novelraw Chapter 62: The Study of Wolfsbane Potion
Chapter 62: The Study of Wolfsbane Potion
"What is this?" Draco asked curiously, examining the small black object plugged into Hermione's ear with a thin wire attached. It looked somewhat like the Extendable Ears that Fred and George had invented.
They were sitting on a carved bench in a secluded corner of the sanatorium courtyard, enjoying some free time before their lesson with Professor Slughorn, so they'd come here to relax.
The azure night was serene, the lights on the lawn flickered, and the fragrance of roses filled the air.
"Oh, these are earphones made by Muggles. They were a gift from my grandfather." Hermione removed one of the round, black objects and handed it to Draco.
The round device had evenly spaced tiny perforations, and the word "SONY" was printed on the back.
"Is this the name of a Muggle manufacturer?" Draco guessed. He noticed the thin black cord eventually led to a small rectangular box, somewhat like a miniature wireless. It also bore the word "SONY."
"Yes. Would you like to try listening to it?" Hermione said with interest. "If you put it in your ear, you'll hear music—the sound quality is quite good."
"I have my doubts. It won't bite my ear, will it?" Draco examined it skeptically, then reluctantly inserted it into his ear as Hermione had done.
As soon as Draco fitted the small device, a beautiful melody reached his ears, followed by a gentle, affectionate male voice:
*Met you by surprise, I didn't realize*
*That my life would change forever*
*Saw you standing there, I didn't know I'd care*
*There was something special in the air*
Draco was astounded. This stubborn little contraption could produce sound quality that only a large, horn-shaped gramophone could match—something a wireless clearly couldn't compare to.
He glanced at the girl beside him in surprise. She was sitting on the bench next to him, smiling back with a hint of smugness in her eyes, as if to say, "I told you so."
*Dreams are my reality*
*The only kind of real fantasy*
*Illusions are a common thing*
*I try to live in dreams*
*It seems as if it's meant to be*
Under her smug gaze, Draco listened attentively, initially focusing only on the sound quality but gradually paying attention to the melody and lyrics themselves.
*Dreams are my reality*
*A different kind of reality*
*I dream of loving in the night*
*And loving seems alright*
*Although it's only fantasy*
Sitting on a bench with Hermione Granger, sharing Muggle earphones and listening to a Muggle song, was clearly a sign of complete irrationality.
*Some Muggle gadgets are barely tolerable,* Draco thought.
But this song was good. Perhaps that explained his erratic behavior and thoughts at this moment.
"What's the name of this song?" Draco asked softly, his expression somewhat dazed.
"'Reality.' It's the theme song from a Muggle film, sung by Richard Sanderson," Hermione said dreamily.
She was clearly absorbed in the song, leaning her head back against the bench with a carefree, innocent expression, smiling as she gazed up at the stars.
*If you do exist, honey don't resist*
*Show me a new way of loving*
*Tell me that it's true*
*Show me what to do*
*I feel something special about you*
Leaning against a bench instead of sitting upright wasn't in accordance with the etiquette Narcissa had taught Draco from childhood.
But for some reason—perhaps because the lyrics were so moving and the melody so beautiful—as if bewitched, he imitated Hermione, stretching his entire back against the bench, his platinum-blond head resting on the backrest, gazing up at the vast night sky.
He found this posture inexplicably relaxing and comfortable, as if some burden had temporarily slipped from his shoulders.
*Dreams are my reality*
*The only kind of reality*
*Maybe my foolishness is past*
*And maybe now at last*
*I'll see how the real thing can be*
A night breeze carried a refreshing fragrance. Draco couldn't help but turn to locate the source of the scent, only to find her with her eyes closed, lost in the song.
He dared not breathe too loudly, for fear of disturbing the song, the dream.
*Dreams are my reality*
*A wondrous world where I like to be*
*I dream of holding you all night*
*And holding you seems right*
*Perhaps that's my reality*
Another interlude. Hermione felt the night breeze and suddenly felt content. She turned her head, wanting to say something to Draco, but found his face close to hers.
She smiled lazily. He probably genuinely liked the song—look at those grey eyes, they were so bright now.
*Met you by surprise, I didn't realize*
*That my life would change forever*
*Tell me that it's true*
*Feelings that are new*
*I feel something special about you*
Just as she looked at him, his eyes keenly caught hers and met her gaze.
Those smiling eyes suddenly enveloped her like a gentle night breeze.
Hermione's smile vanished abruptly. She felt herself stiffen.
Just like when she'd been stirring potions at Professor Slughorn's place—that feeling of being surrounded by him, that chaotic sensation in her chest—suddenly returned.
This made absolutely no sense.
This song shouldn't make anyone feel stiff or confused.
*Dreams are my reality*
*A wondrous world where I like to be*
*Illusions are a common thing*
*I try to live in dreams*
*Although it's only fantasy*
The lyrics flowed through her ears like honey while he continued to gaze at her.
His expression shifted from rare ease to seriousness, as if she were some important potion-making problem requiring his expertise.
Hermione knew such a notion was utter nonsense. He most likely wasn't studying her at all.
He was probably either trying to decipher the lyrics or marveling at the incredible capabilities of these tiny earphones.
It had absolutely nothing to do with her.
*Dreams are my reality*
*I like to dream of you close to me*
*I dream of loving in the night*
*And loving you seems right*
*Perhaps that's my reality*
When the song ended, Draco straightened up, stopped staring at her, removed his earphone, and silently returned it to her.
He'd watched her expression change abruptly—from a smile to rigid discomfort—starting from when she'd looked at him.
Her stiffness was enough to make his smile a joke. They were just friends. Nothing more.
*Her trust in you doesn't mean she fancies you,* Draco thought. *She's starting to feel uncomfortable—you're getting too close.*
*Maintain distance. A distance that makes her comfortable. A distance that won't suddenly make her feel awkward.*
*Honestly, she's only staying here temporarily—she'll be leaving in a few days. Don't frighten her anymore. Cherish every moment together; there aren't many left to waste,* he thought wistfully.
Hermione stared blankly as she opened her palm to receive it. The moment his fingertips touched her hand, she sensed that the earphone seemed to have a slight electrical fault.
"It sounds beautiful," he said, suppressing a pang of melancholy. "Would you like to go back and get some water?"
"Ah, yes, I am… a little thirsty," she murmured, planning to return to that Muggle music shop another day to check whether the earphones had any electrical issues.
The boy and girl rose from the bench and walked quickly toward the corridor, remaining silent the entire way.
To break the awkward silence, Draco cleared his throat and asked, "What are your plans going forward?"
"I'm planning to stay in Bath a bit longer. I mean, it's Professor Slughorn's place—what a rare learning opportunity, isn't it?" Hermione's eyes lit up immediately at the mention of studying.
"Didn't you originally plan to stay only a few days?" Draco asked, surprised.
"I want to wait until the Felix Felicis is brewed before I consider anything else," Hermione said cheerfully.
"The preparation of Felix Felicis won't be fully completed for another month. Are you certain about this? What about your trip to France?" Draco asked skeptically.
"I've convinced Mum and Dad to postpone our trip to France. Mum's all right with it, but Dad seems a bit disappointed—he was planning to spend all of July traveling around southern France, buying tripe from that French butcher's stall we visited last time, or touring those towns, historical sites, gardens, and so on… Grandfather, on the other hand, is especially pleased—he always hopes we can stay with him for ages…" Hermione complained half-jokingly, though her expression was quite cheerful.
"Yes, I can't imagine anyone happier than your grandfather," he said softly, a slight smile playing on his lips.
This was exactly three days after they'd first brewed a potion together. They had a quick drink and then proceeded to Professor Slughorn's potions room to continue their work.
After plucking petals from a pot of Sopophorous beans, Hermione prepared to add twenty-three fresh petals to the potion's surface.
"Children, don't throw all the petals in at once," Slughorn reminded them with a smile. "We must add them one petal at a time, and only add the next petal when the previous one has settled to the bottom. Do you know why we do that?"
"So we can better observe the potion's color change?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"We're close to the correct answer. Any further explanation?" Slughorn asked Draco.
Draco glanced at the half-bare Sopophorous plant and pondered. "Although Sopophorous beans are small, it doesn't mean their petals are all identical in size. So we need to decide whether to add more or less based on the potion's color change..."
The portly old wizard clapped his hands and said excitedly, "Exactly! The more vague the quantitative description, the more we need flexibility in observing the potion. Due to the passage of time, we no longer know the size of the Sopophorous beans used in the first batch of Felix Felicis, and the sizes of related ingredients have also changed slightly. Errors often begin appearing at this stage."
He observed the fleeting comprehension in the eyes of the two students before him, knowing they understood his meaning, and continued speaking seriously. "In this sense, the quantity of ingredients needed for each batch of Felix Felicis is unique, and each brewing requires careful observation. Therefore, we must be extremely attentive with descriptions such as 'a few drops' or 'a few petals.'"
The two nodded, treasuring this advice as if it were a priceless gem.
Such a delicate potion certainly couldn't tolerate the slightest carelessness. Draco and Hermione leaned their heads together, taking turns adding petals to the potion while intently observing them slowly sink into the crimson liquid.
When they added the twenty-second petal, they were surprised to find the liquid had turned green.
Slughorn was unsurprised. "I suspected as much—the petals were indeed larger than usual. We've encountered Sopophorous beans in bloom, which is their peak season, and this year's climate has been perfect for their growth. If it were winter, they'd probably require a few more petals."
Draco noticed Hermione was quickly scribbling in her small notebook.
Typical Hermione Granger—as always, eager to learn.
"The work from now on will be much easier, nothing too strenuous. Just check the potion's condition every evening, stir it seven times clockwise and twice counterclockwise. It simply takes time—about twenty-five days." Slughorn settled into his favorite armchair, sipping the oak-matured mead Draco had recently given him, and said with a beaming smile. "It might get somewhat tedious during this period. Are there any potions you'd like to learn from me?"
"Any potion at all?" Hermione asked curiously.
"As long as I know how to brew it." Slughorn blinked his round eyes at them.
*What else could this girl possibly request?*
*Could it possibly be more challenging than the Felix Felicis that Draco demanded?* Slughorn thought smugly.
"Well then, sir, I would like to learn how to prepare Wolfsbane Potion. I saw it in next year's textbook, and it's said to be extraordinarily difficult to brew," Hermione said eagerly.
The suggestion made Slughorn cough, but his eyes held newfound respect. "You'll be studying werewolves next year, correct?"
Seeing Hermione nod, he couldn't help but laugh. "Hermione, you certainly know how to challenge this old man! My students are all so demanding, always choosing the most difficult potions to learn from me!"
He patted his balding head theatrically, not angry at all but rather looking quite pleased. "Since you've mentioned this potion, you should know who invented it, correct?"
"Wolfsbane Potion was invented by Damocles Belby in the 1970s, during the First Wizarding War," Hermione answered confidently.
"Precisely—Damocles Belby. Perhaps I haven't mentioned it, but he's also one of my favorite students, an exceptionally talented wizard. He absolutely deserves his Order of Merlin, First Class." Slughorn spoke with great relish. "I imagine he spent considerable time perfecting this potion."
"On that note, sir, I think his achievements are inseparable from your guidance as a Potions Master," Draco promptly flattered him, fueling Slughorn's desire for self-aggrandizement and vanity.
Upon hearing this, Slughorn couldn't help but reveal smug pride. He slowly stroked his velvet smoking jacket, his light green eyes gleaming in the dimly lit potions room.
"In recent years, not many wizards have researched Wolfsbane Potion, because it's rarely used by ordinary wizards. Fortunately, I discussed potion development with Damocles long ago, and later corresponded with Severus to discuss related improvement methods. Moreover, looking across the wizarding world, there are very few who can gather those rare materials as I can." He spoke slowly, as if to whet his audience's appetite.
Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance—it seemed promising.
However, Slughorn changed the subject, his smugness turning cautious. "But before you understand Wolfsbane Potion, you must first learn how to prepare Strengthening Solutions, Invigoration Draughts, and Calming Draughts. They're relatively simple to brew and form the foundation for understanding Wolfsbane Potion."
*Relatively simple?* No one could call these three potions simple. Any one of them was comparable in difficulty to an O.W.L. examination! Draco thought.
Hermione listened intently, holding her breath. The teaching of Wolfsbane Potion had begun at this moment.
Draco admitted he was very pleased with Hermione's suggestion.
Given his true potion-making skills, if there were any complex potions worth the effort to learn, Wolfsbane Potion would definitely rank among the top.
Werewolves would always be another nightmare in Draco Malfoy's heart.
He'd never forgotten the grotesque face of Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf leader, his mouth full of fangs. In his memory, Greyback had captured Hermione and brought them to Malfoy Manor. He'd even wanted to eat her, that filthy creature!
Although Draco in his past life had always proclaimed that Greyback was a family friend, it was merely a tactic to intimidate others. He genuinely loathed Greyback. He genuinely loathed werewolves.
Werewolves were always fraught with danger—once they transformed, they became ruthless and unrecognizable even to their own family. Draco would never consider befriending any werewolf. It would be tantamount to suicide.
Slytherins abhorred risk above all else. Draco avoided all risk entirely.
That said, Draco hadn't forgotten Remus Lupin, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who would arrive in their third year. Even though he seemed gentle, that didn't change the fact he was a werewolf.
*I truly don't understand what Dumbledore was thinking, letting such a dangerous creature become a professor at Hogwarts.*
*Shouldn't the personal safety of so many innocent students be considered?*
However, Remus Lupin was indeed different. He'd never belonged to the Dark Lord's camp. He was the only werewolf to stand with Dumbledore. In his past life, he'd never harmed anyone at Hogwarts. Thinking back, Lupin disappeared every full moon, probably hiding somewhere to transform—perhaps in the Forbidden Forest.
Another possibility was that Professor Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts, brewed him Wolfsbane Potion, keeping him in human form though weakened, hiding somewhere, waiting for the full moon to pass.
Draco pondered these possibilities, watching the young witch before him diligently recording Slughorn's words, lost in thought.
The following month was busy and fulfilling.
Hermione no longer needed to stay out until midnight—simply stirring the potion took no time.
She usually returned to her grandfather's house by half past nine—Draco often took on the responsibility of escorting her home.
Hermione's grandfather would sometimes see the boy through the window from his leather armchair in the sitting room.
The boy was always dressed impeccably and would walk her to the doorstep punctually. He would stand patiently at the iron gate and bid her farewell for approximately fifteen minutes.
"You go first," the brown-haired girl would often say, kicking a small pebble with her foot, hands behind her back.
"You go first," the platinum-blond boy would respond lazily, hands in his pockets.
"I want to watch you leave before I go in." At this point, the girl would raise her head, her tone slightly willful.
"No, I promised Monica I would walk you all the way to the door," the boy said stubbornly, tilting his head to look at her.
"I'm already at the door," she said helplessly, somewhat exasperated by his persistence.
"You haven't gone inside the house," he remained firm, a fleeting smile playing on his lips.
The same scene seemed to play out nightly. It eventually became somewhat tedious, yet they still enjoyed it immensely.
Eventually, the old man lost interest in "observing their behavior and eavesdropping on their conversations."
Three times weekly during the day, the boy would ring his doorbell and escort her to study with the retired professor named Slughorn.
The old man asked in bewilderment, "Hermione, does a child like you really need summer tutoring?"
"Of course! There's no end to learning!" his granddaughter responded enthusiastically.
She would always wait in the sitting room early, gazing through the window with tireless anticipation, fearing that a sudden downpour in Bath would drench the boy's immaculate clothes.
Three times weekly, they would visit Professor Slughorn to learn how to brew advanced potions such as Strengthening Solutions, Invigoration Draughts, and Calming Draughts.
The difficulty of preparing these potions was quite high for wizards about to enter their third year.
"A Calming Draught is a potion used to soothe and calm agitated emotions…" Hermione's clear voice rang out as she answered Slughorn's question.
"Correct—you're supposed to learn it in fifth year. It frequently appears in Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations, and students always complain that the Draught is difficult to brew. But I think, with your abilities, it'll require only modest effort," Slughorn said, then suddenly clapped his hands excitedly. "So, let's begin brewing! This time, you'll work separately, turning cooperation into competition—how about a contest?"
If you believed this Potions master's claim of "modest effort" was accurate, you'd be rather naive. Even Draco, a wizard who'd already experienced the full spectrum of O.W.L. examinations, still found this potion incredibly troublesome.
Brewing this potion required extreme precision. You had to add ingredients to the cauldron in strict order and correct quantities; you had to stir the mixture a specified number of times, neither more nor less, first clockwise then counterclockwise; when the cauldron boiled, the flame's temperature had to drop to a specific level, neither too high nor too low, and be maintained for a specific duration.
But Hermione, a genuine thirteen-year-old witch, remained silent and persevered through gritted teeth. She carefully added the final ingredient to the cauldron, and immediately faint, silvery-white vapor rose from it.
"How did you manage that?" Draco asked, somewhat astounded. "You succeeded on your first attempt?"
"Didn't you succeed on your first attempt?" She turned and looked at him suspiciously. "What, do you look down on witches? Don't you believe I can do it?"
But he hadn't succeeded on his first attempt. In his past life, the first time he'd brewed a Calming Draught, all he'd produced was a lump of congealed sludge. But this was her very first time.
"I didn't mean to underestimate you at all. You're brilliant—far more brilliant than I am." Draco wiped fine perspiration from his forehead, a small look of pride on his face.
"You're brilliant too," she said with a smile, accepting his praise without reservation. "I think we're both excellent. Don't listen to Professor Slughorn—we've never been rivals, we're partners."
"Partners?" He couldn't help but smile at her.
"Of course. My best study partner!" she said happily, beaming at him. "A very precious study partner—you'd be hard-pressed to find another like him in the world."
"That's right." He didn't know whether to feel pleased or disappointed, so he could only lower his head and begin bottling the Calming Draught, muttering to himself. "I'm satisfied with just this. It's good."
That evening, Slughorn again invited them to dinner at his favorite restaurant. Draco found that the better they performed during potion-making, the more talkative Slughorn became.
After several meals, they'd become familiar with the names of many of Slughorn's former students.
For example, Dirk Cresswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, was also a Muggle-born student whom Slughorn considered highly talented.
For example, Barnabas Cuffe, editor of *The Daily Prophet*, was always very interested in hearing Slughorn's views on current affairs.
They also learned that Ambrosius Flume of Honeydukes would send Slughorn a gift basket every year on his birthday, and that Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, would often give Slughorn complimentary tickets.
Slughorn would also frequently probe into Harry Potter's recent activities. They weren't surprised—whether because of Harry's mother, Lily Evans, or because of Harry's own legendary survival story, he wouldn't relinquish such a "distinguished student."
Draco and Hermione both chose to tell him only what the general public already knew: that Harry was the youngest House Seeker, that he was very popular at school, and that he'd bravely rescued the students trapped in the Chamber of Secrets.
Slughorn listened with great interest, occasionally letting out exaggerated exclamations.
"We still don't understand why Professor Snape dislikes him so intensely." When Slughorn was tipsy and getting carried away, Hermione casually mentioned Professor Snape's attitude toward Harry and couldn't help but look puzzled. "Harry has never done anything to offend Professor Snape."
Draco lazily raised his head, listening with little expectation—how could anyone possibly understand Professor Snape's true thoughts? He was a highly skilled Occlumens.
"Oh, I happen to know something about that." Slughorn leaned back in his chair, slightly inebriated, and said indistinctly. "At school, James Potter and Severus never got along, and in the end, James Potter married Lily… she was Severus's childhood friend."
Draco and Hermione quickly locked eyes, and witnessed the shock reflected in each other's pupils.
"I never knew Professor Snape had such a past," Hermione couldn't help but break the silence as they walked side by side on a cobblestone path bathed in moonlight.
This was the route Draco took to escort Hermione home. The streets were deserted now, with hardly any tourists remaining.
"I was shocked too. This explains so many questions, such as why Professor Snape never uses Sleekeazy's Hair Potion…" Draco was still reeling from the shocking gossip.
"I don't quite understand what you mean," Hermione looked puzzled. "What does this have to do with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion? Your thinking is far too tangential."
"Sleekeazy's Hair Potion was invented by Harry's grandfather, Fleamont Potter. He certainly wouldn't support his rival's business," Draco explained.
"That makes sense," Hermione said, dumbfounded. "However, I didn't intend to consider this from a commercial or business perspective. While it makes perfect sense, I don't think that's the point."
"What's the point? That Professor Snape doesn't hate Harry—he just hates James Potter, who looks nearly identical to him, through Harry?" Draco asked pointedly.
"Yes, that's what I think. I believe he's somewhat too prejudiced," Hermione said.
*Poor Harry…* Draco couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
"It's best not to make this public knowledge," Draco said after a pause, "if you don't want Professor Snape to poison your pumpkin juice."
"Agreed. It's best not to dwell on such old matters. However, I might mention it to Harry," Hermione said thoughtfully. She studied the boy's enigmatic face in the moonlight. "By the way, Draco, what do you think Professor Snape's feelings were toward Harry's mother?"
"I don't know," Draco said softly, his eyes blinking uneasily.
"He might hate her. After all, she married his enemy, which is practically a betrayal from Professor Snape's perspective, isn't it?" Hermione pressed.
"But do you remember in first year, Professor Snape used a protective counter-curse against Quirrell during a Quidditch match?" Draco said, glancing at her. "Later, I researched and learned that those kinds of protective counter-curses consume considerable magic, and if overused, the damage to a wizard's magical core is irreversible."
Unsurprisingly, he witnessed Hermione's slightly surprised expression. He stopped, gazing into her eyes that shone in the moonlight, and said gently, "If you truly hated someone, you wouldn't go to such lengths to save their son, would you?"
"So you think he loved her?" Hermione asked, staring into his usually indifferent grey eyes, which she sensed held a hint of tenderness.
Her words stunned Draco.
*Love?*
He suddenly thought of Professor Snape's perpetually gloomy, pale, and stern countenance, as if he'd never understood what love was.
If he'd ever loved her, then all of Severus Snape's stoic, awkward, eccentric, and withdrawn behavior, and his perplexing acts of "feigning hostility while secretly protecting," finally seemed to have a reasonable explanation.
"It's difficult to say. But I think he probably never wanted her dead." After a long silence, Draco lowered his eyes and stared at the pale, uneven cobblestones.
"I'm talking about love, and you're talking about death. I simply don't understand what you Slytherins are thinking!" Hermione exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated. She looked at him momentarily, but the boy stubbornly refused to look up at her. So she shook her head and continued walking.
Draco silently followed her.
*Love.*
Putting himself in Snape's position—what if he loved her?
He could probably barely, bitterly, painfully accept that "she doesn't love him," but he could never accept that "she will die."
Moreover, killed by his own master's hand.
If that day ever came, he wouldn't hesitate to betray the Dark Lord.
On the narrow, quiet street, Draco slowed his pace, watching her oblivious form walking briskly ahead, and couldn't help but think.