Chapter 58: The Potions Master's Weakness
An antique silver book-turning knife slowly cut across the gap in the manila envelope, revealing a piece of sloppily folded parchment inside.
Draco put down the handle with intricate silver patterns and eagerly pulled out the letter inside to unfold it.
"Draco,
It's great to hear from you. No, I don't need any help at the moment. Ron's call really pissed off Uncle Vernon—he's never liked the way wizards use Muggle objects—and he's forbade me to communicate with you on the phone anymore.
Besides, Uncle Vernon won't let Hedwig deliver the letter, and she's getting really frustrated. I'll have to give it to your eagle owl. I can't write much more. If he sees such a conspicuous messenger, he'll probably fly into a rage again and board up my windows.
P.S. Sirius plans to pick me up at the Black mansion on my birthday, will you come visit me?
PPS That big bag of treacle tarts you sent was delicious, thank you.
Harry
It seems that next time I have to find a less conspicuous owl to deliver the letter.
Draco finished reading the letter in his hand and poured some owl food for the eagle owl standing demurely by the window. She sniffed, croaked with satisfaction, and pecked at it slowly.
Sirius Black didn't go to take his godson home for a reunion as soon as possible?
Weird! What was he doing?
Draco looked at the words on the letter thoughtfully, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the window frame.
The sound attracted the attention of the eagle owl. She tilted her head and looked at Draco in confusion, as if she was undecided whether to continue eating.
"Jean, it's none of your business, just eat." Draco said to her gently, turning around and sitting back in the wooden Windsor chair.
Come to think of it, Sirius Black was going to take over the Black family's considerable wealth - the treasures in the vault, properties across the country, various investments in the wizarding world, and perhaps some unknown hidden wealth...all of these needed to go through the necessary procedures.
As for the Black mansion, it must be in such a state of disrepair and decay that it would take a while to clean it up if Harry were to move in.
What was his house-elf's name again? Kreacher?
Draco's mind wandered for a moment until June finished eating, jumped over and pecked his fingers, bringing his thoughts back. The eagle owl was in a good mood, tilted its head to look at him, spun around, and flew out the window into the lush green garden.
Like Joan, Draco often spent time in the garden.
It was a separate garden connected to the kitchen, planted with several oak trees and large roses. He even found some varieties of roses from Malfoy Manor in it, which made him feel a little familiar.
The garden was part of the sanatorium suite where Draco was temporarily staying.
Lucius and Narcissa, as always, were willful and reckless. They took advantage of the summer vacation to run away to South America and had a good time, leaving their own son behind. So, Draco was kicked out by these "runaway parents" to live with his grandfather, and booked a suite in the sanatorium, living next to Abraxas.
The suite was decent enough—from a vacation perspective. As the smiling receptionist at the door put it, "Here, there's a living room, bedroom, study, garden, kitchen, and bathroom—everything is available to satisfy the needs of wizards on vacation."
From the perspective of an ordinary wizarding tourist, this is indeed a comfortable place to while away the time. The suite's pale yellow walls complement the dark brown solid wood furniture and echo the pastoral scenery outside the window.
The room features traditional British architectural elements such as intricate carvings, as well as modern interest brought by herringbone floors. There are also several pots of broad-leaved green plants in the corners, which are elegant and vibrant.
The owner of this nursing home also had a good sense of humor, because Draco found an old-fashioned rotary dial telephone that only Muggles used on the desk in the study.
What a surprise! The number on the coaster seems to have come in handy.
Sadly, Draco hadn't found a good reason to try the Muggle phone yet. Besides, he was busy replying to letters – earlier that day, he'd received a letter from George saying they'd developed a cure for acne.
"We've tried it on Ron and it works great!" George wrote.
Draco chuckled.
He took a sip of hot tea, thought for a moment, picked up a white eagle feather pen, and hurriedly wrote on the parchment:
"The progress on the acne-eliminating medicine is satisfactory. It's time to start restocking those magical hair and makeup tools. We probably need to send out another survey to see what kind of products witches need.
It's useless to stay indoors and think about it. Ask the female friends around you, your sisters, your mother, even your girlfriend. They will all be our customers... Find out what can make them willingly empty their wallets..."
For some reason, he suddenly thought of a little girl whose thick, frizzy hair, always unruly, looked particularly lively when tied up; her hair had become so shiny and smooth at the Triwizard Tournament ball - she must have used a hair smoothing spray at that time.
But it was only that one time. Draco curled his lips, trying to understand why this girl gave up taking care of herself.
Perhaps it's because styling hair takes a lot of time, and a pragmatist like her would probably rather save some time to read her book or busy herself with ink on her face with a quill pen.
"...Of course, it would be even better if we could improve the product. We hope that through our products, we can greatly shorten the time witches spend putting on makeup, and strive to make it convenient, fast, and effective." He added this sentence.
It's not that I think her curly hair is bad. It's cute just the way it is.
Draco didn't realize he was smiling. He was too busy writing his name in a flourish at the bottom of the letter.
The magic tea set provided in the suite automatically refilled its cup of black tea, emitting a wisp of steam. He stared at the cup of black tea for a moment, then pulled out a blank piece of parchment and wrote quickly:
"Ron,
Don't call Harry anymore. If you want to send him a letter, send a clever, quiet owl, in the middle of the night, away from his Muggle relatives.
Draco
He called Joan back from the garden and handed her the two letters. "Go find Ron and his brother George or Fred. Be safe."
Joan rubbed her beak against his hand, flapped her wings, and flew out of the large window. In a moment, she became a small dot in the sky.
"Dobby," Draco said across the empty room, "go and deliver something to your idol, Harry Potter."
With a snap, Dobby the house-elf appeared in the room, his hands clenched tightly as if a birthday wish had come true. His prominent green eyes widened and his mouth stretched almost to his ears.
"My great, noble, admirable little master, Dobby, Dobby is so happy!" He jumped up and down and screamed, making a sparrow that had just landed in front of the window fly away.
"Where did you learn all those words? Be quiet, Dobby," Draco said impatiently, his head buzzing with the clamor of Dobby's voice.
Dobby's voice suddenly stopped, as if something had been strangled. The elf stopped talking, but continued to shake his head, secretly pleased.
Draco sighed, rubbing his temple with his left hand while writing quickly on the parchment with his right hand: "Yes, I would love to visit you and Sirius. I'm sending Dobby the house-elf to deliver the letter to you instead of an owl to avoid being discovered by Muggles. It can be invisible. If you suddenly find this letter on the table, don't panic."
He handed the letter to Dobby and instructed him, "Go invisibly and don't let anyone see you. Don't use any magic, or you'll cause trouble for Harry. Bring the treacle tart and chocolate cake on the kitchen table to Harry. After you deliver them, come back immediately and don't stay."
He had to use a lot of rules to restrain Dobby. This guy had great magical powers, but usually he was quite rational. But when it came to Harry's affairs, he would always get carried away and sometimes act smart. Draco still remembered the "Blurred Ball Incident" last year.
Dobby nodded happily, his pointed ears fluttering back and forth as his head swung. The elf deftly picked up the two large packages and vanished into thin air.
The room finally found the peace it had longed for.
Draco frowned, his eyes scanning the covers of the small pile of unopened letters on the desk.
Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Marcus Flint, Adrian Poussey, Perrikin Derek, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle... and several Muggle real estate agents and investment managers...
He let out a sigh. Replying to letters was such a hassle.
But right now, there are more important things to do.
He placed the quill pen in a white porcelain inkwell, shook his hands, picked up a gold-wrapped gift box on the table and walked out of his room.
After twisting and turning along the long corridor, he stopped in front of an ancient carved door. Draco knocked lightly three times and waited patiently for five or six seconds before Horace Slughorn's lazy voice finally came from inside, "Come in."
Slughorn's room was large and overflowing with stuff: ottomans, soft chairs, drinks, a piano, and books, along with boxes of chocolates and piles of plump cushions.
At the far end of the room was a desk upon which lay a collection of shiny new silver picture frames and a pile of envelopes—letters from his students.
Draco looked at these chaotic yet orderly displays and inexplicably recalled some of his distant great-aunts - those picky and elderly ladies.
It can be seen that this place is comfortable and full of enjoyment.
Slughorn sat in a soft armchair, smiling as he deftly opened the gift box Draco handed him with his chubby fingers.
"Pineapple preserves! I bet your grandfather told you that, you old rascal! But it's just the thing for me."
He picked up a candied fruit and put it in his mouth, squinting his eyes in enjoyment. "Tell me, what is it that brings you to see an old man like me today?"
"I would like to ask you a few questions about potions, if you have time." Draco bowed slightly to him.
"You can never have too much free time like this!" Slughorn was very excited and motioned Draco to sit down. "Ask me anything. I'll tell you everything I know."
"Have you done any research on improved potions for dragon pox?" Draco asked straight to the point.
"Dragon pox? Child, this thing is no joke. It's a malignant infectious disease." His face turned pale and he said firmly, "I don't want to touch this term. How many old friends have died from this disease... It's already commendable that Gunhilda of Gothmur has come up with some treatment! How easy is it to improve the medicine? This research is not easy, and it is even dangerous. I have tried it before, but there was no progress!"
He pinched another candied fruit and advised Draco with a stern face, "Try something else, kid. You're still young, don't aim too high. You're far from reaching that level yet. There's no need to waste your youth on this thing."
Draco had anticipated his negativity. For years, the Potions Master had made no progress in this area, and everyone considered him an untouchable stone.
No one knew that in a few years, an improved potion would emerge and change the views of the potion masters. However, my grandfather couldn't wait until that time. The potion appeared a year after my grandfather died.
It seems that at this stage, I still have to slowly polish this thing myself.
"Thank you for your sincere advice. I was just asking casually." Draco acted nonchalant and said casually, "Of course, I'm more interested in the problems I encountered in studying potions at Hogwarts."
Slughorn's expression finally softened. "That's right. We must be down-to-earth and lay a solid foundation for potion-making before we think about other things."
Draco nodded, and seeing that he wasn't angry, he asked questions about the shrinking potion, the bone-growing spirit, and the spirit-boosting potion—mostly about how to overcome the side effects of the potions.
These questions brought back Slughorn's genial demeanor, and he patiently answered them one by one.
"That's a good idea for improvement. Potion makers usually only pay attention to the effects of the potion, but ignore the possible negative effects of the potion itself on the user." Slughorn looked at him admiringly. "How did you come up with this idea?"
"When brewing the Mandrake resurrection potion, Professor Snape made improvements to it so that patients could be free from the aftereffects of cold, stiffness, and fatigue. I was deeply inspired by this," Draco replied.
"Severus has always been very flexible in this regard," Slughorn said approvingly. "A talented person will think of these subtle issues. This is the starting point of the constant pursuit of excellence."
Draco smiled knowingly. Then he heard Slughorn ask, "Anything else? Any questions you'd like answered during the brewing of that particular potion?"
"Of course. Excuse me, I have a friend who is very interested in potions. She happens to be in Bath these days. Can I ask her to come and ask you for advice?" He suddenly thought of Hermione and felt that he should give her this rare opportunity.
Slughorn paused, a hint of hesitation on his face.
Draco quickly added, "She's quite talented. Last school year, she brewed Polyjuice Potion all by herself."
"Polyjuice Potion? Isn't that a difficult part of the OWLs exam? I remember you didn't take it until fifth year?" Slughorn asked doubtfully.
Unexpectedly, this Potions Master, who had been away from campus for a long time, was still familiar with the school's syllabus, Draco thought silently.
"Yes, it's something you need to master in fifth year. However, she already brewed it quite perfectly last school year," Draco said casually.
Slughorn's eyes suddenly lit up.
A second-year kid can make Polyjuice Potion? Hogwarts is truly full of talented people.
"Oh, child, such a talented little wizard is always welcome! Invite her!" He said suddenly with enthusiasm. His face suddenly showed a sincere expression of eagerness to recruit talents, which made Draco marvel at his expression changing skills.
"Thank you, I'll let her know right away." Draco left Slughorn's room with a smile on his face.
Slughorn was a true Slytherin. He was slick, snobbish, and calculating. He was truly what his grandfather had described him as: an old spider who enjoyed collecting outstanding students as his prey.
His emphasis on talent is his greatest characteristic, but also his greatest weakness.
This means that he is easy to deal with. Anyone who wants to break through his defenses can see through him and use his weaknesses to achieve their own goals.
For example, Draco, with just a few words, was persuaded to take on another apprentice. Even though he didn't know her, didn't even know her name, her family background or origins, as long as he was told that she "could make Polyjuice Potion at such a young age", he would eagerly pounce on her.
In a way, Slughorn treated everyone equally—as long as they had talent, nothing else mattered. Draco thought carelessly as he walked through the deep corridor.
It wasn't all about talent; this old man, who was good at protecting himself, had his own bottom line. He avoided the children of Death Eaters as much as possible, even though Draco's Potions grades were always "O".
In his previous life, Draco had also resented this matter, but now he had let it go - Slytherins all had this temperament, and they would choose the path that was most beneficial to themselves, and not many people would be exceptions.
A Potions Master like him would benefit greatly from his casual guidance, and Draco only thought about how to make good use of this, rather than dwelling on past grudges.
Moreover, Slughorn showed Draco another way to be a Slytherin: not all Slytherins had to stand on the side of the Dark Lord.
In his previous life, he had chosen Dumbledore's side. Tactful as he was, he didn't shy away from responsibility. He stayed behind during the war, defending Hogwarts and drawing his wand against the former Slytherins—now Death Eaters.
This old Slytherin still had his own beliefs. His support for Dumbledore didn't necessarily mean he would become a Gryffindor. He skillfully balanced his personal beliefs with the greater good, never abandoning either.
If Slughorn could do it, why couldn't Draco Malfoy?
He wanted to observe this master of balancing things and see how he managed to maneuver smoothly.
Besides, I could finally try that Muggle phone number. Draco walked briskly back to his room, eager to find the coaster.