章 87: Chapter - 88: The Birth of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes part - 3

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He left the bemused third year behind and exited the library with a frown etched on his face. Damocles Belby had apparently never followed his dream of becoming a Potioneer, though the man did seem to be on better terms with his family, considering he and Marcus' dad were still on speaking terms. Harry couldn't bring himself to be happy for him though, since it had led to the Wolfsbane Potion never being invented.

Without the potion there was nothing to stop Werewolves from turning into mindless beasts every full moon, biting and clawing at themselves or their victims in a frenzied lust for blood. In Harry's old world the potion had helped Werewolves immeasurably. It let them keep their minds, made them safe, helped them hide - even lengthened their life expectancy. Harry knew there was no way Remus would ever have been allowed to teach at Hogwarts if it weren't for Damocles Belby's invention.

Harry doubted anyone in this universe even guessed at the possibility of such a potion, meaning that he was the only one with any knowledge of it. Unfortunately Harry was most emphatically not a Potions Master. He'd listened to Hermione and Slughorn discuss the potion for hours on end, but he was very far from being an expert.

He wandered into the Slytherin common room deep in thought, only surfacing when he was greeted by Daphne. "Good afternoon, Orion."

Harry was surprised to see her smiling at him. "Hi, Daphne. How've you been?"

"Very well, thank you. Hermione and I have been discussing the merits of various novels we've both read." She gestured to a corner where the bushy haired girl was sitting curled up over a book, the lurid pink cover of which proclaimed the title 'Seven Veela and Count Romero'. At her feet lay a pile of other volumes which bore names such as 'Amalthea's Amazing Adventures' and 'Dragon's Tooth, Chimera's Claw'.

Harry would never willingly read any of them, but was warmed by the familiar sight of his friend surrounded by books. "Having fun there, Hermione?" he asked her.

"What?" Hermione looked up and blinked. "Orion, when did you get here? Never mind, it doesn't matter. Look, Daphne's lent me a load of books - ones by Wizarding authors, you know - and they're simply fascinating. The writing style is so different from what I'm used to. They're rather melodramatic and I'm not sure I understand all the references, but Daphne's been explaining things to me and…"

Harry smiled fondly at Hermione's excited babble before turning to the other Slytherin girl. "That's very kind of you, Daphne."

"Not at all. It's been my pleasure," she said meaningfully.

"Er. Right." Harry shifted uneasily. He'd just remembered Sirius' letter and was wondering whether his dad had in fact not been joking about an engagement between him and Daphne. He could almost hear Melania's voice in his head, declaring it to be a simply marvellous idea. Harry grimaced. Daphne had been acting rather warmly towards him recently; her behaviour was subtle, but Harry couldn't think of any other reason why she'd be so friendly to a muggleborn.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't know what to say or how to act. On the one hand, he refused to even consider the idea of an arranged marriage, especially not one involving an eleven year old. On the other, the possibility of an engagement had no doubt encouraged Daphne to welcome Hermione as her friend. Harry didn't want Hermione to become an outcast - she finally seemed to be settling in and he wasn't willing to jeopardise that.

After weighing up the different options, Harry decided to keep quiet on the subject for the time being. It would be a better idea to get Sirius to speak to Melania, who could speak to the Greengrasses, who could then speak to Daphne. Harry brightened up considerably at the thought of being so far removed from Daphne's reaction if she ever found out she'd been rejected.

"Well enjoy your books, you two," Harry said. He gestured towards an empty armchair on the opposite side of the common room. "I've got some potions work to finish off, so…"

Hermione appeared scandalised. "Honestly, Orion! We have our next Potions class in half an hour."

"Then I'd best get to it, hadn't I?" Harry quickly made his escape with a small smile and a nod at the two girls. He settled down and pulled out a parchment and quill, then did his best to scribble down everything he could remember about the Wolfsbane Potion. It didn't amount to much.

He knew the ingredients involved, but not the amounts. He knew the order everything was added, but not when and how many times to stir. He knew the end result was supposed to exude a faint blue smoke and taste disgusting, but he didn't have any details for the earlier stages.

"This is impossible," Harry muttered. He was relieved when the bell rang, since it let him pack up his things and make his way to the nearby Potions classroom. He took his usual seat beside Neville and began setting up his cauldron, all the while dredging his memory for any other aspect of the potion he might be able to think up. No hidden details sprang to mind, but an answer to his problem did present itself.

The solution was obvious, Harry realised as he watched Snape sweep into the room and begin snarling orders. Beside him Neville shuddered in fear, but Harry was close to beaming with excitement. Snape was a genius - if anyone could cobble together Harry's recollections into a proper recipe, it would be him. Unfortunately, Snape was also a complete git. Harry couldn't think of any easy way of getting the man's help. He suspected the only person Snape might be willing to listen to was Dumbledore, but involving the Headmaster would only lead to prying questions that Harry was eager to avoid at all costs.

Harry stared thoughtfully at the hook-nosed Potions Professor, trying to look as if he was paying attention to the lesson while actually thinking of a way to convince the man. Perhaps he could get Sirius to talk to him; it was probably hopelessly optimistic of him, but - for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on - Harry believed such an approach might work.

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