John's daily schedule had no pattern at all.
Sometimes he appeared in the Forbidden Forest, sometimes in a random class.
Headmaster's office.
Slughorn poured tea into a milky white bone-china cup, the rising steam drifting gently upward.
"A perfect potion." He set the teacup beside the cauldron and praised, "I daresay no one has ever attempted something this bold."
"Practical Potioneers would be thrilled to publish this result," Slughorn continued. "This 'universal potion.'"
He offered John advice and was even willing to call in a favor so the magazine would feature the work.
In his view, young people could never resist the temptation of fame.
Unfortunately for him, John was not an ordinary young man.
"No, professor. This formula still isn't complete." John filled a small sample vial with the potion from the cauldron.
He gave it a shake, checking whether the green liquid separated.
Layering was the key indicator of whether the components had fully merged.
"Why?" Slughorn asked in confusion. "You've just invented a 'universal potion' that combines blood-stopping, detoxification, enhancement, and curse-breaking effects. You should let everyone know."
Slughorn had watched its creation from start to finish.
He knew better than anyone how astounding the boy's talent was, which only made Slughorn more desperate to claim this "treasure" for his collection.
But John was completely unmoved, making Slughorn feel like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way—restless and frustrated.
He could swear that if he let this child slip through his fingers, he would regret it all the way to his grave.
John thought for a moment, then answered with a quiet laugh, "Because this is just a by-product. What matters most to me is finding a way to break the Bloodborne Curse."
He closed the vial and looked at Slughorn. "Before reaching the destination, everything along the way is just scenery."
Slughorn froze, tea cup in hand, staring at him blankly.
In that moment, he understood—life always leaves some regrets.
Someone whose eyes are fixed solely on the destination will never become anyone's "collection."
"…Very well. I can't convince you," Slughorn said, defeated yet convinced. "But you must at least give it a name."
"Call it the Emerald Potion."
John poured the remaining brew into a larger bottle; its color gleamed like polished jade.
"Glass may be dazzling, but emerald is far sturdier," John said, sealing the bottle. "Besides, I like that shade of green."
"I'm hosting a party before Christmas," Slughorn called after him. "I'd like to invite you."
"As a student?" John asked.
Slughorn lowered his hands, clearly waging an intense internal battle, and finally compromised. "A friend—pen pals, even. Please, John."
"I'll be there," John said, giving him a respectful bow. He smiled lightly. "I'll bring a bottle of oak-aged mead. I hope you'll enjoy it, Professor."
"I'll look forward to it," Slughorn said, his large belly swaying as he watched John leave.
Geniuses always made it hard to stick to one's principles.
Even becoming Headmaster hadn't changed how strongly Slughorn was drawn in.
…
The conflict between Snape and Sirius didn't end.
It finally erupted.
That morning, Slytherin had just finished an Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson—and promptly lost ten points.
Looked like Sirius had actually shown restraint.
Snape retaliated by giving Harry detention for talking back in class.
That, naturally, set Sirius off.
"Snot-nose!" Sirius shoved open the door to Snape's office, pointing straight at Snape's hooked nose. "You'd better cancel Harry's detention!"
Snape calmly continued arranging ingredients on his shelf.
Sirius stood there, face black with fury, waiting for him to finish.
Climbing down the ladder, Snape said in his most cutting tone, "Sorry, but I don't see how this matter concerns you."
"After all, this is a decision for the Head of House. And you…" Snape cast Sirius a cold, dismissive look. "You are not Gryffindor's Head of House."
One sentence.
Sirius's authority crushed instantly.
"I'm warning you!" Sirius snarled, eyes blazing. "Don't think I don't know what you're plotting. You want Harry to miss the Quidditch match!"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," Snape said mockingly. "Or do you imagine Potter could change anything?"
"Slytherin has eleven consecutive victories." Snape's smile turned razor-sharp. "That result won't change because of anyone."
"Harry is just like James—he's the best Seeker!" Sirius snapped.
"Eleven consecutive victories," Snape drawled. "Shall I remind you that 'consecutive' means not a single loss?"
"Severus!"
"Don't call me so intimately. I'm not your anything," Snape said icily, fingers already drifting toward his wand. "Leave my office, Professor Black."
Sirius had already drawn his wand.
…
"You're in detention?"
Professor McGonagall's voice shot upward.
The first match of the school year was almost here—and Gryffindor's Seeker was in detention?
"I'll have Severus adjust the timing," she said, lips pressed into a thin, stern line.
"Thank you, Professor." Harry let out a breath of relief.
He hadn't meant to talk back to Snape in class, but Snape had noticed he'd added extra ingredients to the original recipe.
Snape stood beside him making snide, needling comments, and Harry—unable to hold it in—talked back.
The result was point deduction… and detention.
And of all days, the match against Slytherin was on Saturday.
As Harry's best mate, Ron muttered conspiratorially beside him, "Maybe Snape's scared Slytherin will lose."
Harry was so worried he couldn't even eat properly.
McLaggen, ever the show-off, strutted over and said smugly, "Don't worry. I'll block every single shot."
Harry nodded half-heartedly. He really didn't like this guy.
Too bad Ron hadn't become Keeper.
Hermione came rushing back, panic written all over her face.
"Something's wrong—Snape and Sirius are fighting!"
"What?" Harry froze.
His godfather and Snape… actually fighting?
His body reacted faster than his brain—Harry grabbed Hermione immediately. "Where did you hear that?"
"From Professor McGonagall. She arrived just in time to see them fighting. Katie Bell was accidentally hit."
Harry went completely blank.
Katie was a Chaser—and the match was coming up fast.
Now they were one Chaser short?
Katie was sent to the hospital wing.
Neither professor had tried to kill the other, but that Bat-Bogey Hex had knocked Katie hard enough to hit her head.
She wouldn't recover within the week.
Slughorn stepped in to handle the matter—he never would've imagined two grown professors would brawl over something as trivial as detention.
And worse, they'd drawn wands and injured a student.
Professor McGonagall's face had gone pale. Had she not seen with her own eyes that the spell was deflected from Sirius, she might have suspected Snape had intentionally targeted Katie.
"Potter, you must find a replacement immediately."
As a die-hard Quidditch fan, McGonagall's first thought upon hearing Katie couldn't play was to have Harry find someone to fill in.
But in such a hurry—where could he possibly find someone?
Suddenly, an idea flashed across Harry's mind.
…
Because of the accidental injury incident, Harry's original detention was quietly dropped.
"Come on, mate, seriously?" Ron looked stunned when he heard Harry wanted him as a Chaser.
"I'm not joking," Harry said helplessly. "Katie won't be back for a while. You've been watching all our tactics with us, and you played last year."
"But… I didn't pass the selection." Ron was actually a little pleased inside, but his stage fright made him unsure.
"You're training tonight. Seven o'clock," Harry said firmly, leaving no room for refusal.
Ron beamed at the others and said with exaggerated modesty, "Well… nothing I can do, right?"
Seamus snorted, and Dean immediately went looking for Ginny.
Harry's move to put Ron directly on the team obviously left some of the others unhappy—but he didn't have time to care.
Another tryout wasn't realistic; getting Ron, who already had both experience and skill, was the better choice.
As for how to explain it later… he'd figure it out then.
To face Slytherin, they needed to give everything they had.
He had to put the team's needs first.
What Harry didn't expect was that during the night's practice, Ron performed far differently from what he'd hoped.
When Ron passed the Quaffle, he accidentally smacked their other Chaser, Demelza Robins, right in the mouth.
Demelza wobbled in the air, then dropped down, blood dripping from her mouth.
"My fault—my fault, I wasn't careful! I'm so sorry, Demelza!" Ron shouted after her, hurrying to explain. "I just—"
"Was too nervous!" Ginny snapped, flying down to check Demelza's swollen lip. She erupted, "You idiot! Ron, just look at her!"
Already on edge from Blaise's constant pestering, Ginny lashed out at her own brother without hesitation.
Harry rushed down to heal Demelza's lip and said sharply, "Ginny, you're not allowed to call Ron an idiot. I'm the captain, not you."
Ginny glared at him, full of indignation.
Training had gone terribly. Even though Harry tried his best to lift everyone's spirits and prepare them to crush Slytherin, morale was low.
After it ended, Harry comforted Ron—who stared emptily into space—in the locker room.
It took effort, but he finally restored a bit of Ron's confidence. When the two returned to the castle..
"Urg.. I need someone to cast Obliviate on me." Ron said in disgust.
Because they came upon the empty corridor where Dean and Ginny were wrapped around each other, passionately kissing.
In that instant, something inside Harry's mind seemed to crack.
He nearly wanted to cast something truly evil and turn Dean into jelly.
________
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