Brewing the antidote to Veritaserum is even more difficult than I imagined. In the first two days, I made almost no progress — the hourglass on the corner of the table leisurely announced the passage of time, and with almost every grain of sand that trickled down, the liquid in the cauldron would change dramatically. Since I ignited the fire with my wand, the cauldron would empty itself every five minutes. So far, my best result was actually from my first attempt, when I completed two - thirds of the content on that piece of parchment.
Dad doesn't seem to care about my progress at all. He only reminds me that today's attempt is over when it's close to curfew, and he never comments on me filling his office with white smoke, blowing up the third cauldron, or wasting most of a box of lion - stone powder. If it weren't for the fact that he occasionally coughs lightly due to the pungent smell, I would even suspect that he had left long ago.
"What if I can never make it within five minutes?" I said dejectedly during the Charms class. The classroom was full of croaking frogs and cawing crows, and everyone was scrambling to practice the Silencing Charm. Even without using Muffliato, there was no need to worry about anyone overhearing our conversation.
"Are you kidding? Is there any potion you can't make?" Taurus thrust his wand forward quickly, just like fencing. "Silencio!"
He poked the crow in his hand that was protesting loudly. The crow, which was already struggling, cawed even louder and pecked him hard.
"It's a quick jab, not stabbing them through the throat to make them shut up in such a violent way." Hermione rolled up her sleeves, raised her wand towards the chubby frog in front of her, and said, "Silencio!"
The frog that had been croaking vigorously suddenly fell silent. It opened its mouth wider in disbelief, but even when it puffed itself up into a round ball, it couldn't make a single sound.
"There's a saying in Quidditch: A Seeker who flies around aimlessly will never catch the Golden Snitch — uh, it means the more impatient you are, the worse things will turn out." Harry said to me. "The problem of the venue hasn't been solved yet, and we can think of other ways. If he's determined to take up your evenings, we still have noon, right?"
"Then I'll have to catch up on my homework during History of Magic." I replied gloomily. The detention every night had almost taken up all my free time. At the moment, there were still several half - finished assignments piled up in my schoolbag. But I had to admit that Harry had pointed out the key point. I had never encountered such a big setback in anything related to potions. This sense of frustration made me extremely irritable. Of course, I had failed in many impromptu attempts, but this kind of continuous failure, where I couldn't move forward and things even got worse, was beyond my imagination. In fact, I had thought that I would succeed on the third night — yet on the third night, I could only complete half of the steps, and four of them were even done wrong.
"Let me see your practice!" Professor Flitwick's high - pitched voice suddenly came from behind us. First, he looked appreciatively at the frog in Hermione's hand that had deflated in frustration because it couldn't make a sound, and then he turned to us. After Taurus put away his fancy fencing - like moves, he successfully silenced the crow; Ron stabbed the frog in front of him nervously and violently, and ended up poking the frog under the table; Harry had squeezed the frog in his hand too tightly. Although his frog stopped making noise, Professor Flitwick clearly thought that he had squeezed the frog to death.
"Iris!" Hermione nudged me with her elbow. With my mind still full of thoughts about last night's potion - making mistakes, I only then realized that Professor Flitwick had turned to me. I quickly jabbed my wand forward, and fortunately, the crow immediately fell silent.
During the break, Angelina cheerfully announced to the boys that the Quidditch team was starting training. It seemed that McGonagall couldn't tolerate Umbridge's actions and went to ask Dumbledore directly. The boys looked very excited. There were only three weeks left until the first game of this school year. Peeves was dashing around the classroom, blowing drop after drop of ink onto the heads of the students who were taking a break. He would chase after whoever dodged the most. I was sitting by the window, looking at the pouring rain outside. In a trance, I thought I saw a small shadow fly past the window. I stood up abruptly whole bottle of ink, and a poured down on my head. I heard Peeves' unrestrained laughter.
"Peeves!" Harry roared.
"Baby Potter is angry!" Peeves shrieked merrily as he rushed out of the classroom, constantly aiming his bean - shooter at the students who were dodging in embarrassment along the way.
"Never mind. Anyway, my new robe will probably arrive tomorrow." After cleaning my head, I sniffed the lingering smell of old ink on my robe. "Ugh, this smell is really unpleasant."
"I thought you weren't going to change it." Hermione took out a handkerchief and wiped the ink marks that I hadn't completely cleaned off. "By the way, what method did you use to clean those cobwebs later? They've almost all fallen off now."
"They fell off by themselves." I said simply, not planning to tell her about Luna Lovegood's remarks about "the Crumple - Horned Snorkack". After all, I had looked through almost all the authoritative books on magical creatures in the library, but couldn't find a single record about this kind of creature. It seemed that "the Crumple - Horned Snorkack", like the fire - dwelling fairy and the Horklump, was just the wild imagination of that crazy girl.
"That's all for today." Another day of unproductive attempts, but Dad ended it earlier. I looked up blankly from the chaos and met his calm, unruffled eyes.
"There's still an hour and a half." I pleaded feebly. "I still want to try — "
"An hour and a half, or a week, attempts with the wrong approach won't lead to results." Dad waved his wand, and the smoke in the office immediately disappeared. The small floating orbs around me softly illuminated his face. "Tomorrow, same time."
"Yes, Professor." I listlessly gathered the materials scattered at my feet and my potion - stained schoolbag.
Before I opened the office door and walked out, Dad suddenly said, "You don't need to hand in the Potions homework this week. Go to bed early today."
I turned around. Dad had already lowered his head and started reading a densely - written piece of parchment again, ignoring me. When I softly said good night to him, he just nodded to show that he had heard.
The rain outside the window still hadn't stopped. On the contrary, it seemed to be getting heavier. In the corridor, only a few pairs of lovers could be sporadically seen, taking advantage of the time before curfew to have a little intimacy behind statues or in shadowy corners. Maybe I had accidentally inhaled some slightly poisonous gas just now, or perhaps the heavy rain reminded me of Vivian again. I felt my head was drowsy. I could barely make out the usual whispers of the portraits in the frames. I really should have a good sleep.
Several junior students ran past me in a flurry, as if something was chasing them. I looked up in confusion and saw Draco's face full of malicious smiles. The prefect badge on his chest and the snake - shaped ring on his hand glistened under the flickering corridor lights. Pansy Parkinson was walking beside him, laughing exaggeratedly.
"There are still two hours until curfew!" I heard a junior girl say to her companion with a sobbing voice. "Will they go and tell Professor Umbridge? Our Galleons - stones club just managed to pass the review with great difficulty — "
I turned around and walked towards the stairs leading to the Gryffindor Tower, leaving behind all the noisy and irrelevant things. All I wanted to know now was what exactly had gone wrong. Why did it seem that I could never finish making an antidote to Veritaserum within five minutes? And why was Dad so categorical that my train of thought was wrong?
I returned earlier than usual. There were still quite a few people chatting in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione seemed to have gone back to the dormitory. Only Crookshanks was curled up in her favorite chair. I originally thought the boys were sitting together to catch up on their Potions homework, but as I got closer, I found that their parchments were all blank. I didn't want to be stared at with their hopeful eyes only to answer, "It's still as bad as yesterday." They seemed to be discussing something seriously with solemn expressions. Maybe it had something to do with tonight's Quidditch training.
Crookshanks trotted towards me. It was already a bit strenuous to pick it up, but it nestled obediently in my arms, purring. I felt the dull pain in my head ease a lot. It seemed to know that I was in a bad mood. It didn't run away until I returned to the dormitory, but stayed quietly by my side, looking at me with its round eyes.
"You're as nice as your mistress." I said sleepily as I nestled in bed, reaching out to stroke its furry back.
Attempts with the wrong approach won't yield results. Dad's words echoed in my ears again. Lying on the soft bed, I sank into deep thought and realized that after several days, I actually didn't have a clear train of thought in my mind at all. The fact that the contents in the cauldron disappeared as soon as five minutes passed had made me extremely irritable. As a result, I started to randomly try to skip some seemingly unimportant parts, just like when making other potions. So, by "the wrong approach", was he hinting that I should abandon the fluke mentality of taking shortcuts and return to the rigorous procedures and processes?
"A Seeker who flits around the pitch will never catch the Golden Snitch." I sat up in bed and said to myself. "Maybe that's really the truth."
" Neville's scar hurt again last night." At breakfast, I heard Harry whisper to Hermione. His voice was so soft that sitting opposite Hermione, I couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. I could only see Hermione's brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally, she came to a conclusion: "He has to go and talk to Professor Dumbledore."
However, the chair belonging to Dumbledore behind the staff table had been empty for a long time, just like Hagrid's chair. We didn't even know if the headmaster was still at Hogwarts at this moment.
The rain kept pouring non - stop. One had to strain their ears to distinguish Professor Sprout's voice explaining the Dittany over the sound of the rain pounding on the greenhouse roof. Fortunately, the Care of Magical Creatures class in the afternoon was moved from outdoors to an empty classroom on the first floor. Just thinking about crossing the grounds in such weather was a terrifying ordeal.
We were assigned to review the content related to unicorns and nifflers from last semester freely according to the paintings on the blackboard. Quite a few people took this opportunity to gather in twos and threes to chat. Hermione carefully revised and supplemented her notes from last semester based on each painting ("You actually have a Care of Magical Creatures notebook!" Ron showed a shocked expression). After making sure everything was correct, she found a seat and sat down, then said to me: "You seem to be in a good mood today."
"Oh," I nodded, my mind going over the steps of brewing the antidote to Veritaserum. "If I'm not wrong - of course, this is just a guess - maybe I can come up with something tonight."
As I wrote before, throughout my school days, I was showered with exaggerated praises from my peers and elders regarding my potion - making talent. Over time, I myself came to believe those flattering words. I was reckless and arrogant enough to look down on the step - by - step procedures and old - fashioned techniques in the textbooks, thinking that my intelligence shouldn't be restricted by textbooks that should have been rewritten long ago. I didn't even realize that this arrogance had seeped into my bones. So much so that when I got a completely unfamiliar and complex potion - making recipe that I had never come across before, my first thought wasn't to reproduce it exactly as written, but rather, "There's too much written here. There must be a way to simplify it."
Shortcuts bring convenience, but they also introduce new risks. I came to understand this truth more profoundly when I actually started doing basic research in potions later. In fact, Dad had rebuked me more than once for my habit of skipping steps and looking for shortcuts when brewing potions. However, at that time, I didn't take it seriously. Instead, I thought following the textbooks was a sign of dullness and clumsiness. "The prerequisite for innovative research is to fully understand the existing achievements of predecessors." When I was invited by the Ministry of Magic to preside over the revision of the fifth edition of Advanced Potion - Making, I put this sentence on the title page, hoping that all students, whether they are exceptionally talented or late - bloomers, can face this constantly changing world with a humble and active heart.
The sky finally cleared on the weekend. And finally, before the curfew bell rang on Friday night, I scooped up a small vial of dark - brown liquid with a metallic sheen from the cauldron. There was still a thin layer of sand in the upper part of the inverted hourglass trickling down leisurely. My hands were shaking when I handed the narrow - necked glass bottle to Dad. I had never felt such a huge sense of accomplishment.
"Just about passable." In Dad's dictionary, this was already a very high level of approval. I don't know if it was an illusion caused by the floating orbs, but I felt his expression had softened a lot, and there was even a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. He handed the glass bottle back to me. "A reward."
"Is your pocket money enough for the new robe?" I heard Dad ask me cheerfully as I went back to pack my schoolbag. He quickly added, "Your mother asked me to ask."
"Yes, it is." I carefully put the glass bottle filled with the antidote to Veritaserum into the inner layer of my schoolbag. "And I caught the discount at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions."
I rarely told Dad about such trivial things. I also thought he should never really care much. I even thought that it was my mother who told him about me changing my robe first, and then he knew.
The continuous days of heavy rain had kept all the students cooped up in the castle. So, even though the sunny day on Saturday came with gusts of biting cold wind, quite a few people still chose to come out and enjoy the rare sunshine. The consecutive days of detention had made my homework progress even slower than that of the three boys whose Quidditch training had been cancelled due to the bad weather. But I still left my schoolbag in the Gryffindor common room for the time being. After asking Harry for a small packet of owl nuts, I came to the lakeside. The heavy rain had made the lakeside muddy. Just after walking a few steps, the hem of my robe was splashed with mud. The couples who usually liked to date here had all gone to drier places, and it became desolate here all of a sudden.
I had thought it would take me quite a while to find the small pit where Vivian was buried. After all, I had only placed a stone as a marker at that time. But to my surprise, I found a house - elf squatting there, with who - knows - how - many hats on its head and layers of sweaters in different styles piled on its body. It also had a handful of weeds just pulled out from the damp soil in its hand.
"Hello...?" I greeted its back cautiously.
The house - elf turned around. I noticed that there were several scarves wrapped around its neck and its socks were bulging. When it saw me, its big green eyes widened even more. I stared at it blankly. It seemed to be a Hogwarts house - elf, wearing all kinds of things knitted by Hermione — did this mean Hermione's efforts had paid off?
"Miss Iris Snape!" It bowed deeply to me, and its long, thin nose almost stabbed into the mud at its feet.
"Uh," I waved my hand at it. "There's no need to bow to me. I'm not your master — "
"Of course, of course. Dobby is a free elf. No wizard is Dobby's master, but Dobby will still bow to wizards he respects!" The house - elf said to me enthusiastically in a high - pitched voice. "Miss Iris Snape, like Mr. Longbottom, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Blag, are all people Dobby respects!"
It seemed very excited and rattled off a long list of names in one breath. But I still had no idea why it was here. I just vaguely felt that its voice and the name Dobby seemed familiar from somewhere.
"Um, may I ask if I've met you somewhere?" I asked, a bit awkwardly.
The house - elf didn't seem to mind at all. Its big, pointed ears perked up, and it replied cheerfully, "Dobby used to work at Malfoy Manor! It doesn't matter if Miss Snape doesn't remember Dobby. You were the first wizard to treat Dobby gently, so Dobby has always remembered it deeply! Dobby really wants to repay you, Miss. Cleaning the Gryffindor Tower and trying to help Miss clean the cobwebs off her robe are far from enough! But Dobby is just a house - elf... Dobby was cleaning the Great Hall that day and saw Miss and Master all soaked through. Then, then Dobby secretly listened to your conversation with Miss Granger and learned about the owl."
Its ears drooped in sadness. "Dobby couldn't save Miss's owl, but still wanted to do something for Miss. So Dobby came to tidy up here! It rained heavily these days, but Dobby protected this place well. Miss doesn't need to worry!"
"Thank you..." I stared wide - eyed at the neatly - repaired mud pit behind the elf and the stone still standing in it. There was a simple drawing of an owl on the stone. "I don't know what to say. Malfoy Manor... that was so many years ago — "
"House - elves receive very little kindness, so we remember it well!" Dobby nodded at me. "Dobby will always remember everyone who has helped Dobby."
"Thank you." I held out my right hand to it. It hesitated for a moment, stuffed the hay in its hand into its sweater, then wiped its hand clean before shaking mine. "Well, did the other elves also receive the clothes Hermione made?"
"They don't want to clean the Gryffindor Tower anymore." Dobby puffed out his chest. "They think the clothes are hidden everywhere and consider it an insult — but Dobby cleans the Gryffindor Tower all by himself. Dobby doesn't mind because in Gryffindor, Dobby can meet many people he wants to see! Dobby also wants to help you all as much as possible!"
I smiled. Accompanied by Dobby, I emptied the packet of owl nuts in my pocket into the mud pit, then squatted there in a daze for a while.
"The wind by the lake is too strong." I suddenly heard Harry's voice from behind. Turning around, I saw he was carrying the Firebolt. He must have just finished a Quidditch training, and his hair was messier than usual. "I think your remaining homework doesn't allow you to waste time in the hospital wing again."
"Mr. Harry Potter!" The elf jumped up happily. "How have you been recently!"
"Pretty good." Harry smiled, showing his white teeth. "It seems you've put on all the clothes Hermione made. She'll be very happy."
"I came to see Vivian." I tried to stand up, but my feet had gone numb from squatting for too long, and I almost fell into the mud pit. Harry deftly caught me.
"I know." Harry said gently. "I guessed it when you asked me for the nuts."
He stared at the small mud pit in silence for a while. His left hand, which wasn't holding the Firebolt, clenched into a fist, then slowly relaxed and returned to normal.
"Dobby won't disturb Miss and Mr.!" Dobby bid us farewell. "But if you need help, Dobby will do his best to help!"
"Okay." I smiled at it.
"Wait, Dobby. We actually need some help right now. We need a place that can accommodate nearly thirty people to, uh, do some practice and things like that." Although there was no one else around, Harry still lowered his voice. "It can't be discovered by anyone else — especially Professor Umbridge. Is there such a place in Hogwarts?"
I thought it would say it would remember and try to find out. But unexpectedly, it thought for a moment, then clapped its hands cheerfully. "Dobby just knows a place — some elves have mentioned it. We call it the 'Come - and - Go Room' or the 'Room of Requirement'!"