Chapter 163: Veritaserum
By late January at Hogwarts, the bitter cold had finally begun to ease.
They no longer needed to bundle up in layers of heavy coats or tread across frozen puddles on their way to class each morning.
Rubeus Hagrid had returned to Care of Magical Creatures, though his complexion still didn’t look too good. Even so, he picked up where Professor Grubbly-Plank had left off with her lessons on unicorns—perhaps wanting to prove that whatever Grubbly-Plank could do, Hagrid could do just as well.
In his very first class back, he surprised everyone by bringing along two unicorn foals.
“Weren’t easy gettin’ their parents to let me bring ’em along!” Hagrid declared in his booming voice.
The sight of the unicorn foals nearly sent many of the girls into a frenzy. Jon noticed that Astoria’s gaze never strayed from the one in her arms.
Almost every kind of animal baby could be described as “adorable,” but unicorn foals were in a class of their own. Their coats had a warm golden shimmer, still thick and fluffy where their fur had yet to grow in properly—soft enough to melt anyone’s heart.
“They turn silver at about two years old, grow their horns around four, and only become pure white when fully grown—about seven years old!” Hagrid explained, handing out pieces of rock candy to the class.
“You can feed ’em the candy—they love it...”
It’s a bit like Dumbledore, Jon thought privately, as he crept closer to the golden foal in Astoria’s arms.
The little unicorn was happily licking the candy from her hand.
Jon reached out, intending to stroke it.
But the moment his hand brushed its coat, the foal let out a shrill, unpleasant cry.
“Don’t hurt it!” Astoria snapped, shooting him a glare. She quickly turned away and shifted the unicorn beyond his reach.
...
Hagrid seemed to have shaken off the effects of that article, and Rita Skeeter had been banned from setting foot in Hogwarts.
Jon, however, didn’t particularly dislike the quick-flying journalist.
After all, her Daily Prophet reports hardly mentioned him at all... meaning most of the wizarding world still had no idea that Hogwarts had a second Triwizard Tournament champion: Jon Hart.
Still, he stayed cautious, often glancing around to check whether a beetle might be lurking nearby.
The last thing he wanted was Rita Skeeter catching wind of something she could twist into a story.
...
As February 24th drew closer, discussions about the Second Task grew increasingly heated among the students.
“The first task was Dragons. What’ll the second one be... battling a Phoenix?”
“Could be a whole pack of Acromantula! I heard there’s a huge breeding colony in the Forbidden Forest!”
“Why do you lot always assume Magical Creatures? Why not a duel instead—one contestant against each Keeper? Mr. Crouch is ill, and there just happen to be four Keepers left!”
Harry Potter was nearly losing his mind, especially since he already knew exactly what the Second Task was.
Before Christmas, he’d spent over a month enjoying himself without a care. Afterward, he’d wasted another month brooding over his “broken heart.” Then came the business with Hagrid... It wasn’t until a week ago that he finally remembered what Jon had told him and took the golden egg to the bathroom.
Now, at least, he understood—the Second Task involved retrieving something from the bottom of the Black Lake. But he, Ron, and Hermione had scoured the library these past few days without finding a single spell that could help him breathe underwater.
Regret weighed on him heavily. Why hadn’t he started working on the egg’s clues earlier? Why had he zoned out in class? Maybe some professor had once mentioned a way to breathe underwater...
“Maybe you should ask Jon. He might’ve figured something out already,” Hermione suggested, setting down a copy of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes.
“No way!” Ron blurted immediately. “He’s Harry’s rival—why would he help him?”
“Yeah, I’m not asking him,” Harry agreed, pride keeping him from even considering it.
...
Jon Hart, meanwhile, was in the Room of Requirement.
Like Harry, he had long since stopped worrying about the Second Task.
Back in early December, he’d written to a potion supplier in Diagon Alley to order Gillyweed. Just to be safe, he’d bought extra portions. It wasn’t cheap either—five Galleons for a single ounce.
Lately, all his focus had been on brewing.
Before him, a cauldron bubbled with a purple-green solution—the base stage of Veritaserum.
It was the product of the past two weeks of effort. In the last month and a half, he had failed twice more.
According to Snape’s list, Veritaserum belonged to the IIA family of potions, but the correct cycle depended on the brewer.
Jon had been forced to start over from scratch.
His first- and second-cycle attempts had failed. From his experience, the problem wasn’t the brewing process itself but a mismatch in the sequence.
Today, he was attempting the third cycle of Group IIA: Sequence 20, known as “Rock.”
Jon had memorized every step of the sequence by heart.
He carefully measured out one-tenth of an ounce of Jobberknoll feathers and dropped them into the cauldron. This was the theoretical method for Veritaserum.
Slowly, bubbles rose within the potion. The feathers resisted dissolving, sinking gradually to the bottom.
That sinking had been the cause of his past failures.
If the sequence was correct, the feathers would dissolve completely, leaving the potion transparent. If incorrect, they would sink, blacken, and ruin the batch.
Jon took up a teaspoon of dolomite powder.
Carefully, he sprinkled a little into the cauldron... The Jobberknoll feathers at the bottom seemed to fuse with the powder and vanish.
But Jon didn’t relax in the slightest.
Sequence 20 demanded absolute patience. The dolomite could only be added once the feathers had settled, and the quantities of both had to be matched with perfect precision.
Too little, and even a single feather turning black would ruin the entire brew. Too much, and the dolomite would halt the settling altogether, leaving the potion inert until all solutes expired ten minutes later.
His breathing quickened with tension——
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