My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 99 Training and Compound Decoctions

In November, the chill of winter gradually sets in at Hogwarts.

In the castle's corridors and classrooms, the young wizards wrapped themselves tightly in thick wizard robes, their breath quickly dissipating in the cold air.

But what struck some astute students as even more unusual than the weather was the quietly increasing pressure in the course.

Especially Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the weekly Duel Club training.

Today's training has just ended, and there are still charred marks left by the magical flames at the edge of the field. A faint smell of sulfur, a simulated dragon's breath, lingers in the air.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking somewhat tired, squeezed together at a table in the far corner of the common room, where the fireplace flames were warmest.

Hermione, with a stern face, slammed the heavy book down on the table, startling Ron, who was reaching for the last crucible-shaped cake.

"The professors must know something," Hermione whispered, her eyes scanning the noisy crowd in the lounge to make sure no one noticed them.

"Professor McGonagall's recent emphasis on rapid hardening and the application of local magnification in her Transfiguration class, Professor Flitwick's extra practice on the precision of 'obstacles upon obstacles,' and Snape—though he never had a kind word to say, his explanations of the characteristics of venom, petrification, and the deadly gaze—were incredibly targeted."

She paused, her turquoise eyes filled with seriousness.

"Not to mention the Duel Club, and all those big guys Professor Victor created" — fire-breathing...

The entangled, shimmering forms, though merely polymorphing and magical puppets, focused entirely on dodging vitals, team cover, and finding weaknesses to strike and escape—it was practically preparation for encountering a specific, large, and dangerous magical creature!

Harry nodded, his hair sticking to his scar with sweat. He brushed it aside, his green eyes filled with thought and a hint of worry.

"I think so too. And—don't you guys think Malfoy's been particularly arrogant lately? In Potions class, he practically looks down on everyone, and he keeps saying things like Hogwarts needs a real purification, and that some things should be cleaned out."

"That's right!" Ron swallowed the cake crumbs in his mouth and said indignantly.

"Yesterday in the hallway, he saw Hermione and deliberately shouted at his two henchmen that Mudbloods should know their place," which made me so angry I almost pulled out my wand! He definitely knows something, maybe—no, he's definitely the heir!"

Hermione's cheek twitched slightly upon hearing the word "Mudblood," but her eyes hardened.

"We can't just go by gut feeling. But if Malfoy really is, or even just someone who knows, we need evidence, we need him to tell us himself."

"How can we get him to talk?" Harry frowned. "He's not stupid enough to just openly admit that I'm the heir to Slytherin and that I opened the Chamber of Secrets."

Hermione pursed her lips, leaned forward slightly, and lowered her voice to almost a whisper: "Perhaps—"

—We need a compound decoction.

"What compound preparation?" Ron looked bewildered, his blue eyes filled with "What kind of high-level vocabulary is this?"

"Compound decoction, Ron!" Hermione glared at him angrily.

"It can transform you into another person, completely, from appearance to voice. That way we can impersonate Slytherin, like Crabbe or Goyle, get close to Malfoy, and get information out of him."

Harry's eyes lit up; he had made considerable progress in Potions class recently and remembered the term.

"I remember! Snape mentioned it once when he was explaining the principles of advanced potions. He said it was a very complex and dangerous potion, extremely difficult to brew, and required many precious ingredients."

Ron remained frowning. "Wait, even if we had that potion, where would we get the recipe? And what about all those precious ingredients?"

Hermione sighed, seemingly used to Ron's "lack of knowledge," but now was not the time to argue.

"The formula is recorded in the book 'Powerful Potions'."

"A powerful potion?" Ron repeated, then his face fell. "I think I heard Percy mention it—"

Is that book in—?

"The forbidden section of the library," Hermione replied, her tone resolute.

The warm atmosphere in the lounge seemed to cool down instantly.

The restricted book section was not a place that a second-grade student could freely venture into.

To borrow a book like "Powerful Potion," whose very name evokes a sense of danger, there is only one way: obtain a note personally signed by a professor.

“We have no reason to borrow that book,” Ron said dejectedly, his shoulders slumped.

"It's clearly not something our age should be touching. Mrs. Pince is even more wary than Filch; she would never give us the book without a proper reason, and even if we had a note, we'd probably be interrogated for ages."

Harry felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. Ask a professor for permission? What could he say? That they were interested in the "theory" of Polyjuice Potion? Which professor would believe that?

Hermione pursed her lips, her fingers unconsciously tapping the table—a habitual gesture when she was pondering a difficult problem.

"I think," she said slowly, her eyes gleaming with a defiant light.

"If we pretend to be interested in this theory, perhaps—there might be some hope. For example, we could say we're preparing a very long paper on the history and ethical application of advanced potions, or—research into the intersection of Transfiguration and Potions—"

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron interrupted her rudely, though he tried to keep his voice down.

"Professors won't fall for that so easily. Professor McGonagall will ask to see your thesis outline and bibliography, and Snape will only mock your wild ideas with even more venomous words."

"Professor Flitwick might be interested, but he's cautious—as for Professor Victor, he might trust him, but he'll definitely ask a lot of questions that we simply can't answer."

He concluded, "Unless the professor is extremely stupid."

Faced with Ron's questioning, Hermione straightened her back, her brown eyes behind her glasses flashing with a sharp light.

"Perhaps," she said, deliberately lowering her voice to make sure only the three of them could hear, "we don't need to go looking for those 'clever' professors."

Harry and Ron looked at her, puzzled.

"Professor Lockhart. He—is rather susceptible to praise, and lately he seems somewhat listless; I think he needs some academic achievements to solidify his image as a 'distinguished professor.'"

"If we present him with a written borrowing request, offer a few compliments, and say that we need to consult some advanced potion materials to help understand his work, or to annotate his new theory of Defense Against the Dark Arts —"

Ron's eyes widened slowly, like two copper bells: "You mean—fool him? Get his autograph?"

"It's about strategically acquiring the necessary resources," Hermione corrected, her cheeks slightly flushed, but her tone resolute, "to find out the truth and protect the school."

Harry hesitated for a moment, feeling uneasy about deceiving the professor, even Lockhart.

But the thought of the monsters that might be lurking in the secret chamber, and Malfoy's smug face, overcame his unease with an even stronger determination. He nodded: "Okay, let's give it a try."

In the following days, the Gryffindor Quidditch team engaged in a final, intense training session before the tournament.

As the first match against Slytherin drew ever closer, Captain Wood seemed to transform into a burning ball, driving his players to rush to the pitch every day after school and practice until the wee hours in the increasingly biting cold wind.

Harry felt like he was under a perpetual motion spell, constantly running between classrooms, the library, and the Quidditch pitch.

His fingers were so stiff from practicing dodging the flying juggles that he often felt so tired when he returned to the common room at night that he just wanted to collapse in a chair.

Meanwhile, Hermione was also incredibly busy.

In addition to completing mountains of homework and searching through the vast amount of literature in the library for any clues about the "locked room monster," she also had to find the right opportunity to execute her "signature acquisition plan."

The opportunity came quickly. One afternoon, after Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Hermione deliberately lingered until the very end. After everyone else had left, she took a copy of Lockhart's "Wandering with Ghouls" and walked toward Lockhart himself, who was fixing his shiny hair and emerald green robes near the teachers' lounge.

"Professor Lockhart!" Hermione called out in her brightest, most adoring voice as she jogged over.

Lockhart turned around, and a carefully practiced, bright smile that revealed eight teeth immediately appeared on his face.

"Ah, it's Miss Granger! One of my brightest and most studious students! Is there anything I can do for you?"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and held the book in her arms a little higher.

"Professor, I'm rereading your 'Walking with Ghouls,' trying to understand more deeply the tactics and psychological strategies you used when facing those ferocious ghouls. They were just so—so ingenious! A textbook example of on-the-spot reaction!"

Lockhart's eyes instantly lit up like two stars. He straightened his chest and smoothed his golden curly hair.

"Oh, that! Yes, a little bit of improvisation is definitely needed. You know, true adventurers never stick to the books."

"Yes, Professor!" Hermione nodded vigorously, pressing her advantage.

"It is precisely because I want to better learn from your practical spirit of not being bound by books that Harry and I..."

Ron wants to do an extended research project on "the creative combination and application of potions and spells in actual combat." We need to consult some more advanced reference materials, such as "Powerful Potions"—

She carefully pulled a pre-written note from her bag. Lockhart took the note and quickly scanned it.

When he saw the phrase "highly aligned with the professor's advocacy of practical defensive magic" and his own name and title, his smile widened even further, almost blindingly bright.

"A very ambitious idea, Miss Granger!"

He exclaimed in praise, as if Hermione had just proposed a grand plan that would earn her the Order of Merlin.

"Combining theoretical potion theory with practical defense—this is precisely the direction for the future of wizarding education! I'm delighted to see such forward-thinking ideas in my students!"

Without even glancing at the specific book titles he was borrowing, he casually pulled a gleaming mechanical quill from his peacock feather-decorated pencil case, signed his flamboyant name at the end of the note, and drew a small, smiling sun below it.

"Here you go, my child!" He handed the signed note back to Hermione and patted her on the shoulder.

"I wish you success in your research! If you need any guidance, please feel free to come to me—provided my busy schedule allows."

"Thank you, Professor! You are so generous and visionary!"

Hermione clutched the precious note tightly, feeling her smile about to freeze.

She said goodbye hastily and practically ran out of the corridor. Only after turning a corner and making sure Lockhart was out of sight did she lean against a suit of armor and let out a long, trembling sigh of relief.

The rest of the process went surprisingly smoothly.

Mrs. Pince scrutinized the note with sharp eyes, and then looked Hermione up and down, as well as Harry and Ron behind her.

When her gaze fell on Lockhart's exaggerated signature and smiling sun, she barely pursed her lips and muttered something, but then turned and used a complicated set of keys to open the gate to the restricted book section.

"Powerful Potion" is a thick, worn book with a cover bound in some kind of dark red leather that feels cold to the touch, as if it carries the chill of a cellar.

As Hermione carefully pulled it from the shelf, the gold-embossed title on the cover shimmered slightly.

In the days that followed, the Myrtle's washroom became their secret base.

Hermione meticulously began preparing the ingredients, referring to the dizzyingly complex recipes and steps in "Powerful Potions".

She made a long list, most of which could be bought at the apothecary in Diagon Alley or using ingredients they had collected in Potions class.

But the most crucial items, especially the African tree snakeskin, presented a challenge for them.

This thing was too rare and too expensive, and Snape's private storeroom was heavily guarded, at least most of the time.

However, they still found a way; they lured Peeves away.

Then, while Snape was chasing away Peeves with a dark expression, he successfully obtained the African tree snake skin.

What they didn't know was that as they sneaked into Snape's potions storeroom, Dumbledore was watching them with amusement, along with Snape.

In the secret hideout, Hermione tossed the last ingredient—the precious, dull-looking skin of an African tree snake—into the cauldron that was being gently heated over the fireplace.

The liquid in the crucible, which had been calm and muddy, suddenly churned, its color changing from grayish-brown to a thick, pearly purple, and bubbles began to slowly burst on the surface.

An indescribable smell, a mixture of earth, metal, and some kind of aged herb, filled the air.

Hermione let out a long sigh of relief, carefully adjusted the heat with her wand, and showed the first truly relaxed smile she had seen in days.

"Alright—the hardest step is done. Now all you need to do is stir it regularly every day, adjust the heat according to the moon phase, and keep it at a constant temperature—it should be ready in about a month, around Christmas."

Harry and Ron, however, squatted on the dusty bathroom floor with long faces, looking at the cauldron bubbling with strange bubbles, smelling the odd odor, and looking around at the dilapidated surroundings and the leaky faucet. They felt no joy at all.

"Are we really going to be stuck in this place for a month?" Ron muttered, pinching his nose. "This smell—worse than Snape's socks."

"It's better than being discovered in the dorm or common room."

Hermione said in an unquestionable tone that she had already begun recording the details of the first successful brewing in her notebook.

"Moreover, this place is secluded enough. Although Myrtle is a bit noisy, she almost never leaves this washroom and doesn't talk to the living."

The days that followed were unusually quiet at school.

There were no further attacks, no new bloody writing appeared on the walls, and no one or animal was petrified.

This calm initially kept the students on their toes, but as time went on, especially under the pressure of busy classes, assignments, and Quidditch training, discussions about the Chamber of Secrets and monsters gradually faded from daily conversation.

Another version of the story even began to circulate in the castle.

"If you ask me, there's no such thing as a thousand-year-old monster."

One morning at breakfast, Ravenclaw sixth-year student Michael Corner spoke loudly in the Great Hall.

"Think about it, it only attacked a cat? If it were truly a Slytherin monster, shouldn't it have attacked Muggle-born students?"

"That makes sense," a Hufflepuff student chimed in. "And Filch's cat—who knows if it's offended someone."

Rumors spread like mold in every corner of the castle.

By the end of November, a more specific version began to circulate.

"My cousin's roommate's girlfriend is interning at the Department of Magical Creatures Control at the Ministry of Magic. She said that some advanced petrification potions can achieve similar effects, and even Dumbledore couldn't tell the difference at first glance."

A Slytherin student spoke mysteriously to a group of listeners outside the Potions classroom.

"Really?" someone asked.

"Absolutely true! And someone saw a dark figure loitering suspiciously on the third floor before the incident, carrying a cake—just think about it, Mrs. Lorice loves cream cakes made by the house-elves!"

This detail makes the rumor sound exceptionally believable.

Within a week, almost the entire school was discussing it.

What kind of magic potion could create such a realistic petrification effect?

The claim that the antidote requires the mandrake to mature before it can be prepared actually becomes strong evidence for the "poison prank theory".

Because if it were a real monster attack, how could the antidote be available at such a specific time when the mandrake matures?

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed in anger upon hearing yet another version, slamming her book on the table in the library.

"It's supposedly a prank orchestrated by the Weasley twins as revenge for Filch confiscating their dung balls last time. They completely missed the point! The Chamber of Secrets is real, and the monster is real!"

"Calm down, Hermione," Harry said in a low voice. Mrs. Pince had already given them a sharp look several times. "It's good for them to think that way; at least everyone won't panic."

But the truth—

'

"We'll find out the truth ourselves," Harry said firmly, glancing at his backpack in the corner, which contained the Invisibility Cloak.

"Once the compound decoction is ready, we'll be able to learn everything from Malfoy."

Ron, however, seemed somewhat worried: "Speaking of which—don't you guys think it's been too quiet lately? If there really is a Slytherin heir, why hasn't he taken any action?"

This question made all three of them fall into deep thought.

Indeed, it's too quiet.

It's like the person who opened the secret room and released the monster suddenly changed their mind, or—encountered some trouble.

Hermione bit her lip, her gaze unconsciously drifting towards a certain direction in the castle, towards the tower where the faculty offices were located.

"Perhaps," Hermione said slowly, "the professors have taken some measures in places we don't know about."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, puzzled.

Hermione shook her head without explaining, though she didn't have evidence for some of her suspicions.

“Anyway,” Harry said, picking up his bag with a determined look, “we’ll proceed as planned. Quidditch matches, training, Polyjuice Potion—one step at a time. If the Chamber of Secrets and the monster really do exist, we’ll find out.”