The next day, Snape swept into the Tulip Estate in London, clad in his signature billowing black robes. After examining the two elderly wizards, he delivered his verdict.
"They've been under Memory Charms for quite some time," he said.
It wasn't that Dudley didn't want to bring the two to Godric's Hollow—it's just that the Potter family home was right next door, and that would've been like poking a Niffler in the snout around Snape.
"Restoring them will be tricky," Snape added.
His assessment of "tricky" was a far cry from St. Mungo's healers' vague "we'll do our best." That was the difference between a master and the rest.
"Professor, you must have a way," Dudley said, pulling out potion ingredients from his bag and lining them up on the table.
Snape raised an eyebrow, a hint of irritation flickering across his face. "Oh, I must, must I? Let's hear your brilliant plan first, Dursley."
Despite his sharp tone, Snape was genuinely fond of Dudley, his hand-raised "disciple." After observing the wizards' conditions, he believed Dudley had the skill to cure them.
"I was thinking we could use a Reviving Charm paired with a Memory Potion, plus…" Dudley began, laying out his idea.
Snape listened, then gave a curt nod. "Your plan's theoretically sound, but it's a bit conservative. You're a potion-maker, Dursley. Stop waving your wand like some overeager first-year. A Restorative Draught and Memory Potion can achieve the same effect—better, even."
His critique was brief but piercing, and it hit Dudley like a Lumos spell in a dark room. Snape was, after all, the wizarding world's top Potions Master. Dudley was nearly his equal in brewing, but when it came to application, Snape was still a league ahead.
"You're lacking practical experience," Snape said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Then, without missing a beat, he barked, "Dursley, grind the ingredients."
"Yes, Professor," Dudley replied, his voice oddly soft for his burly frame, eager to learn.
Snape ignored the tone and dove into hands-on instruction, teaching with a focus that Dudley soaked up like a sponge. These were lessons you couldn't find in any textbook.
Brewing potions could take anywhere from minutes to months, and it wasn't always tied to difficulty. A Polyjuice Potion, for instance, needed a month, mostly because lacewing flies had to stew for twenty-one days and fluxweed required harvesting under a full moon. Meanwhile, a simple Boil-Cure Potion could be whipped up in under fifteen minutes.
The two potions Snape proposed were mid-tier in complexity, but they still took a full week to prepare due to some finicky ingredients.
During that week, Snape lectured on brewing techniques and shared practical tips—when to use which potion, how certain combinations worked, and what could go wrong. Dudley listened hungrily, brewing as he absorbed every word.
For example, a Slowing Potion combined with a Petrifying Draught could reduce an opponent's speed to a crawl. But mix them before use, and you'd get an unstable concoction with the punch of an Exploding Potion—liable to blow up in your face at any moment. Or take the Ageing Potion: mix it with a Beautification Potion, and your body hair would grow tenfold in minutes, only to fall out completely within an hour. Worse, no hair would grow back for a month.
Snape's wealth of knowledge was staggering, and Dudley realized that sticking to textbooks would only make him a good potion-maker, never a master.
A week later, the potions were complete—flawless, as expected. The faint fluorescent green liquid shimmered in the vials, earning a rare nod of approval from Snape.
The two wizards drank the potions and fell into a deep sleep. Snape explained that they'd need to take the doses for three days before their memories began to return. It wasn't a process you could rush, and full recovery depended on how badly Lockhart's Memory Charms had damaged their brains. The spells were brutal—some memory loss was inevitable, and which memories would be lost was anyone's guess.
Before leaving, Snape handed Dudley a worn, yellowed notebook. "Study this," he said. "By the time school starts, I expect you to be better than this. Don't waste your talent."
The notebook was filled with Snape's years of insights and experience—a treasure he'd never share unless he truly saw Dudley as a protégé.
"Yes, Professor," Dudley said solemnly, tucking the notebook into his bag. He'd found his path forward.
He considered inviting Snape to his castle, but he knew Snape would never set foot in Godric's Hollow. That place was a wound that would never heal.
As Snape predicted, three days later, the two wizards began recalling bits of their past. By day five, most of their memories were back—but, frustratingly, the parts tied to their identities remained blank. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't remember who they were.
So, the temporary nicknames Pippi-Lu and Luxi-Xi stuck.
The wizards, grateful for Dudley's help and with nowhere else to go, decided to stay in Godric's Hollow. To repay him, they began teaching Harry, Ron, and Hermione advanced spellwork.
Despite their age, these world-wandering wizards were no pushovers. Their combat experience was vast—twelve uses for the Levitation Charm, twenty-eight techniques for the Water-Making Spell, four distinct pronunciations for the Blasting Curse. Their battle-honed tricks left the trio wide-eyed and eager to learn.
If Lockhart hadn't ambushed them, the two old wizards could've taken on a hundred of him without breaking a sweat.
While Dudley worked toward becoming a Potions Master, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's combat skills grew at a visible pace.
What about the Ministry's rule against underage magic during holidays? The Trace? If the Ministry were truly competent, Voldemort would've never been a problem. They only monitored a few key targets—like Harry—but Dudley had found a way to block the Trace back in first-year summer.
A month later, a bombshell hit the wizarding world out of nowhere.
The Ministry became the target of outrage, with complaints flooding in so fast they couldn't keep up. Minister Fudge was thrust into the spotlight, drowning in criticism.
One of Azkaban's most notorious prisoners, Sirius Black, had escaped.
Somehow, he'd slipped past countless Dementors without a trace.
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