leisure!" Slughorn said enthusiastically, gesturing for Draco to sit. "Ask away, I'll answer anything I know."
"Do you have any research on improved treatments for Dragon Pox?" Draco asked directly.
"Dragon Pox? Child, this is no jest—it's a deadly infectious disease." He paled at the mention and said firmly, "I don't wish to touch that subject. So many old friends have died from this illness... It's already miraculous that Gunhilda of Gorsemoor managed to develop even a modest treatment! Improving the remedy is no simple task. This research is difficult and even carries certain dangers. I've attempted it before and made absolutely no progress!"
He selected another candied fruit and, with a stern expression, advised Draco, "Try something else, boy. You're still young—don't aim too high. You're far from that level. There's no need to waste your youth on this."
Draco had anticipated his discouragement. For years, the Potions Master had made no progress in this area, and everyone considered it an insurmountable obstacle.
No one knew that several years hence, an improved potion would emerge, changing potion-makers' perspectives. However, Grandfather wouldn't live to see that day. The potion would appear a year after Grandfather's death.
It seemed that at this stage, this would require gradual work.
"Thank you for your kind advice, but I was merely asking out of curiosity," Draco said casually. "I'm certainly more interested in problems I encounter while learning Potions at Hogwarts."
Slughorn's expression softened. "Quite right. We need to be methodical and lay a solid foundation in potion-making before considering anything else."
Draco nodded, and noticing Slughorn wasn't offended, proceeded to ask about the Shrinking Solution, Skele-Gro, and Invigoration Draught—mainly regarding how to overcome the potions' side effects.
These questions restored Slughorn's amiable expression. He patiently answered them one by one.
"That's an excellent approach to improvement. Potion-makers usually only attend to the potion's effects while ignoring potential adverse effects on the user," Slughorn said, looking him over appreciatively. "How did you conceive of this?"
"Professor Snape improved the Mandrake Restorative Draught when brewing it, so patients could be spared the aftereffects of chills, stiffness, and fatigue. I was greatly inspired by that," Draco replied.
"Severus has always been quick-witted in this regard," Slughorn said approvingly. "Talented individuals consider these subtle questions, and that's the starting point for constant improvement."
Draco smiled knowingly. Then he heard Slughorn ask, "Any other questions? Are there no queries regarding the brewing of any particular potions?"
"Actually, if I may ask, I have a friend who's very interested in Potions. She happens to be in Bath these days. Could you please permit her to visit and seek your guidance?" He suddenly thought of Hermione and felt he should offer her this rare opportunity.
Slughorn hesitated momentarily, uncertainty flickering across his face.
Draco immediately added, "She's exceptionally talented. Last school year, she brewed Polyjuice Potion entirely by herself."
"Polyjuice Potion? Isn't that a difficult component of the O.W.L. examination? I recall that's only taken in fifth year, correct?" Slughorn asked doubtfully.
Draco thought to himself that this Potions Master, despite having been retired from teaching for so long, remained remarkably familiar with the curriculum.
"Yes, it's only required in fifth year. However, she'd already mastered it quite perfectly last year," Draco said casually.
Slughorn's eyes suddenly brightened.
A second-year student brewing Polyjuice Potion? Hogwarts truly produced remarkable talents.
"Oh, child, I would certainly welcome such a gifted young witch anytime! Please invite her!" he said suddenly with enthusiasm. His face revealed a sincere expression of eagerness to recruit talent, which amazed Draco with his ability to transform his demeanor.
"Thank you, I'll inform her immediately," Draco said with a smile, leaving Slughorn's room.
Slughorn was a true Slytherin. He was shrewd, opportunistic, and calculating. He was indeed, as Grandfather had described, an old spider who enjoyed collecting bright students as trophies.
His greatest strength was his emphasis on talent, but it was also his greatest weakness.
This meant he was easy to manipulate. Anyone wishing to penetrate his defenses could identify and exploit his weaknesses to achieve their own objectives.
For instance, Draco had persuaded him to accept another student with merely a few words. Even without knowing her, not even her name, or her family background and origins, merely hearing she "could brew Polyjuice Potion at such a young age" made him eagerly receptive.
In a sense, Slughorn was fair enough—talent was paramount. Draco thought absently as he walked down the long, dim corridor.
It wasn't solely about talent; this old man, adept at self-preservation, had his own principles. He avoided Death Eaters' children like Dragon Pox, even though Draco's Potions grades were consistently "Outstanding."
In his previous life, Draco had resented this, but now he'd released that grudge—that was simply how Slytherins operated; they chose the path most advantageous to them, and few were exceptions.
Even casual instruction from a Potions Master like him would prove immensely beneficial. Draco was contemplating how to maximize this opportunity rather than dwelling on past grievances.
Moreover, Slughorn had shown Draco another path for being a Slytherin: not all Slytherins had to align with the Dark Lord.
In his previous life, Slughorn had chosen Dumbledore's side. Shrewd as he was, he hadn't shirked his responsibilities. He'd remained behind during the previous life's great battle to protect Hogwarts, and drawn his wand against former Slytherin students—now Death Eaters.
This seasoned Slytherin had maintained his principles. His support for Dumbledore didn't mean abandoning his Slytherin nature. He'd skillfully balanced his personal beliefs with the greater good, forsaking neither.
If Slughorn could accomplish this, why couldn't Draco Malfoy?
He wanted to observe this master of politics closely and understand how he skillfully navigated such situations.
Besides, he could finally try that Muggle telephone number. Draco walked briskly back to his room, eager to locate the coaster.