Chapter 652 : Half-Blood Prince!!
Harry's anger finally subsided.
What replaced it was a deep sense of weakness, spreading quietly through his chest.
He had thought that as long as he didn't say anything, he could preserve his father's image of strict dignity in Darren's eyes.
Who knew Darren had already understood everything long ago.
"Then… are you angry?" Harry asked in a low voice.
Darren shook his head gently.
"I was angry. Guilty, too. Every time I look at Professor Snape, I feel like I owe him something and want to make it up to him.
"But hating my father? No. After all, he was my dad.
"And besides—when Dad picked up his wand and went into battle, he really was a hero."
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
[Ding, Father +100]
Darren's words left Harry completely speechless.
His eyes reddened.
He lowered his head, afraid that others would notice he was on the verge of tears.
Fortunately, at that moment, someone approached.
He was holding a piece of parchment—it was Jack from Gryffindor, one of the Chasers from last semester's Quidditch team.
He handed the parchment to Darren, clearly excited.
"For you and Harry. Oh, and Harry—remember to let me know when Quidditch tryouts start."
After saying that, he hurried off, probably assuming Harry would pick him again, since Angelina had done so before.
Harry stared at Jack's retreating figure, confused.
"Harry, you can't choose people just because you know them," Hermione said solemnly.
"Since Headmaster Dumbledore made you Captain, you need to pick the best players."
Ron beside her looked rather awkward.
It was obvious he still felt that, after last semester, he could probably make the team again without much effort.
Darren silently offered Ron a moment of sympathy.
Then he unfolded the parchment.
---
Dear Darren and Harry,
I plan to begin individual instruction for both of you this Saturday. I hope you will enjoy the lessons. Please come to my office at eight in the evening.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. I am fond of sour sherbet.
---
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all leaned in to read it.
Afterward, Ron frowned.
"Sour sherbet?"
"That should be the password to the Headmaster's office," Darren explained calmly.
Then he glanced at the time written on the parchment and added with some concern,
"Brother, Professor Snape scheduled your detention for that day as well. You'll need to explain it to him."
"Y–yeah, sure," Harry nodded quickly.
In truth, he had already half-forgotten.
He couldn't wait to be stuck in Snape's office until dawn.
---
The first afternoon lesson was Arithmancy.
Darren didn't take it, so Harry dragged him and Ron off to play wizard chess for two full hours.
By the time Hermione returned, she was shocked to find that none of them—including Darren—had written a single word.
The final class of the day was Potions.
The classroom was still in the dungeon, but without Snape, it no longer felt oppressive.
Instead, it was warm, comfortable—very Slughorn.
Steam curled through the air as cauldrons bubbled gently, releasing strange, mingled scents.
Darren could smell fresh earth after rain, spices, sweetness, and faint fragrances that reminded him of people by name.
There was no doubt about it.
This was Amortentia.
Students seated near the cauldron wore dazed, blissful expressions, far more intoxicated than Darren himself.
"Come, boys," Slughorn called cheerfully.
"Get out your scales, cauldrons, and textbooks."
Harry and Ron raised their hands at the same time.
"Professor, we didn't bring any equipment," Harry said.
"Our results were only 'Exceeds Expectations,' so—"
"Yes, yes, Minerva told me," Slughorn waved it off.
"You can write to Flourish and Blotts later. I've got spare equipment and old textbooks."
He rummaged through a cupboard and handed Harry and Ron two battered books along with basic tools.
Darren watched as the familiar, scribbled textbook—the Half-Blood Prince's copy—fell into Harry's hands.
He didn't reach for it.
By now, he no longer needed it.
Slughorn then gestured to the shimmering potion.
"Who knows what this is?"
Hermione's hand shot up.
"It's Amortentia," she said.
"I can smell freshly cut parchment, and—"
She suddenly glanced at Darren, blushed deeply, and sat down at once.
"Correct," Slughorn said approvingly.
"And your name?"
"Hermione Granger."
"The brilliant Miss Granger! Lily Evans—Harry and Darren's mother—was Muggle-born too, and just as gifted."
Hermione smiled shyly.
"I'm not as talented as she was. And I'm not as good as Darren."
"Modesty! Gryffindor, twenty points!"
Slughorn beamed.
"Amortentia causes powerful obsession and infatuation, not love.
I don't want to see anyone slipping it to boys or girls—if I catch you, it will be taken very seriously."
He then pointed to the final cauldron.
The potion inside gleamed gold, moving like tiny fish beneath the surface.
"Does anyone know this one?"
Hermione looked thoughtful, then glanced at Darren.
Darren smiled faintly.
"Felix Felicis. Liquid Luck."
"Exactly!" Slughorn exclaimed.
"Twenty points to Slytherin.
"A tiny dose grants incredible luck—everything you attempt seems to succeed.
"It is strictly forbidden in competitions, exams, or elections, and excessive use causes recklessness and arrogance.
"But used sparingly… it can make an ordinary day extraordinary."
The golden potion shimmered quietly, as if in agreement.