Chapter 61: Chapter 57: Felix Felicis
That day began with Defense Against the Dark Arts. The professor? None other than Snape. Predictably, the Slytherins were overjoyed, while the Gryffindors wore grimaces of dismay, though it was far too late to request a different teacher. Snape, finally fulfilling his ambition of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, appeared unusually upbeat as he addressed the class.
"Dark magic is vast, varied, and ever-changing, fluid and eternal. To fight it is akin to battling a many-headed beast. Cut off one head, and another—stronger and more cunning—will grow in its place. Your opponent is mutable, destructive, and indomitable."
His words sounded both like a caution against underestimating dark magic and a love letter to it, recited in a tone that bordered on reverence. It was enough to make one suspect Snape might harbor a certain fascination for the dark arts. Yet, his statements weren't entirely wrong. Both Harry and Edith couldn't help but think of Voldemort and Mirabel—two monsters, both formidable and utterly unpredictable.
After a lesson on nonverbal spells, the class ended. Among the students, only Hermione and Edith successfully cast the spell. As expected, Snape awarded points solely to Edith, granting Slytherin twenty points, while blatantly ignoring Hermione's achievement. His favoritism for Slytherin remained as blatant as ever—a reality that left no room for complaints when Dumbledore occasionally showed favoritism toward Gryffindor in return.
The next class was Potions with Slughorn. With his walrus-like face glowing in delight, he warmly welcomed the students, focusing particular enthusiasm on Harry and a select few others.
"Well now, everyone, take out your scales. And your potions kits, as well. You'll also need your advanced potions—"
"Er, Professor? Ron and I don't have any books or equipment with us. We didn't expect to qualify for N.E.W.T.-level classes..." Harry interrupted.
"Ah, yes, yes. Professor McGonagall did mention something of the sort. No need to worry, Harry, not at all!"
Apparently, neither Harry nor Ron had come prepared, but they couldn't really be blamed. After all, Snape had made it abundantly clear the previous year that he wouldn't accept students without an 'Outstanding' grade in Potions. Slughorn, aware of these circumstances, offered no complaints and instead lent them both the necessary textbooks and equipment.
"Well then," Slughorn continued, "I've prepared a few potions to show you. By the time you finish your N.E.W.T.s, you should be able to brew these yourselves. Now, does anyone recognize these?"
As always, Hermione eagerly answered his question, identifying the potions one by one: Veritaserum, which forces the drinker to tell the truth; Polyjuice Potion, which allows one to assume another's appearance; and Amortentia, a powerful love potion. She described their properties with such fluency that even Slughorn couldn't help but praise her, awarding Gryffindor twenty points.
However, there was one potion left unmentioned. It shimmered gold in a small black cauldron, its surface rippling as if golden fish were leaping beneath it. Yet, not a single drop spilled over the edge.
"Let's move on to the practical work," Slughorn announced.
"But, Professor," Ernie Macmillan interjected, "you haven't told us what that one is yet."
"Ah, yes!" Slughorn exclaimed, clearly pleased with the interruption. Edith immediately realized his plan: he had intended to pique the students' curiosity by letting them ask about the potion themselves. That he went to such lengths suggested how highly he thought of it.
"Well, well, this," Slughorn began with a flourish, "is perhaps the most fascinating potion of them all. It is known as Felix Felicis. Surely, Miss Granger, you've heard of it?"
Hermione gasped at the name and eagerly responded, "It's Liquid Luck! It grants the drinker extraordinary luck!"
The class erupted into murmurs. Even Malfoy, who had been lounging indifferently, sat up straight. The very idea of "luck" was enough to captivate everyone.
"Correct! Another ten points to Gryffindor. Felix Felicis is remarkable yet incredibly tricky to brew. A single mistake could result in disaster. But, when brewed correctly, it ensures success in everything you attempt."
"Then why doesn't everyone drink it all the time?" someone asked.
"Ah, because overuse leads to recklessness, overconfidence, and a dangerous sense of invincibility," Slughorn explained.
Edith couldn't help but think of Mirabel. Guaranteed success, reckless behavior, and unchecked arrogance—every word fit the girl perfectly. In Edith's mind, Felix Felicis had become synonymous with Mirabel—a potion embodying her very essence. Despite Slughorn's warnings, Edith found it impossible to picture herself successfully using the potion. Instead, she could only imagine scenarios in which overconfidence led her to spectacular failure.
"And as a reward for today's lesson, I'm offering a small vial of Felix Felicis," Slughorn declared. "Just enough for twelve hours of luck. From dawn to dusk, you'll find success in everything you do."
Having taught for years, Slughorn was a master of captivating his students. Offering Felix Felicis as a prize on the first day of class proved an overwhelming success. Every student hung on his words, enchanted by the promise of such a reward. Even Malfoy, who was usually quick to make snide remarks, sat in rapt silence, his eyes fixed on the golden potion.
"Let me make this clear: Felix Felicis is strictly forbidden for use in organized competitions or contests.
The student who wins this prize may only use it on an ordinary day. And then, they'll experience just how extraordinary an ordinary day can become."
It was, of course, common sense. Using Felix Felicis was akin to a form of doping, so its use in competitions was naturally banned. After all, without such a rule, everyone would resort to drinking it. This meant using it during activities like Quidditch was strictly prohibited as well.
"Now then, how can you win this magnificent prize? Open your Advanced Potion-Making textbooks to page ten.
You have just over an hour remaining. Within that time, I want you to attempt brewing the Draught of Living Death. The student who produces the best potion will earn this beloved Felix. Let's begin!"
Dangling a prize as bait—a simple but highly effective strategy. The students immediately dove into their work, focusing intensely on their cauldrons. The idea of a potion that could make an entire day brimming with luck, Felix Felicis, was too tempting to pass up.
Edith, like everyone else, threw herself into the task with everything she had. Yet deep down, she couldn't help but think, Hermione's here, after all. It was a thought tinged with resignation.
Her prediction turned out to be partially correct. Edith didn't win the Felix Felicis, but to her surprise, neither did Hermione. Against all odds, the winner was Harry Potter.
"A clear and undeniable victor!" Slughorn announced with delight.
As Slughorn's voice rang out, Edith couldn't help feeling uneasy. It wasn't that Harry was bad at Potions—far from it. Sure, he'd scored zeros frequently in the past, but that had more to do with Snape's biased grading than Harry's actual ability. The fact that Harry had even made it to N.E.W.T.-level Potions despite such disadvantages was proof of his skill.
But even so, surpassing Hermione to take first place and flawlessly brewing a potion he'd never seen before? That seemed unlikely.
When Ron asked, "How'd you pull that off?" Harry simply shrugged and said, "Guess I got lucky."
Lucky. That was certainly true. Hermione was the superior potion maker in terms of skill, so there was no other explanation. Yet what kind of luck could possibly allow someone to perfectly brew a complex potion on their first try?
I really hope something strange isn't going on again, Edith thought.
Trouble and strange events always seemed to originate with Harry Potter. Watching him walk away, clearly pleased with his victory, Edith had a sinking feeling. It was as if a new round of chaos had already begun.
Inside the cave, the sound of steady footsteps echoed.
Walking with her golden hair swaying was Mirabel Beresford, accompanied by her younger brother, Sidney Beresford.
With her hands tucked casually into her pockets, Mirabel wandered through the cave until she stopped in front of a wall. Then, using the power of a vampire, she delivered a fierce kick.
For a moment, the rock wall shattered, but it immediately reformed, blocking their way again.
"Hmm... it seems this is the right place," Mirabel muttered impassively, staring at the rock wall.
After observing it for about a minute, she beckoned Sidney with a finger and handed him a dagger. It was a silent command: wound yourself.
Without hesitation, Sidney cut his arm and smeared his blood on the rock wall.
And just like that, the wall vanished as though it had never been there, revealing a dark passage ahead.
"Let's go. Stay close," Mirabel said, her tone calm and composed as she advanced deeper into the cave.
There was no need for a light source—vampire eyes thrived in darkness.
Eventually, they reached the edge of a black lake. The far shore was invisible, and even the height of the ceiling was uncertain.
At the lake's center was something glowing green, its light reflecting off the water.
Floating in the lake were corpses, their eyes wide open.
"This is..."
"Lost souls, most likely. I suspect they'll attack anyone who approaches. Stand back, Sidney."
Without hesitation, Mirabel leaped into the air and soared over the lake.
Instantly, the corpses surged from the water, surrounding her in a swarm.
It seemed they would attack indiscriminately unless the proper procedures were followed. Conversely, there had to be a mechanism in place to protect the trap's creator—Voldemort—from such an attack.
But Mirabel wasn't concerned with that.
Anyone who stood in her way would be crushed. She'd force her path open, no matter what.
If they dared to obstruct her, death was the only outcome!
"Fools... as if mere lost souls could block my path," she scoffed, raising her hand above her head.
With a sharp crackling sound, golden lightning began to surge around her.
Its brilliance and intensity were unparalleled, far surpassing anything Edith or Mary could conjure.
The light illuminated the entire cavern, its sheer force and radiance potent enough to annihilate her foes with its presence alone.
"Voltage Raid Maxima! Be obliterated, you worthless scum!"
From Mirabel's body, lightning erupted in all directions, enveloping the area in a blinding storm of golden fury.
The lost souls surrounding her were incinerated, the lake boiled away, and anything hiding beneath its surface was annihilated.
The sheer force shattered the bedrock, leaving the cavern scorched and empty of water.
The lifeless corpses were reduced to nothing more than blackened cinders.
When the storm finally subsided after a few seconds, only two figures remained standing: Mirabel and Sidney.
"Hah, pathetic. If this is the extent of Voldemort's traps, they're hardly worth my time," Mirabel sneered, her voice laced with derision.
She stepped across the now waterless lake, landing on the small island at its center.
Sidney followed closely behind her, also setting foot on the island.
At the island's center stood a stone pedestal, atop which rested a basin filled with an emerald-green liquid that glowed faintly.
Mirabel reached out to dip her hand into the liquid, but it was as if an invisible barrier blocked her—her hand couldn't penetrate the surface.
She tried striking it with full force, but the impact shattered the island's surface instead, causing a tremor that shook the entire cavern.
Even then, her hand failed to pass through the liquid.
"Hmm... it seems the only way to proceed is to drink this," she remarked with a note of disdain.
"Child's play," she muttered, her voice filled with contempt.
What wizard capable of reaching this point would fall for such a trivial trap?
The liquid likely resisted vanishing spells or other magical attempts to destroy it. Even if discarded, it would likely reappear.
But that didn't mean she had any intention of drinking it. If anything, she'd rather take the entire basin back with her.
As she mulled over her options, Sidney unexpectedly stepped forward, lifted the basin without hesitation, and drained its contents in one swift motion.
It was an act of remarkable loyalty, albeit somewhat reckless.
His face turned pale, and he collapsed on the spot.
Mirabel offered him a few words of acknowledgment before picking up the locket inside the basin.
However, her expression quickly shifted to one of disappointment.
"Tch... it's already been replaced with a fake," she growled.
The locket wasn't what she had come for.
Opening it, she found only a scrap of parchment inside.
"To the Dark Lord,
By the time you read this, I will be long dead.
But I want you to know that I have discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as possible.
In the face of death, my wish is to ensure that you can once again be made mortal when you face a worthy opponent.
—R.A.B."
"R.A.B., huh? It seems that's the name of the one who took the real locket," Mirabel mused.
If the note were true, the Horcrux had likely already been destroyed—provided its thief knew how to do so.
"R.A.B... I'll need to start by finding out who that is. I suppose I'll capture a Death Eater and extract the information," she muttered.
She discarded the fake locket and left the cave, her purpose here fulfilled.
What remained was a ravaged cavern filled with charred corpses scattered carelessly across the ground.
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