HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 59: Draught of Living Death and Amortentia

Later that day, Hermione, her face full of curiosity, followed Draco closely until they stopped at the entrance of the Wizarding Spa Sanatorium.

"I didn't expect to be meeting another wizard today. Your explanation on the telephone was vague—you just told me to come see you. Is this gentleman the former Head of Slytherin House? And a Potions Master at that?" she said nervously. "Is it really appropriate for me to meet him dressed like this?"

She looked down at her black vest top and gray capri trousers. "Won't this seem too casual?"

Draco silently observed her vest—it had only two straps and left her shoulders uncovered. It exuded the youthful energy unique to young witches.

From a boy's perspective, those shoulders were soft and slender, with a graceful frame, making them somewhat captivating. But for visiting a Potions Master, it certainly wasn't very formal.

He looked her over momentarily, which made her blush slightly. He finally looked away, removed his black casual jacket, and handed it to her by the collar. "Here, wear this."

"Isn't this rather too large..." Hermione muttered softly, but her actions betrayed her as she slipped it on. The jacket was indeed somewhat oversized for her, but it unexpectedly had a relaxed, minimalist feel. Moreover, it seemed to carry a faint, refreshing scent that lifted her spirits.

"How do I look?" She spun in place.

"Not bad," Draco said, glancing at her. A satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

He didn't usually lend his clothes to others. However, she looked rather good dressed like this.

They then entered this hidden sanctuary. Though somewhat prepared, Hermione was still amazed by the vastness of the space.

"From outside, this is just a dilapidated little courtyard!" Hermione finally couldn't help exclaiming.

They walked along a lengthy corridor covered with lush vines and roses, with neat, verdant lawns on both sides. Not far away were luxuriously decorated thermal baths in ancient Roman style, and buildings dating to the Georgian period could be glimpsed in the distance.

"That's right. You know, they used Extension Charms. This place wasn't originally this large." As they conversed, Draco led her into another deep, quiet corridor. The temperature here was lower than outside, and the breeze created by their footsteps felt cool.

He knocked on the door at the corridor's end and listened intently. After a moment, he opened it for Hermione, gesturing for her to enter first.

"Welcome, welcome..." The portly Slughorn emerged from the inner room and warmly invited them to sit on the sofa.

"This is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Mr. Slughorn," Draco said. Hermione quickly greeted Slughorn.

"I've heard about your talent in Potions. Severus must be very proud, having two such outstanding students in your year?" Slughorn said, adjusting the plump cushions behind him with a contented smile.

"I'm not from Slytherin—I'm from Gryffindor," Hermione answered somewhat reservedly.

"Oh, that's perfectly all right," Slughorn said, giving Draco a quick, questioning look before addressing Hermione kindly. "I have many excellent former students from other Houses."

He waved his hand dismissively, stroking his walrus-like mustache, mentally rummaging through the family tree of all wizards with the surname Granger. "Granger... I wonder if you might be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"Sorry, no. I'm Muggle-born," Hermione said, slightly flustered. She turned to shoot Draco a furtive glare.

Draco—how exactly had he introduced her?

Draco silently returned a puzzled look—what had he done wrong this time?

Did this silly girl think she'd be unwelcome here?

Slughorn would definitely like Hermione.

Wasn't she a member of the Slug Club in his previous life? He, conversely, had always been excluded... He touched his nose guiltily.

"Children, don't be prejudiced against me! Do I appear to be a pure-blood supremacist?" Seeing the subtle change in their expressions, Slughorn shook his short, stubby fingers disapprovingly.

He strode to the desk not far away, held up the foremost photograph, and pointed it out to them. "Look at one of my favorite students—she was Muggle-born, and she was also in Gryffindor!"

In the photograph, a beautiful, red-haired witch smiled happily at them, her emerald eyes winking at Draco.

A strange sense of familiarity welled up in his heart.

Hermione held her breath and asked in surprise, "Is that—Harry's mother?" She'd seen some of Harry's treasured photographs of his parents, gifts from Hagrid.

"Yes, Lily Evans, a lovely girl. Exceptionally talented and charming. I always thought she should have been in Slytherin," Slughorn said with a regretful tone, like a shrewd collector who'd lost a rare acquisition at auction.

Hermione looked somewhat surprised.

"She later married James Potter and had Harry Potter. You know him, I gather?" Slughorn said casually.

"Oh, he's our friend," Hermione said.

"The friendship between young people is truly touching! I often tell people that outstanding individuals unconsciously gather together," Slughorn said, beaming as if lost in glorious memories.

Draco nodded humbly to Slughorn, though other thoughts swirled in his mind.

Harry must be the student this "collector" most wanted to acquire. Look at this calculating old man—you could hear his mental calculations from Bath to Hogwarts.

Slughorn looked very motivated indeed.

He led them briskly to the potions laboratory on one side of the room. There were several large cabinets with numerous drawers labeled with ingredient names, as well as several large worktables with cauldrons of various materials and sizes, brass scales, and various tools for processing ingredients.

He turned and glanced at Draco. "I heard you can brew Mandrake Restorative Draught independently? That's quite an achievement! But why did you even think to brew it?"

Draco gave a forced laugh. "I just happened to have some ingredients on hand, so I practiced. Because we're interested in Potions, we often dabble in small research projects outside class."

Slughorn remained noncommittal, then asked Hermione with interest, "And, Miss Granger, you brewed Polyjuice Potion entirely by yourself last school year?"

"Yes. You can just call me Hermione. I brewed the Polyjuice Potion out of curiosity..." Hermione smiled awkwardly.

Slughorn didn't pursue the question of its purpose; his curiosity lay elsewhere. "How long did it last?"

"Half an hour," Hermione said.

"Oh, Merlin's beard! That's quite an achievement!" He waved his plump hands exaggeratedly. "Draco, you never mentioned this! I thought a second-year student could only brew Polyjuice Potion lasting ten minutes at most!"

He looked at Hermione with admiration. "Half an hour! The quality of this potion is good enough to be sold in an apothecary!"

Hermione smiled sheepishly.

"You flatter me. I've heard that the most potent single dose of Polyjuice Potion can maintain its effect for twelve hours, but I'm still far from that!"

Her self-deprecating remark unexpectedly brought evident smugness to Slughorn's face, as if he were greatly pleased.

He glanced proudly at a cauldron where potions were brewing and asked casually, "So, at your current level, what sort of potions would interest you? And what would you like to ask me?"

"Felix Felicis," Draco said calmly.

"Felix Felicis?" Slughorn stopped, his large, watery eyes widening. "Do you know what this is?"

"Liquid Luck. One sip and you'll be fortunate all day," Hermione gave the textbook answer, unsurprisingly earning Slughorn's approving smile.

"Precisely. I had a tablespoonful with my breakfast when I was twenty-four, and again when I was fifty-seven," Slughorn said, seeming lost in wonderful memories. "Two perfect days."

Draco subtly pursed his lips; he'd heard that phrase before in his previous life. Hermione, conversely, looked longing and eager to try.

"Do you know the consequences of overdose?"

"Giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," Hermione said without hesitation. She'd already seen these warnings in the book Draco had in the Room of Requirement.

"You're not planning to use this in examinations or competitions, are you?" Slughorn looked at them suspiciously.

"Of course not." "Purely academic interest." Hermione and Draco said these words almost simultaneously.

"It seems you both know what you're about," Slughorn said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes gleaming as he adopted a troubled expression. "This is truly unexpected! This isn't a potion for students your age to study. Besides, the ingredients are difficult to procure, and the process is extremely complicated. If you make a mistake, the consequences could be dire..."

"The interesting aspect of advanced potions is that they're challenging to prepare, isn't it?" Draco said casually. "The ingredients can't be gathered quickly either. We simply want to know the details requiring attention during the brewing process."

"Children, I appreciate any pursuit of excellence. However, before I teach you how to brew this potion, I must test whether you have the ability to brew more advanced potions," Slughorn said, walking toward several cauldrons at the room's side. Strange steam rose from them toward the ceiling, accompanied by peculiar scents.

He pointed to the nearest cauldron, which bubbled lazily and contained some dark, sticky, mud-like substance.

"Can you tell me what this is?"

"It's Polyjuice Potion," Hermione said, giving the correct answer after merely one glance.

"Of course, Hermione—you can definitely recognize it since you've brewed it before!" Slughorn clapped his hands and laughed happily.

Initially, he'd been somewhat skeptical, doubting the authenticity of her brewing Polyjuice Potion. But after her answer, he believed this young witch had indeed brewed the potion.

"Mr. Slughorn, this potion—" Hermione examined the potion's color and asked curiously. "Can it maintain the transformation for an extended period?"

"Oh, I can't guarantee that. After all, everything is uncertain until it's completed," Slughorn said mysteriously, smiling approvingly at the potion's condition. "Of course, we all hope the drinker only needs to consume it twice daily, correct?"

Hermione nodded in awe.

They walked to the second cauldron, where a liquid as clear as pure water was simmering.

"And this one?" he asked with great interest.

"Veritaserum. A colorless and odorless potion that compels the drinker to tell the truth," Draco replied.

He'd seen this in his previous life. Umbridge had used it to pry open many disobedient students' mouths.

Moreover, last year in the Headmaster's office, Peter Pettigrew had also been mercilessly forced to consume it by Professor Snape in his presence.

"Excellent," Slughorn said with delight. "Extensive knowledge and accurate judgment."

They continued forward to a pure gold cauldron against the wall.

The potion inside shimmered with mother-of-pearl luster, and the rising spiral of steam emitted the most enticing scent Draco had ever encountered: chocolate, the aroma of some rose variety from his own estate, and a faint hint of green apple.

A surge of immense satisfaction washed over him. He breathed slowly, like an addict who'd finally found his fix, his mind reeling.

He heard Slughorn ask cheerfully, "So, children—"

"Amortentia, also called a love potion. It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" He heard Hermione answer enthusiastically. "Everyone smells it differently, depending on what attracts us. I can smell freshly mown grass, new parchment, and a faint scent of melon..."

Draco couldn't help glancing at her.

Hermione leaned forward unconsciously, getting closer to the cauldron to inhale it, a faint blush rising on her face.

She was in a blissful state. Her mind was bombarded by this intoxicating blend of scents.

Familiar yet elegant, fresh yet natural. She couldn't help taking another deep breath.

"Very good, Hermione. Be careful—this is the most dangerous potion in the room," Slughorn said gently, closing the cauldron's lid. Only then did Hermione come to her senses.

"Yes, it can't create real love. It merely incites powerful obsession and infatuation," Draco added, snapping from his reverie. This knowledge was nothing new to him.

"Mr. Slughorn, why are you brewing these potions?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Ah, it's purely a favor. Even the most skilled Potions Master will become rusty without practice. Besides, it adds interest to life, and also some Galleons," Slughorn said cheerfully, winking at him. "Who'd have thought retirement would make me busier than being Head of House at Hogwarts? I've told them numerous times I'm too old for this responsibility, but several apothecaries are still competing to commission potions from me."

"All right, let's return to business!" He cleared his throat and pointed to the book "Advanced Potion-Making" on the corner of the workbench. "The real test has arrived. Use the instructions in this book to prepare a Draught of Living Death. I don't expect you to brew a perfect potion, but the potion's effects will influence my assessment of your potion-making talents."

History was repeating itself!

Draco felt annoyed thinking of the horrible mess he'd created in his previous life.

Another attempt at using sopophorous beans to brew Draught of Living Death! This was truly alarming.

But that didn't mean he was unprepared. In fact, he was very confident.

A Malfoy would never make the same mistake twice. After that lesson, he'd consulted Professor Snape and learned a useful trick. Besides, those Potions notes Professor Snape had given him earlier hadn't been for nothing.

"How should we divide the work?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with nervousness, still recovering from the "Amortentia encounter."

"I'll handle the knife, you do the weighing," Draco said, picking up a small silver knife with a detached expression, a certain fragrance seemingly lingering in his nostrils.

"All right." She quickly looked down, checked the required ingredients and quantities against "Advanced Potion-Making," adjusted the brass scales and weights, and said after a moment, "The valerian roots are ready."

Draco took the bundle of valerian roots from her and quickly began chopping them, trying to make them uniform.

Hermione felt warmth on her palm where his fingertips had touched. She shook her hand and began pouring distilled water into a beaker using a graduated cylinder, then weighed the required amount of sopophorous beans using the scales.

She had no time to dwell on what was in her hand. She was busy crushing the bluish-green beans into a mortar. While waiting for them to break down, she diligently weighed powdered asphodel root on the scales, amidst the sound of the boy chopping valerian roots.

Slughorn looked around, examining the cauldrons still simmering with potions. He glanced sideways at the two people busy at the workbench, listening intently to their conversation.

"The beans are ready," she said.

"Then I'll start the fire." He waved his wand beneath the cauldron, and blue flames shot out.

"Beaker," he said simply. He reached out and took the bean mixture she handed him, tilted the beaker, and carefully poured it down the cauldron's side.

"The fire!" The girl peeked over the cauldron and reminded him.

"Don't rush—let it warm up," he said, setting down the beaker. He waved his hawthorn wand, and the fire intensified, turning orange-red.

She soaked the valerian roots the boy had cut into a beaker. "Very evenly cut," she said with satisfaction. Without stopping, she began pouring standard ingredient of wormwood infusion into a graduated cylinder.

"Of course," he said with evident pride, observing the pale blue steam rising from the cauldron. He reminded her, "It's the wormwood infusion."

"Here it comes." She took the cylinder and walked to the cauldron. After he waved his wand and tilted the cauldron forward, she poured half the wormwood infusion into it, running it down the cauldron's side.

"The other side," she said decisively. He complied and waved his wand again, tilting the cauldron backward.

"I'll do it," he suddenly realized, taking the remaining half of the cylinder, afraid she'd be splashed by the simmering potion. "You go weigh the sopophorous beans."

"All right. Remember to turn the heat to medium." She smiled slightly, turned around, grabbed a handful of lively, bouncing sopophorous beans from the ingredient cabinet, and returned to the scales.

Any experienced Potions Master could tell this was an exceptionally well-coordinated potions-brewing duo. Their roles were clearly defined and their work methodical. Slughorn was certain these two students must have collaborated frequently in Potions classes at Hogwarts.

At this moment, Hermione was evenly sprinkling powdered asphodel root into the cauldron, while Draco was filtering the valerian root infusion in the beaker with fine muslin.

"Hermione?" He looked up at her.

"The potion's turned lilac," she said, looking at his expression and answering knowingly. She flicked her wand, turning the fire back to a small, blue flame.

"Valerian root infusion," he said, handing her the dropper. "Be careful not to burn yourself while adding it."

"I know." She took it carefully, their fingertips touching, and her face flushed slightly.

Then, without blinking, she gently squeezed the dropper and counted the drops.

Draco glanced at her serious profile, smiled slightly, took the sopophorous beans she'd weighed, and began crushing the beans with the knife's flat side. A large amount of juice immediately seeped out.

"The potion's turned purple," she said softly, glancing at him.

He handed her the crushed sopophorous beans, saying, "Squeeze them one by one, extract the juice."

"It seems the book says—"

"Trust me this once—give it a try," he said, picking up a crushed bean to demonstrate.

Hermione squeezed it out, and abundant sopophorous bean juice dripped into the cauldron. The potion turned a pale lilac color.

"How's that?" There was evident smugness in his tone.

"Not bad," she said, glaring at him, feeling helpless at his unconventional methods.

Watching this smooth and effortless potion-making process was truly a pleasure, Slughorn thought.

This wasn't only because both were very skilled at handling potions, but more importantly, they knew what to do next with merely a word or two, or a glance. They even trusted each other completely, like a flowing composition.

Hermione was serious and focused, meticulous and rigorous in her operations, with strong execution ability. She had excellent control over the overall timing and step details. Draco, conversely, had a bold imagination and didn't completely follow so-called rules. However, his seemingly casual operations followed certain patterns and displayed maturity and skill beyond his years.

In Slughorn's eyes, these two were no ordinary students. He'd gained two talented protégés unexpectedly! Humming a tune, he strolled out of the laboratory with his hands behind his back, intending to pour himself a glass of fine mead.

At this moment, Hermione was extremely satisfied with the potion's color change in the cauldron.

"The last step," she said casually, picking up the stirring rod and preparing to stir the potion anticlockwise according to "Advanced Potion-Making."

One, two, three... When she was stirring for the seventh time, her hand was suddenly grasped—stopping her stirring.

"What's wrong?" She turned to look at Draco, puzzled, only to find his face inches away.

His pale gray eyes were fixed intently on her as he asked, "Hermione, do you trust me?"

"Of course." Her face flushed, then she said seriously, "Now isn't the time to discuss this—the potion's at a crucial moment—"

"Listen to me this time. Stir it clockwise once, then anticlockwise seven times," Draco said, gazing at her. "This potion is also very important to me. Trust me—I won't do anything reckless."

"You always improvise like this," Hermione complained, her heart pounding, her voice full of doubt. "You have absolutely no respect for books."

However, out of trust in him—his special handling of the sopophorous beans had just yielded good results—she released her grip on the stirring rod.

Draco was then able to take her hand and gently yet firmly turn it clockwise.

He said softly, "What's in books isn't necessarily correct. The more advanced the potion, the more you need to experiment yourself."

Hermione frowned, looking worriedly at the potion's color, trying to understand Draco's words' true meaning.

While she was distracted, Draco took her hand and continued stirring with seven anticlockwise motions and one clockwise.

To maintain his balance, he braced his other hand on the table to her left, almost encircling her in his arms—a position that was too close. So close that her face heated up, even felt hot.

In this situation, she completely forgot she should be arguing with Draco about stirring the potion, and instead became inexplicably nervous, suddenly recalling the scent of Amortentia she'd smelled earlier.

She must still be affected! Hermione thought, puzzled. Was the potion really that potent? While making potions, she'd had a vague feeling something was wrong, as if the scent was lingering around her.

Draco didn't notice Hermione's unease. He was intently leaning closer to the cauldron, anxiously watching the potion's color. After all, he was only theorizing using Professor Snape's notes and had never actually brewed the improved version of Draught of Living Death.

The room was quiet, save for the faint bubbling of the potion simmering in the cauldron. His face was close to her hair, and he caught a whiff of the faint scent of green apple—a scent that made his heart skip a beat. Just then, the potion changed from pale lilac to clear pink.

"It's done!" Draco laughed, ignoring the slight skip in his heartbeat.

He held her hand carefully until he removed the stirring rod from the cauldron and placed it in the beaker beside him. "Hermione, keep watch on it. I'm going next door to find Mr. Slughorn."

"All right," Hermione reluctantly agreed. Her mind was in turmoil, unsure whether it was because of his proximity and touch, or because of his haphazard potion-making process.

Slughorn, holding his half-finished mead, slowly walked to the cauldron to examine the results—a smile of surprise and delight spread across his face.

"Excellent! Wonderful! This Draught of Living Death you brewed is flawless! You are truly masters. I'll wager you're the most outstanding in your year," Slughorn said, finishing his mead in one gulp with satisfaction. He looked smug, like an antiques buyer who'd just acquired treasure.

"I'll make an exception this time." He blinked his watery, pale eyes, rubbed his ample belly contentedly, and said to them in an almost whispered voice, "You've come at the right time. I've just gathered enough ingredients for a small batch of Felix Felicis, and I'm going to brew it soon."

Draco and Hermione were instantly invigorated. They exchanged glances, seeing excitement in each other's eyes.

Slughorn continued gleefully, "There's no time like the present—let's do it today. Tonight at nine o'clock, you two will come and be my assistants. How much you learn depends on your aptitude!"