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22.09% Harry Evans: Memoirs of a well-lived Death (SI) / Chapter 19: Chapter 16: The potions diagnosis

บท 19: Chapter 16: The potions diagnosis

"I've been thinking," Harry started. He, Cedric and Penny were hanging out in the common room before potions class and Harry had a plan.

"Don't hurt yourself," Cedric quipped, causing Penny to roll her eyes from her position on a black and yellow arm-chair.

"If Harry was prone to hurting himself by thinking too hard he would have died by now," she said. "It's rather you who should be worried. You haven't left the quidditch field since you figured out that you could borrow the school brooms." Was the retort from the blonde, causing Harry to wince at the brutality. Cedric puffed up his chest, before deflating and awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Well, I have been having a bit of a harder time in class. But quidditch with the other first-years is so fun!" he said, causing Penny to raise a doubtful eyebrow.

"Let him have his moment. It's only in the first year that he can have games like these before everyone else starts bringing their own brooms and joining house teams," Harry interjected in the little spat.

Cedric immediately brightened up. "Why don't you come to play with us, Harry. Didn't you say something about how your project with Flitwick is almost over?" the boy said while waving his arms excitedly. Harry backed off warily from where he was sitting next to him. It wouldn't do to get a blue eye.

"I have a different set of priorities, to be honest," he muttered, before switching the topic. "I was thinking about Potions actually and how I haven't been having much luck with them," he said, but Penny seemed to be on a warpath and directed her ire at him next.

"What luck, you don't practise or study. Do you expect to get any better without putting in any effort?" Penny bit out while glaring at him.

"I have actually read the book, you know. I just don't seem to have an affinity for the subject," Harry retorted. "What I was going to suggest was that maybe if I can get my hands on some advanced material, I could read up and see if something changes at some point if there's something I can do to not suck so much."

Penny tilted her head at him. "Wouldn't the library have something like that?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Actually I was thinking of maybe nabbing the sixth and seven year books from Slughorn during class. I'd just need a distraction so I could take them out of the cabinet. You know he has a whole bunch of them. The books that teachers assign for us are always borrowed at the library and I don't want to spend money on a class I might not even end up taking for the NEWTS," he said. All of this, of course, just being a cover for him getting the potion's book of the half-blood prince. He remembered that there was supposed to be a sound-muffling spell inside there somewhere, along with a bunch of useful additions and notes on the potion-making process.

Other than teaching him the other spell that he needed to fearlessly haunt the castle at night, it might actually teach him something that would allow him to keep up with the class that he seemed to have absolutely no talent for.

"That makes sense," Penny said naively, but then added a clause to her sentence which made Harry feel like a complete dumbass, "but couldn't you just ask him to have a look?"

Harry paused, tilted his head and involuntarily slapped himself on the cheek for his stupidity.

Wasn't the point of Flitwick's whole spiel that the professors now knew him to be a good student, and were more predisposed to helping him.

"That's a good point," he said with a sigh, looking at Penny's deep-blue eyes and trying to find where the mental acuity was stored that he was so clearly lacking. Penny blushed and looked away, covering her face with blonde hair.

"I feel like such a dumb-ass sometimes," Harry lamented, thinking back on how he'd stupidly followed Twix to the forest and how he'd been stressing about getting to the half-blood prince book for a few days now in-between rigorous experiments of his spell with Flitwick.

Was he maybe devoting too much time to academic pursuits and was thus functioning with much too little mental energy at other times?

"You know what Cedric. I'll take you up on that offer of a quidditch match. I need a break. All this school is frying my mind," he eventually said, extending his fist to give Cedric a fist-bump, his friend throwing a victorious smile at Penny who only rolled her eyes.

"And thanks for the suggestion Penny, I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe some flying will clear my head," he told the blonde girl, who simply smiled.

"You know what, maybe I'll join you. It's been a while and I think I'm starting to smell the potions I make in my hair, maybe a breeze will get it out."

Cedric jumped up from the couch and whooped with his arms raised. "Hufflepuff trio!" he shouted.

Anyway, that was the story of how Cedric insisted the three of them play chaser together, and seeing as both Penny and Harry sucked quite hard at flying, they lost miserably.

-/-

Harry sighed as he added porcupine quills to the draught of furiously sleeping green dreams, only for the colour and consistency to turn a viscous red instead of a frothy purple. Penny, who had already finished her own, perfect potion several minutes ago could only frown sadly.

"It really sucks, you know," she said, causing Harry to shrug and sigh.

"I'll tell my hypothesis to Slughorn after class, maybe there's a solution," he muttered, as he capped a small sample vial to bring it to the front desk, a little slip of paper with his name attached to it. A Slytherin student who'd finished at the same time as him snickered openly as he deposited his own potion, which at least had the colour right.

Going back to sit down Harry decided to stare at the grey ceiling until class fully ended, not reacting to anything others said to him until it was only him and Slughorn in the room. Harry was sick of potions, and whatever curiosity that had initially existed for the subject had evaporated by now.

"Mr. Evans, is there something you want to discuss?" Slughorn asked once he finished cleaning the room and putting the samples away.

Harry nodded, stood up and went to where the portly man had sat down behind his desk. "Am I disturbing you, professor? If now isn't the time for a longer discussion I could also visit you during your office hours," he said politely, at which Slughorn hummed non-committedly and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his big stomach.

"I'm interested to hear what such a bright student might want to discuss," Slughorn said. The, 'no matter which subject this student might be bright in,' being left unsaid.

Harry nodded. "I'm glad not to be disturbing you then," he said before rifling through his leather satchel and pulling out a vial filled with a clear blue liquid dotted with little specks of light and putting it on the table. Slughorn looked at it curiously for a second.

"A boil-cure potion," he stated frankly and Harry nodded.

"Professor, I will now arrogantly claim that I'm smart enough to follow instructions to the letter. A good potions-master this does not make. But seeing as the recipes in our course book have been adapted for the lowest common denominator, eleven-year-old children, then following instructions should at least make me capable of making the potions," Harry said.

"Not many know that you're working with simplified recipes."

Harry shook his head. "It makes perfect sense that they are simplified. More complex techniques and timing restrictions would lead to an improvement in the potency of the potion, or a faster potion-making process, however, by using a complex version students, especially first years, would make more mistakes. Explosive mistakes…"

"Causing explosions, yes, I remember that that was often the result back when I was a student. They hadn't caught on to the fact that perhaps intentionally worsening the potion effect or the efficacy of its creation to make it simpler would be a smart idea," Slughorn chortled. "Utter chaos, I tell you, sometimes I'm surprised the entirety of my class even survived until graduation. But where exactly are you going with this?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "I follow the instructions perfectly, professor. You know this."

"Unfortunately; I kept an eye out in the beginning and was never able to find an error. Making the mishaps your potions tend to experience quite unexplainable," the man admitted.

Harry pointed to the boil-cure potion on the table, a perfect creation. "I made that," he said, causing Slughorn to raise an eyebrow. "I know it's hard to believe, but I was trying to isolate why I, excuse my French, am so shit at Potions. Anyway, since we already established that I can follow instructions, something that my Penny can attest to, we can clearly say that following the recipe isn't a problem."

"Yes, Miss Hayworth, a fine potions mistress in the making. Already making modifications. But if you truly made this potion, then I have to ask." Slughorn paused. "How did you do it? Most magical disciplines can be likened to an art form, potions included. One can't really gain talent, by the common consensus."

Harry spread his arms. "There is no secret. I just kept doing it, again and again and again. One potion only. Until it turned out like this."

"So this was a lucky case?" Slughorn asked.

"Exactly not," Harry retorted. "You see, professor, from the protocols I kept I was able to create a graph that clearly shows that rather than each potion being a singular instance with a specific failure ratio, and that I essentially just need to get lucky… I was able to draw a clear line of improvement correlating to the amount of attempts. If every potion attempt, of which there were 21, is one single data point, then there was on average an improvement ratio of about 5% in potion quality all the way to the end, where it jumped straight from acceptable to the best one can get with the recipe. Essentially just a bit worse than Penny's own attempt, without modifications for the sake of comparison."

Slughorn raised his hands from his stomach and scratched his chin. He pulled out a wand and silently summoned a sheaf of parchment from somewhere behind himself. "Do you have the graph with you?" he asked and Harry quickly handed over a few stapled-together pieces of paper. Protocols from the potions #2 - #21 and then the summary of the data. The professor flipped through the papers quickly, before landing on the last page and tracking the graph upwards with a fat finger adorned by a thick ruby ring. "I understand why Flitwick seems so taken with you, an extremely presentable summary of your project. How long have you been working on this?"

Harry smiled at the compliment. "Two weeks, ever since the experiments for my charm have slowed down. We're trying to cover all eventualities before deciding that the project is concluded for the moment."

"Impressive," Slughorn muttered. "Going by the textbook method this should have taken you around 24 hours, more work that I assume most students spend on all their classes in a month, let alone two weeks."

"One potion a day on the weekdays and four per day on the weekends," Harry said, somewhat proudly. It wasn't really the best use of his time, but the sooner he figured out what was wrong with his potion-making capabilities, the earlier he could do something about it.

"Do you mind if I make a copy?" Slughorn asked, pointing at Harry's data.

"Go ahead, I made it partially for you, professor, anyway. I wanted to show you that I'm not bad at potions because of any fault of my own," he said, perhaps a tad proudly. He was not ever going to fall behind literal eleven-year-olds in anything if he didn't have a good reason.

"I never believed that. Your mother was brilliant. Potions and Charms were where her talents lay. I just assumed that you'd inherited four times her talent in charms and one-fourth in potions. As I said previously, we can't always achieve what we want. Different circumstances stand in our way," Slughorn said softly.

"Perhaps my father was pants at Potions. Whoever he was," Harry mused, causing the professor to wince and smile weakly.

"Maybe, my boy, maybe," he said before taking Harry's approval of him making a copy literally and pushing his wand down onto Harry's papers. "Effingo," the man said, before repeating the process on his own sheet of parchment. Two flashes of blue light and the man had the entirety of Harry's efforts over the last two weeks for himself. Harry's eyes involuntarily widened and he nearly asked for the spell, before remembering that he could do so later and that that would perhaps be smarter. "But just as much as your project is fascinating, I don't quite see the, uh, core of the issue."

"Well, I did all this to get to the surrounding context of my persistent failure. Being able to eliminate fluctuations based on luck, faulty ingredients, instructions, the following of instructions, a bad cauldron, spoon or anything of the like," Harry said. "The only issue remaining that could possibly be holding me back is my own magic."

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. "That's an interesting point and something I've thought about as well. Just like some take to transfiguration like grindylow to water, some might struggle with even the most basic charms. As you likely know potions can be made by squib, but not by muggle, so despite its formulaic process the magic of the poitoneer clearly affects the outcome," he apologetically spread his hands. "The only problem with that being…"

"That we can't just change the nature of our magic. Also, who knows, even if we succeeded, I might lose some talent for Charms, the question being, is it even desirable to make such a trade," Harry said.

Slughorn nodded. "I do have some good news. Extrapolating from what you've brought me… You've proven by making 21 iterations of the same potion that your unsuitability for potions is surmountable. Since a potioneers magic follows a similar pattern in each step of the potion-making processes - cutting, crushing, stirring - and there are so many motions to go through in the entirety of the subject, you should acclimatise to all potions eventually. The more potions you make the more used your magic might become into falling into the necessary patterns."

"And so, perhaps next year I will only need 15 attempts at creating a perfect potion, not 22," Harry said bitterly.

"Potions is an incredibly important subject, historically and practically, that's why it's mandatory." Was the reply.

"I understand, professor." Harry sighed. "I would have a request then if you do not mind me asking."

"Ask away my boy."

"Could I perhaps, from the cabinet of used potions textbooks, borrow an example from every year. Maybe studying the recipes and their order can help me create a practice schedule that will help me make the most out of this year. Try to pass my exams and all," Harry said.

"Go on my boy, but don't go practising over the summer. The trace might not be able to track potion making," Slughorn winked suggestively, "but it's a dangerous discipline to commit to alone. I'd only trust a very brilliant, dedicated and mature student to ever brew me a potion without my supervision in the muggle world before their fourth year."

"It shouldn't be too much of a worry professor," Harry chuckled. "It's not like I would even have enough wizarding money to buy ingredients to try making anything," he said as he walked over to the cupboard with the old textbooks and opened it, quickly scanning for the one assigned in the sixth year. He found Snape's copy of "Advanced potion-making", not hard, since it had more notes than actual text. He slipped the copy into his satchel before more leisurely selecting the other texts, noting that the sixth-year one seemed to be the only one that had Snape's handwriting in its margins.

"That is unfortunate," Slughorn said as he stood up from his chair and ambled over to where Harry was rifling through books. "At the end of the year, I always have storage left over, it would definitely go bad if I left over the summer. If only a student would be kind enough to come help me throw it all away. Maybe they could even keep some to practise, after all, Students leave one week after exams. Plenty of time to go through the last of the materials."

"I'll volunteer for the task, professor, it's the least I can do considering how you took time from your busy schedule to show me around Diagon Alley last year," Harry said solemnly, as he stuck the last of the six books he was here to borrow into his now, very heavy satchel. He stood up and made to go for the door, before pausing. "What was that copying spell you used earlier, if I may ask?" he asked innocently. "Perhaps I could use it on the textbooks and thus bring them back earlier."

"Effigo, the copying charm. A bit advanced, but I guess so are you," Slughorn said as they ambled over to exit the classroom. "I'll send you the spell instructions by owl tomorrow, you can break your head on the thing. It's a real time-saver though, perhaps if you master it by next year you'll have enough time to come to a small Halloween gathering I'll be hosting."

"I would very much like that, professor," Harry demurred. "I've heard that it was great fun last time from the invitees," he complimented and they exited the room, only to both pause once outside. Harry narrowed his eyes and looked at the three Slytherin first years loitering around, one of them Montague, the boy who'd shoved him before the sorting. They all also froze when they saw Harry and Slughorn together.

"What are you all doing here?" Slughorn tsked. "Why are you hanging about in this horribly cold dungeon, you'll catch a cold." He ushered the still first-years off, causing them all to leave in a singular direction after a few seconds of confusion. "Until next time my boy," Slughorn said to Harry, causing one of the Slytherins, a short blonde, to throw a glare at Harry over his shoulder.

Harry watched them leave dispassionately once Slughorn had retreated back into the classroom, like a bear into its cave. "Annoying," he muttered, before casting the levitation charm on his heavy bag and beginning his walk to the Hufflepuff common room. "Thankfully there won't be much reason to not walk around invisibly and silenced soon enough," he sighed, imagining himself doing something childish, like perhaps taking a hat off a Slytherin student and throwing it out of a window. He chuckled at how unfunny bullying children was and made his way to where he and Penny had been making potions together over the last half a month.


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AN: My patreon launch worked very well, so I'm a happy camper indeed. Made me want to give back so here's an early chapter. I've decided I'll do a quick release every time I get to an increment of 10 patrons, currently at 12/20 until next. Have fun!

Thank you for the support: Kyle, Marco, Noctis117, Yeco12773345, Ouki's lips, Myles, Mister Vii, Javier, Less, ONE PE0.1, Tronic 42

-/-

next chapter

บท 20: Chapter 17: The mysterious disappearance of the half-blood prince

Harry arrived at the abandoned classroom - something that Hogwarts had a lot of - that he and Penny had been using for practice. Perhaps Harry could have simply asked for a room from Slughorn, but he didn't want to waste his favours on something like that. He'd much rather have the copying spell that Slughorn had used, which he would hopefully get by owl tomorrow.

"How did it go?" Penny asked as he entered the room.

"Slughorn agreed with our hypothesis," he said and dropped his satchel onto a nearby table. "There's nothing to do for my potion-making skills, other than to practise it like mad in advance." He watched as Penny dropped a small oak leaf into her red potion, seemingly stabilising a brew that had begun to bubble menacingly. That's when she looked up at him and came over to hug him.

"I'm really sorry, Harry," she said gently into his ear as she rubbed his back. Harry sighed and enjoyed the closeness. He hadn't been getting the same amount of hugs at Hogwarts as he had access too back home.

"Thanks, Penny. But there's no need to be sad, what magic granted me in terms of Charms, it took when it came to Potions. All apples are poisoned, somehow. Or perhaps how an alchemist would say it. You can't gain anything without losing something."

"Is that the principle of equivalent exchange? I think you've mentioned it a few times," she muttered as she continued smothering him with her long blonde hair.

"In other words perhaps, every action prompts an equal and opposite reaction." He untangled himself from his friend's hug. Once they were standing in front of each other again Penny blushed, perhaps at some preconceived notion of how unromantic physical contact between a boy and a girl was impossible. He noticed how her tie had become slightly undone and brought his hands up to gently fix it.

"You're a good friend, you know," he said as he tightened her knot and gently tugged down at her robe, so it hung down symmetrically. It was what Aunt Petunia liked doing to Harry and Dudley, even when their clothes were perfect.

"Thanks," Penny muttered as she fixed her hair behind her ears and twirled one of her braids in her fingers. "You're a great friend too, I'm sorry that I bothered you so often about Potions."

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry that it took so long for me to listen. If I'd practised more in the beginning we could have figured it out sooner."

"If anything it's a lesson in understanding that people face difficulties for which we don't understand ourselves sometimes," she said.

"Very wise."

"Did you get the books?" she then asked as she walked past him, fearlessly upturning his satchel to get at the six volumes. Harry rolled his eyes as he went to pick up the book that belonged to the half-blood prince.

"This one has some interesting margins, could you maybe look through the other ones meanwhile and note down any potions you're interested in? Slughorn said he'll let me have the remains of the ingredients cupboard after the exams," he said and sat down on the floor to begin reading Snape's old copy of 'Advanced Potion Making'.

"Exciting," Penny commented and went to do a mixture of paying attention to the potion she was making and flipping through the recipes of the potions they'd be making in the next six years.

Harry meanwhile started reading through Snape's margins and writing down all the interesting spells he could find, such as muffliato, levicorpus and even sectumsempra. He did hesitate on the last one, however. It was dark magic and he was wary, but he also hadn't found any particularly well-founded reasoning for why dark magic was bad. Most texts just said it corrupted the user but didn't explain how exactly that was achieved. Other texts simply claimed that it was evil.

'You have to mean it!' Resonated in his hand but he couldn't tell why that would be important. You had to mean all magic, or else it didn't work. Willpower was one of the three most important components of any spell.

Harry shook his head, deciding to wait on learning sectumsempra for a later time. It was always better to be cautious.

What was particularly interesting about the spells were the explanations written under the incantation. A small explanation of its effects, the wand movement and a small note about intent. It was all very sparse and it was missing any and all arithmancy and structure. This begged to question why Snape had been writing spells and their structure into a Potions book after he already must have written them down in more detail somewhere else. It was impossible to create a spell on the side while attending a potions class like the note-taking method suggested. Harry tapped his chin, thinking about who Snape had been as a person, before shaking his head because there was no conclusion he could reasonably make as to why the spells were written out like this. Maybe, Snape had used the textbook of his favourite class as a diary, for sentimental reasons, essentially.

Harry frowned as he reached page 117 out of 253. Sentimental reasons? Well then, why did the note-taking suddenly stop here? He flipped through the rest of the book and saw that the margins remained empty. Another indicator of the fact that he was in a similar universe, but not the same as he'd read about. Or had Snape not continued the note-taking in the original timeline as well? There was no way to know really. Unless… "Wouldn't it be too much of a coincidence if the note-taking stopped right after what happened to my mom?" he muttered.

"Did you say something?" Penny asked from where she was lying on her stomach and flipping through the fourth-year potions book.

"Nothing," Harry said as he stared at the blank note-margin. Was there a way to check if his probable conception date correlated with the last entry Snape had made? Slughorn had already been a professor back then so maybe he was re-using his lesson plans? "Amortentia, huh," he whispered as he stared at the recipe, the first one without notes. Had Snape been his father all along? Possessive and not reciprocated love boiling over in a sexual assault, a memory charm used to hide the perpetrator. Snape would have been a student talented enough to learn the spell, that was for sure, and also talented enough to brew a love-potion or cast any other spell meant to compel or to force.

But Harry didn't look anything like Severus Snape. He looked like a male version of Lily Evans, through and through, so if anything the rapist would have to match her visuals to at least a certain extent. His heart was beating and an old rage started simmering again, clouding his mind. He should put more resources into finding out the truth, finding the ones responsible and-.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in, breathed out, and calmed his mind. All with due time, he told himself, all with due time. He went back to the page with sectumsempra on it and hovered his finger over the paper, ink slowly beginning to seep out of the page and gathering at the tip of his finger in a minuscule ball of increasing diameter. He stopped when the ink was gone completely, leaving the copy that he'd made of the spell the only one in existence. He let the drop of ink splash harmlessly on his palm as he relinquished control before clenching his fist on the blot.

Scourgify flowed through his hand, the calming exercise from earlier helping him impose the spell without an incantation, without a wand.

He opened his palm to look at the pristine flesh.

He turned to Penny. "I found something interesting. This student made a bunch of notes on how to improve the potions, wanna check it out?" he asked, causing the girl to hop up and commence a scrabble for the book in his hand, which after taking it, she clutched as if it were a lifeline. With shining eyes, she pushed the open book she'd been looking at into his hands before opening Snape's notebook on a random page.

"Crushing, of course!" she exclaimed not a second after. "Why didn't I think of that?" she lamented before sitting down and beginning to flip through the rest of the book.

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced down at the fourth-year potions book, which opened on the page with the recipe for the ageing potion.

He blinked.

-/-

The Defence against the Dark Arts class was one that the Hufflepuffs shared with the Slytherins. They'd done so with the Gryffindors in the first half of the school year, which had been much more enjoyable. While it wasn't as heated as a combination of Slytherin and Gryffindor would have been, it still wasn't preferable. Harry felt the glare of Montague, the boy who'd called him a mudblood. However, Montague didn't dare do anything in class, because even if he were a spitting madman, Twix was madder. The woman paced in front of the classroom and glared at the students, waiting for an answer to the question that she'd bit out in between her repeat lecture on dangerous non-magical animals one could encounter.

Harry raised his hand, repressing a grimace. Answering the question wasn't a good strategy to not get screamed at, but he needed to push the class forward. He liked DADA, they were taught a bunch of interesting spells and theories. It was because of his interest that he couldn't let the class languish on the question for too long, they might just miss out on being taught a spell.

"Evans," Twix spat as if she'd eaten something sour. Not that uncommon for the woman, ever since Harry had snitched on her to Sprout, and she had stopped going to the restricted section during the day, likely under Dumbledore's orders.

"The most dangerous non-magical animals we're likely to encounter in Britain are bears, wild boars and venomous snakes. Bears and wild boars wouldn't be deterred by anything but the strongest knock-back jinx, while venomous snakes might poison us and make us incapable of focusing on casting the red sparks spell necessary in getting help," he said.

Twix frowned at him, rewarded him with no points and continued onwards with the lecture, now talking about spells they would learn in the future, which would help them deal with at least the more physically imposing animals. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and continued taking notes. He just had to survive another half an hour, walk for dinner to the great hall without allowing Montague to catch him alone anywhere and he would be fine. He really didn't feel like dealing with the boy, who had apparently been stewing in some sort of resentment lately, which had made him try to seek Harry out on several occasions.

A spitball impacted his hair when Twix turned her back to the class to write something on the board. Harry narrowed his eyes and followed the trajectory back to some grinning first-year Slytherins, Montague amongst them. Fucking brats, he thought and grinned. There was one weapon that gave him a perfect alibi for what he could do to retaliate. Wordless magic. He flicked his wand in Montague's direction just as Twix turned around to face the class again. A wordless levitation charm slightly lifted the boy's table and rattled it, making it seem like the Slytherin had moved it on its own and thus disturbed class.

"Mr. Montague, are you bored perhaps?" Professor Twix asked, causing the first-year to shiver and fervently shake his head.

"No, profes-sor," the boy managed to stutter out. Twix fixated him with slitted eyes, breathing harshly, obviously barely containing her anger, before she seemingly decided that the incident wasn't worth her time and returned to teaching.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Montague give him a hateful glare. Harry shrugged, maybe if the boy hadn't been so incompetent that the largest thing he could fling with the levitation charm was a spitball, then maybe his attempts at bullying would actually bear fruit, instead of just bringing disappointment to the boy's family. He stuck his tongue out at the child and showed him the middle finger when Twix wasn't looking, making the heavy-set Slytherin run red in anger. But he couldn't do anything about it in a group setting, nor would he ever find Harry alone in the castle, considering his use of the disillusionment charm.


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AN: Currently at 18/20 patrons for another quick release chapter. Got commissioned to start writing a few stories as well, so do look forward to that. I think one them, a pokemon fic, is almost ready to be published. The first chapter of it at least

Thank you: Darkkarma, Nock, Noname, Lazy Lemon, Louis, Carlo, Harkin (for making this possible)

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คุณลักษณะความคิดเห็นย่อหน้าอยู่ในขณะนี้บนเว็บ! เลื่อนเมาส์ไปที่ย่อหน้าใดก็ได้แล้วคลิกไอคอนเพื่อเพิ่มความคิดเห็นของคุณ

นอกจากนี้คุณสามารถปิด / เปิดได้ตลอดเวลาในการตั้งค่า

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