A Study in Magic
by Books of Change

Warning/Notes: This is a BBC Sherlock and Harry Potter crossover AU. The HP timeline and BBC Sherlock's timeline has been shifted forwards and backwards to match up. One major BBC Sherlock character's gender has changed for the sake of the plot. The story was planned and written before season 2 (but incorporating elements of thereof as much as possible). Readers beware!

Chapter Fifty Eight: Unforeseen Tasks

Harry blinked at Rita Skeeter, who was beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

"You're the Daily Prophet reporter Percy mentioned," said Ron, frowning.

"Oh, excellent, you know me. We don't need introductions, then," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry. "I wondered if I could have a quick word with you, Harry. Just a short interview, it's nothing serious. You will, won't you?"

"Errr…" Harry stuttered. Something about this situation was ringing alarm bells in his head. He also remembered there was something he was supposed to do if/when a reporter requested an interview, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what exactly John and Sherlock told him to do.

"Lovely," said Rita swiftly. "Now why don't we go somewhere where we can have a bit of privacy?"

In a second, Rita's scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was dragging him back into the Forbidden Forest.

"Excuse me!" said Ginny indignantly. "But I don't remember Harry agreeing to being interviewed!"

Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Ginny had said.

"The enclosure should be empty by now," said Rita, quickening her pace, "Unless, of course, you want to do it elsewhere?"

"But I don't…" Harry started to protest.

"The Champion tent was rather cosy, wasn't it?" Rita went on. "I think that would do just nicely…"

"Are you listening to me?" said Harry, irritation rising. "I said I don't—"

"Oh, come along, dear," chided Rita Skeeter, as though Harry was acting stupid. "There's nothing at all to worry about. It's just a short interview."

Harry was about to retort, when his friends caught up with them.

"I know you!" Julia shouted. "You're the reporter who tried to force Auntie Jack into being interviewed!"

Harry instantly remembered. He quickly checked the hand grasping his arm and confirmed it was about the shape and size of the gigantic bruise Miss Jackie sported on her forearm last year, when a Daily Prophet reporter ambushed and then physically dragged her to the Three Broomsticks for an interview.

"Relashio!" Harry roared, pointing his wand at Rita's hand.

Immediately Rita's thick digits released its grip on Harry. Harry quickly backed away and rejoined his friends as Rita massaged her hand.

"Really!" she exclaimed. "There's no need for such violence! Stop being so unreasonable!"

"And dragging me to an interview against my will isn't unreasonable?" said Harry angrily. "What are you up to?"

Rita looked at Harry in apparent disbelief.

"Don't you want to clarify the misunderstanding regarding your spell-casting ability?" she said. "Your fellow students had a huge fight because it! The wizarding world deserves to know the truth!"

"But you're the one who created the misunderstanding!" Hermione cried. "You wrote the article that said Diggory once won a duel against Harry! How can you say you just want to clarify when you're the one who created the controversy in the first place?"

"Well how was I supposed to know the Hogwarts Champion exaggerated his abilities, you silly girl?" said Rita, looking annoyed. "That's why I'm following up!"

"Well I don't believe you," snapped Julia. "There's no way you could've got the duel story from Cedric. He wouldn't have mentioned it."

"You interviewed Cedric's father, didn't you?" said Harry, as the explanation started to dawn on him. "Mr. Diggory likes to boast how great his son is. He probably told the story of Cedric disarming me to you. He tells that story to everyone."

Indeed, one of the first things Mr. Amos Diggory had said, after noticing Harry whilst holding the portkey that was to take them to the Quidditch World Cup site this past summer, was declaring Cedric had a story he could tell to his grandchildren—that he beat Harry Potter. Cedric was quick to correct his father, but Mr. Diggory insisted he was being too modest; surely if one person was able to hold onto their wand to disarm the other while said other couldn't, it didn't take a genius to know who the better wizard was.

"Doesn't it rankle you?" said Rita, smiling and staring beadily at Harry. "That's why I wanted to give you the opportunity to set the story straight. See? It's for your benefit."

Then Rita unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and took out a long acid-green quill and roll of parchment, which she levitated with a wave of her wand.

"You won't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally."

"A what?" Harry said before he could stop himself.

Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, and then placed it upright on the floating parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.

"Testing … my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."

Harry looked down at the parchment. The moment Rita Skeeter spoke, the green quill started to scribble, rapidly writing down the following sentence:

Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations…

"…That is NOT a quote," Harry declared.

"Ignore the quill, Harry," said Rita Skeeter firmly as she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and said, "So, Harry, how did you feel about your fellow students' reaction against Cedric Diggory?"

Even though he wasn't speaking, Harry couldn't help but notice the quill was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake he could make out a fresh sentence:

An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes—

"No," said Harry coldly.

Rita raised her eyebrows and the quill paused. "Sorry?"

"No, I'm not interested in giving you an interview," snapped Harry.

"But Harry—"

"I mean it."

"Don't you—"

"Good Bye," said Harry savagely.

Then he turned around and walked away.

He didn't stop until he'd reached the stone steps leading into the castle. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Julia and Ginny, who were following right behind him, stopped, too.

"Blimey, that is one pushy cow," muttered Ron. "No wonder the Ministry hates her."

"She's worse than I ever imagined!" said Hermione angrily. "Silly girl, am I?!"

"I hope it doesn't backfire on us," said Julia anxiously. "She might write an article on how rude we are…"

"Harry was the only person she was after and he refused to talk," said Ginny consolingly. "C'mon, the worst she can do is tell the Daily Prophet readers Harry told her nothing. I'm sorry, did I say worst? I mean best."

They laughed. Then, feeling much better, they went off to the kitchens for a quick bite.

"Won't the Hufflepuffs want to celebrate, Julia?" asked Ginny. "Cedric did tie with Delacour."

"That would be nice," Julia agreed. "But I feel bad to ask the elves. It'll be a lot of work at a short notice."

"It should be fine," said Ron. "Fred and George've been nicking food from the kitchens for parties for years. And the house-elves will hand over a whole roasted ox if you told them you're feeling a bit peckish."

Blippy & Co. were more than happy to provide a veritable mountain of treats, pastries, cakes and drinks on the spot when they asked. Julia disappeared briefly and then returned with her Hufflepuff friends, who helped carry the food over to the Hufflepuff common room.

"How did you manage this?" one of the girls marvelled.

"With the fine art of persuasion," said Ron solemnly before putting on a hopeful grin, "Mind if we join?"

The girls giggled. "Of course not!"

Hermione turned furious when Ron eagerly joined Julia's Hufflepuff girlfriends. Harry stayed inside the kitchen to avoid them, as he had his fill of attention for the day.

"Is there anything else Blippy can do for Harry Potter?" asked Blippy as he tried to push Dobby out of the way.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Harry. Then he looked around, "Where is Winky?"

Blippy looked down at his feet. Dobby similarly drooped.

"Winky is over there by the fire, Harry Potter," said Dobby quietly, pointing at the huge fireplace.

Harry looked to where he was pointing. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As Harry watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.

"Winky is going through six bottles a day now," said Dobby sadly.

"Is that a lot for a house-elf?" Harry asked.

"Far too much," Dobby said, his bat-like ears drooping. "Winky is pining, Harry Potter. Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now."

"She did serve Crouch for all her life," said Harry, scratching the back of his head.

Then an idea came to him.

"Um, Winky?" Harry started.

Winky looked blearily back at Harry.

"Could you do me a favour?" Harry asked tentatively.

Winky's eyes narrowed.

"What favour you is asking from – hic – Winky?" she asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Lestrade has a baby house-elf named Treble," Harry explained. "I wondered if you could teach her how to be a proper house-elf."

Winky looked as far from enthused as one could get.

"Why is you – hic – asking me?" she mumbled. "Winky is just a – hic – disgraced, failure of an elf."

"Well I don't agree," said Harry. "I think you're the only house-elf who can do it." He paused for a second. "I also thought maybe, if you did a really good job, Mr. Lestrade would vouch for you to Mr. Crouch. They work together at the Ministry, you know."

Winky's watery brown eyes went completely round.

"And maybe—just maybe—Mr. Lestrade could persuade Mr. Crouch to take you back in," Harry finished.

Winky got unsteadily to her feet.

"You is really thinking so?" she asked breathlessly. "You is really thinking if Winky can train this baby elf well I can return to my Master?"

"It's possible," said Harry, even as he wondered just how possible it was.

Winky burst into tears.

"Winky will do it!" Winky screeched, waving both fists and sloshing butterbeer all over her head and heavily stained blouse as she did so. "Winky will turn Treble into a fine and proper – hic – house-elf!"

"Great, thank you," said Harry dubiously. "Now just one word of advice: stop drinking butterbeer."

"Winky won't!" said Winky shrilly, still clutching her now empty bottle. "Winky will … never … drink … again…"

Winky's eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she toppled backwards into the hearth and snored loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.

"I is sorry you had to see that!" squeaked one of the elves, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. "Cobby is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sir and miss!"

"I don't," said Harry quickly. "And I understand why she's unhappy, really…"

"No, no, Winky has acted most shamefully!" squeaked Cobby, bowing deeply again. "A house-elf has no business feeling unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to serve!"

Harry felt a bit helpless. "Right…"

"No, it's not right!" said Hermione hotly, making Harry jump. "Harry, how could you? You're encouraging Winky to return to slavery!"

Harry knew his idea was going to backfire on him; he just didn't foresee this.

"I didn't mean her to go back as a bonded elf," said Harry warily. "I don't think it works that way."

"Well, I hope not!" said Hermione, her eyes flashing dangerously. "But, Harry, you're still helping her go back to that horrible Crouch man! How is that right? She should be learning how to enjoy her freedom! I mean, look at Dobby! Don't you want Winky to be happy and free like him?!"

"Miss will please keep Dobby out of this," Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen.

"Of course I want her be happy," said Harry, feeling more drained by the second. "I just…"

"So why don't you try and cheer her up instead of helping her be a slave again?" Hermione cried passionately. Then she turned to the unsmiling elves, "Listen to me, all of you! Winky's got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy, and so do you! There's no reason for you to think you can't be unhappy because wizards ordered to you work! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, and you don't have to do everything you're told!"

None of the house-elves spoke for a second. But they were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

"We has extra food for your party!" squeaked an elf at Harry's elbow, and the elf shoved a several bottles of pumpkin juice, a dozen cakes and some fruit into Hermione's arms. "Good-bye!"

The house-elves crowded around Hermione and began shunting her out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the small of her back. Once she was outside, they shut the door behind her.

"Harry Potter has strange friends," said Blippy, shaking his head. "Blippy is thinking Harry Potter is very kind and noble to stay friends with such a strange miss."

Harry refused to consider the implications of that statement.

"She isn't … it's complicated," Harry mumbled, covering his eyes as he felt a headache building, "Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter?" Dobby replied miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

"Could you be there when Winky is teaching Treble? I have a feeling she's going to need help."

Dobby bowed deeply.

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby will help Winky teach baby house-elf Treble!"

Harry thanked Dobby and left the kitchen. Outside in the hallway he encountered Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones.

"There you are!" said Justin brightly. "The party already started! You should be there!"

"I'm a bit tired," Harry protested weakly as Hannah and Susan started pushing him down the corridor.

"Stop being such an anti-social hermit," chided Susan. "Come on, join us…"

Ernie took lead. He walked into a nook on the right-hand side of the kitchen corridor, and then stopped in front of a stack of large barrels. Instead of a password, Ernie tapped the second barrel from the bottom, middle of the second row, in a particular rhythm. Once he finished tapping, the lid of the barrel swung open, exposing a passageway. Ernie crawled into it and Justin followed after him. Feeling curious now, Harry ducked inside the open barrel.

He didn't have to crawl for long. At the end of the passageway was a wide, round, earthy and low-ceilinged room that looked very welcoming, warm and sunny. There were lots of yellow hangings, overstuffed sofas and armchairs upholstered in yellow and black, and circular windows that provided a vista of rippling grass and dandelions. There were a lot of burnished copper lamps about the place, and many plants, which either hung from the ceiling or sat on the windowsills. In the centre of the room was what looked like the entire house of Hufflepuff; Cedric was in the middle of the crowd, still being congratulated and cheered for.

"No, it's fine," said Harry quickly before Justin could announce their arrival. About a stone throw away, Ginny was imitating Fleur Delacour. Julia and her Hufflepuff girlfriends were laughing fit to burst as Ginny hopped about, waving an invisible wand frantically at an invisible skirt, and Hermione looked amused in spite of herself. Harry didn't want to interrupt them, and he figured Ginny would freeze if she noticed he was there.

So Harry quietly slipped into the crowd and helped himself to food. It was rather nice to go unnoticed.

"Blimey, this is heavy," said one of the sixth year boys, picking up the golden egg that was sitting on a table, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Ced! Let's see what's inside it!"

"I'm supposed to figure it out on my own," Cedric protested.

"You're not supposed to receive help from teachers," the sixth year corrected. "The tournament rules say nothing about receiving help from students."

"Yeah, go on, open it!" several people echoed.

The sixth year boy passed Cedric the egg. After a moment's hesitation, Cedric dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open.

The egg was hollow and completely empty— but the moment it opened, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. Harry never heard anything like it outside a horror/slasher film.

"Shut it!" one of the older boys bellowed, his hands over his ears.

"What was that?" said a different sixth year, staring at the egg as Cedric slammed it shut again. "Sounded like a banshee … Maybe you've got to get past one of those next!"

"It was someone being tortured!" said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. "You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," said Ron. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions."

"Yeah, I actually thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing," said Ginny, before turning a bit pink and asking: "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry felt himself go red as all eyes turned to him. So much for going unnoticed, he thought waspishly, as he fixed his own glance on the egg.

And immediately, almost like habit, his brain started to click through the connections. The egg acted a lot like those arbitrary clues that invariably showed up in fairytales. That brought up the memory of Sherlock talking about magic, back when he was first year, in reference to the magical security around the philosopher's stone…

"Well, the egg is supposed to tell you what the second task is," Harry started. "And when you open it, it tells you something. Problem is, what it is saying doesn't make sense."

"We figured that out, thanks," drawled a tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose. "You don't need to state the obvious."

"Shut it, Smith, let him finish," said Julia sharply.

"…Magic is like fairytales," Harry continued after a moment. "In fairytales, the hero has to—"

"Fairies don't have tails!" interrupted someone.

"I meant stories," said Harry, feeling exasperated. "The Muggle kind for children; like Sleeping Beauty and—"

"Is sleeping significant?" piped a first year girl.

"Never mind!" said Harry loudly, "My point is: the screeching doesn't make sense because we haven't put the egg in the right condition!"

Hermione clapped her forehead, "Of course! That makes perfect sense!"

"No, it doesn't," muttered Smith.

"Right now it's surrounded by air," said Harry, ignoring Smith. "You can change that by sticking in fire or—"

"—Putting it under water," said Julia, cottoning on. "The first task was arguably about fire. So chances are the second task is going to be about water. Try putting the egg in water, Cedric!"

A couple of older students quickly brought in a large and deep copper basin. Then all the sixth years filled it with water using the same charm Delacour used to put out the fire on her skirt. Once it was full close to the brim, Cedric lowered the egg into the basin, and pry opened the egg.

Instead of unearthly screeching, a gurgling song came out of it, a song whose words Harry couldn't distinguish through the water.

"I think I'll have to listen underwater," said Cedric, looking amazed. "Hold on…"

He ducked his head into the basin. A few moments later, he drew his head out, dripping and sputtering.

"You were right!" he gasped. "The screeching makes perfect sense underwater!"

"What does it say?" asked Harry eagerly.

"You can hear it, too," said Cedric, smiling.

"You don't mind?"

Cedric made an inviting gesture. Harry came over to the basin, took a great breath and sank his head beneath the water—and he heard a chorus of eerie voices singing to him from the open egg.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour—the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

Harry drew his head out, and shook his wet hair out of his eyes.

"Heard it?" said Cedric.

"Yeah … 'Come seek us where our voices sound…' and if you need persuading … hang on, I need to listen again…"

It took three underwater renditions of the egg's song before Harry had it memorised.

"So what do you think?" said Cedric. "I've got to go and look for people who can't use their voices above the ground … makes you think of some kind of underwater creature, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I also think you won't have to travel far for the task. The only body of water close to Hogwarts is the lake. So I'm thinking some kind of underwater creature living in the lake."

"Could it be the giant squid?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. "The creature needs to have voice … wait, does the lake have merpeople?"

"It does!" said Hermione immediately. "There's a settlement at the bottom of the lake! It said so in Hogwarts, A History!"

"That's it, then," said Harry triumphantly. "The second task is go find the merpeople in the lake and retrieve whatever it is they've taken within an hour!"

There was a moment where everyone shared their excitement of having found out what the second task entailed. Harry overhead a few students marvelling at the fact he'd solved the puzzle in ten minutes. Cedric alone looked troubled.

"How am I supposed to get there?" he wondered. "The lake is supposed to be very deep … Have you any ideas?"

"Err…" said Harry, stumped. "Sorry, you're on your own on that…"

"I suppose it's only fair that I'd find that out myself," said Cedric, smiling again. "I really owe you big, Harry. That was fantastic."

Harry couldn't help himself: "Meretricious."

"And a happy new year," piped Julia.

Cedric looked at them both curiously.

"You'll be fine," said Harry before Cedric could ask about it. "You've got three months to figure it out. That should be enough."

"I hope so," said Cedric, beaming. "Thanks again."

-oo00oo-

It was hours before Harry and his friends could leave the Hufflepuff common room and report to Sherlock. Sherlock's brow turned stormy when they told him all the ministry workers and dragon keepers had correctly corresponding names and faces.

"Footage, all of them," he demanded after a bout of silence.

"Later," said Julia firmly. "It takes time to collect all the footage and sort through them."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled.

"Can we take a break until the second task?" asked Ron hopefully.

"Of course not," said Sherlock sharply. "There is no guarantee the agent will wait until then. You should also use the time to familiarize yourselves with the methods the agent is using to infiltrate Hogwarts."

"But the Imperius Curse is illegal!" Hermione exclaimed. "You can get sentenced to life in Azkaban if you use it on another human being!"

"Those scruples may have to go if LV's return is the alternative," said Sherlock dismissively. "And I was thinking of the other more likely method the agent is using to infiltrate Hogwarts."

Light dawned in Hermione's eyes.

"The Polyjuice potion?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, nodding once. "It's one thing to know what the potion can do. It's another thing entirely to know all the subtle nuisances of the potion. I suggest you learn how to brew it and test the parameters yourselves."

Hermione and Julia alone looked excited at the prospect.

"How are we going to do that?" asked Ron. "The Music Room isn't equipped for potion making, and we have to get signed note from a teacher to get the book that has the recipe."

"Who is your Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher?" asked Sherlock impatiently.

Ron's mouth hung open. "Oh, yeah… Lupin could sign a note for us!"

"Once you've obtained the recipe, find an appropriate place to conduct your research and secure all the ingredients," Sherlock ordered. "Balance of probability is that the recipe will call for ingredients that require a special license. Tell me what they are so we can obtain them from different channels."

They nodded.

"Also find out what the second task involves," said Sherlock. "Depending on its nature, the ministry personnel who will come to Hogwarts will change."

"We found that out already," said Ron quickly. "The champions have to go the bottom of the lake and get something from the merpeople down there."

"Excellent," said Sherlock in approval. "The second task won't need additional outside personnel, then. That just leaves the judges. Check them again when the day comes."

Harry and his friends started to discuss where they should brew the Polyjuice potion in secret after the call.

"Even if we use a portable fire and a spare cauldron, the Music Room is too open to the public," said Hermione. "So we have to brew it somewhere else."

"But where?" said Ron darkly. "I doubt there's an empty classroom we can use … Peeves will find out in a week and overturn the cauldron."

"I think," said Hermione thoughtfully, "if we make it sound like we're doing an independent potions project, we could get permission to use a classroom."

"But what would we call the project?" asked Julia. "And wouldn't Snape figure out what we're up to if and when he inspects our work?"

"Does the Marauder's map show any hidden rooms?" asked Ginny.

"If a room was bewitched to be hidden, it's probably unplottable," Hermione reasoned. "An unplottable room won't show up on a map."

Ron sighed. "I guess there's always the Moaning Myrtle's toilet."

"Or the Shrieking Shack," said Ginny.

"We can decide that later," said Harry. "For now, let's focus on getting the recipe. What's the book that has the recipe again?"

"Moste Potente Potions," said Hermione promptly. "We have Defence this Thursday. Let's ask Lupin to sign us a note after class."

"I hope he's feeling well enough by then," said Harry worriedly. "He really didn't look good last Sunday…"

"And he wasn't there to teach this morning," said Ginny, looking equally worried. "Harry, do you think—"

Harry shook his head helplessly.

"I don't know, but I hope not."

-oo00oo-

Remus opened his eyes blearily. He was lying on an unfamiliar bed, in an entirely unfamiliar screened room, which smelled entirely foreign. The only familiar thing he could see was Sirius and John. They were both looking down at him, expressing equal parts concerned and relieved.

"Hi, Moony," said Sirius quietly. "Welcome back to the land of living."

"Where am I?" Remus slurred.

"The A&E," said John. "You had a heart attack after the full moon."

Remus blinked. "Why?"

"Not sure, exactly, but I suspect your medication," said John grimly. "Snape says no one took it as long as you have. Chances are you're experiencing the long term side-effects."

Remus groaned. John gave him a look of deep sympathy.

"We'll have to think of something else."

-oo00oo-

Final Notes: Hermione doesn't form SPEW, but still manages to offend the elves. I couldn't write the Yule ball itself after Skeeter, the Hufflepuff party and Sherlock, sorry.

I wondered why Crouch!Moody had to steal from Snape in order to brew the Polyjuice potion. Couldn't he have bought the ingredients and avoid suspicion? But if the key ingredients require a special license, then that would explain the stealing … and Snape, being the potions master of Hogwarts, would have the special license since he needs to teach the NEWT potion classes.

I have always wondered about the long-term side effects of taking Potions, so I thought to explore them through the Wolfsbane.