Harry practically felt divinely inspired the moment he got his hands on the old Advanced Potion-Making.
This, of course, did nothing to improve Hermione and Ron's mood.
Hermione was upset because, in her eyes, Harry was essentially cheating.
Ron, on the other hand, was frustrated because he struggled to read the handwriting in the margins, which meant his grades weren't improving at all.
At one point, Ginny even teamed up with Hermione to snatch the book—especially Ginny.
The moment she heard Harry was following notes scribbled by someone else, she immediately remembered Tom Riddle's diary.
After joining forces to grab it, the two of them cast every detection spell they could think of.
But the book wasn't an enchanted object. The only unusual thing was the handwritten notes inside.
Because he'd been buried under mountains of homework, Harry hadn't had time to sit down and read it properly.
He had skimmed through it, though, and found that nearly every page contained two distinct handwriting styles.
One corrected the methods written in the textbook, while the other enhanced the effects of the potions on top of that.
"Half-Blood Prince… who's the Half-Blood Prince?"
Harry sat on the common room sofa, staring at the name scrawled inside the book as he asked Hermione, the resident know-it-all.
"Maybe it's a woman," Hermione said irritably, clearly losing patience. "Or maybe a girl. The handwriting doesn't look like a boy's to me—it feels more like a girl's."
"He called himself the 'Half-Blood Prince,'" Harry thought aloud. "Maybe the second writer could be."
Hermione fell silent for a moment, frowning. "This book had two owners?"
She pulled Harry's book from his hands and began flipping through it, studying the different scripts.
"I don't recognize it." She stared at the second set of notes. Something about it felt familiar, but not quite right.
"It's five minutes to eight—I have to go."
Harry hurried to snatch his book back. He had to head to Dumbledore's office.
None of the three ever expected Dumbledore to end up serving as gatekeeper at the school entrance.
They'd heard it from Sirius, and Harry had lessons to attend there.
Harry had been much cheerier lately, and that had everything to do with Sirius.
The Godfather and son being at the same school, constantly interacting during class… honestly, it made people a little jealous.
After hesitating several times, Ron finally asked Hermione, "Hermione, are you going to the library?"
"No," Hermione stood and started up the stairs. "I still haven't finished my Ancient Runes homework."
Ron looked a little down once Hermione left.
…
There were fewer classes in sixth year, but the workload definitely hadn't decreased.
In the Great Hall, Slytherin's hourglass was rising visibly, grain by grain.
By now, they were neck and neck with Gryffindor.
"Snape hasn't shown up for weeks," Malfoy complained. "How long do we have to watch Potter show off?"
"He's always wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," John said casually, stirring the sticky porridge in his bowl. "He would've been a fitting choice."
"But Professor Slughorn picked someone else—someone he likes least."
Honestly, John thought, Snape only managed to endure it thanks to Dumbledore's intervention.
Slughorn had filled in for several Potions classes already, and if it continued, he might as well become the full-time Potions professor again.
Harry's performance had piqued Slughorn's interest so much that it became his main reason for continuing to teach.
"I remember his Potions marks were never that good," Malfoy said with open malice. "He must've taken some Felix Felicis—blind luck, like a stray cat stumbling on a dead rat."
He looked at John expectantly as he spoke, clearly hoping for a bottle of Liquid Luck.
John shot him a glance. "Win the House Cup, and I'll give you one."
"Deal!" Malfoy agreed immediately.
After lunch, John handed the translated Advanced Runes text to Daphne.
He had already finished translating it.
Then John headed for the Headmaster's office.
On the way there, he passed Harry and Ron.
They were on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Harry?" Ron called when Harry suddenly stopped walking.
Harry was staring in the direction John was heading. "That's the way to the Headmaster's office," he muttered.
Ron called him twice more before Harry finally came back to himself.
After hesitating for a moment, he still turned and followed Ron toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Meanwhile, John had already passed the stone gargoyle and entered the Headmaster's office.
The place looked quite different from when Dumbledore was in charge.
Soft carpets now covered the floor, and Slughorn—who had no class at the moment—was happily enjoying his candied pineapple.
"Oh, John." Slughorn brightened the moment he saw him and even offered him some candied pineapple.
"Ambrosius Flume always knows exactly what I like. His confectionery boxes really do suit most people's tastes."
Slughorn pulled an octagonal red gift box from a drawer. With a gentle twist, the lid opened, revealing eight different kinds of sweets inside.
He picked out a chocolate truffle and handed it to John.
The way he regarded John was almost like the way a collector would handle a fragile piece of porcelain—careful, reverent, protective.
He didn't even need to ask why John had come. As long as John showed up, he was already delighted.
"Not seeing you in Potions left me quite disappointed," Slughorn said. "You must be working on some sort of research, yes?"
"Yes, Professor." John bit into the chocolate ball; syrup filled with sweetness spilled out from the center. He let out a quiet chuckle. "Do you remember the question I asked on the train?"
"That one was very memorable," Slughorn replied with interest. "You're experimenting with that? But, my boy, that sort of research appeals to about as many people as Blood Magic."
Slughorn was already preparing to persuade John to switch projects. After all, bloodline curses had far fewer applications than something broad like the origins of lycanthropy.
But John shook his head. "This project isn't about its usefulness. It's about the pursuit of knowledge."
Those words left Slughorn a little dazed.
"I came to invite you, Professor," John said, "to work on the experiment with me—just like I did with Damocles Belby."
John's invitation caught Slughorn completely off guard.
But the idea of mentoring a prodigy like him… that stirred Slughorn's heart.
After a brief moment of thought, Slughorn agreed.
It wasn't a bad project at all—on the contrary, it could even help cure people.
…
By the time John left the Headmaster's office, classes had already ended.
Harry ran into him again, which left Harry a bit distracted.
He didn't even hear Hermione talking.
"Harry!"
"Huh?"
Only when Hermione called his name did he snap back to attention.
Hermione took a long, steady breath. Considering she'd practically raised him, she forced herself to be patient.
"We really need to explain things to Hagrid," she said as she looked toward Hagrid's empty seat at breakfast.
"There's Quidditch tryouts this morning!" Ron protested. "And we still have to practice the Aguamenti Charm for Charms class!"
"Besides, what exactly are we supposed to explain? We can't just tell him we hate his stupid class!"
Ron clearly didn't want to go. Hermione shot back, "We don't hate it!"
"That's what you say. I haven't forgotten those Blast-Ended Skrewts," Ron said miserably. "We were lucky to escape in one piece. And you heard how he talks about his daft brother—if we kept going to that class, we'd probably be teaching Grawp how to tie his shoes by now."
Hermione couldn't refute that—Hagrid had always failed to recognize the difference between an ordinary person's limits and a half-giant's.
"I don't want to ignore Hagrid," she said sadly.
"Then we'll go after the Quidditch tryouts," Harry assured her.
He missed Hagrid too, but he agreed with Ron on one thing: ideally, they'd never have to deal with Grawp again.
And besides, the tryouts were in the morning.
"With so many applicants, the tryouts might last the whole morning."
This was Harry's first major challenge since becoming captain, and he was a bit nervous. "I don't know why the team suddenly got so popular."
"Oh, please, Harry!" Hermione snapped. "It's not Quidditch that's popular—it's you. You've never been this famous before. They're all coming for you!"
She said it so bluntly that Harry suddenly felt overheated and uncomfortable in the Hall.
At that moment, Malfoy walked in.
"Well, well, if it isn't the 'Chosen One.' Potter, have you decided how you'll dive into your godfather's arms and cry after you lose the match?"
Malfoy mimicked Harry dramatically, laughing. "Or will your godfather cry along with you?"
Harry nearly lunged at him right then and there.
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