Meliorism

06 | potion brewing

My heart especially ached for the Weasleys, who were such a tight-knit family. I thought back to Molly Weasley's special clock and wondered what Fred's hand would've shown after they returned home.

If they returned home.

Even Harry Potter was dead. Everyone witnessed the green light hit his chest, his glasses flying off his face, and his body tumbling into the Great Lake. The Dark Lord never recovered the body to officially celebrate, though, meaning the Order members must have taken him for a proper burial.

"Is that all of it?" I felt suffocated. It was the first time I talked since he started telling his story.

"What?" He asked with amusement, despite the solemn mood. "You sound disappointed."

"No..." I trailed off, still partially in thought. "Just in shock... I guess."

A harsh clap made me jump, but it was only Draco being impatient like always. "Great! Hurry up, then," he demanded, standing up abruptly. "My wounds aren't going to heal themselves. They're starting to smell odd."

I reached forward curiously to examine his wounds, which were beginning to ooze a thick, black substance. My heart dropped at the sight. "Blaise, you said the poison wasn't lethal."

"I said that it didn't look lethal," he said defensively. "It's not my fault you two trusted me."

I groaned, hitting the back of his head out of frustration. "Let's just brew the potion and get this over with. I'm exhausted."

Thankfully, antidotes don't take half as long as it does to brew normal potions.

"Bezoar," I stated, holding my hand out. If I remembered well from class, it had properties to act as a decent antidote for most poisons.

Typically, we could have just shoved the bezoar down Draco's throat, but Blaise said the poison seemed too complex for that. Instead, we decided to gather all the ingredients we deemed useful to do some trial and error later on. Draco was in the other room, attempting to soothe his growing headache with a firewhisky, which didn't make much sense to me.

"A Billywig Sting?" Blaise asked, holding up a small container filled with dried stingers. I shrugged in response and placed the ingredient in the growing pile.

"A Graphorn horn!" I exclaimed. It was a rare ingredient, used for antidotes of uncommon poisons. I wasn't surprised that Blaise had such an expensive ingredient. "I think this is all we need."

Blaise nodded, taking out brewing equipment and a cauldron. "Based on the black substance exiting his wounds, I think we ought to start with powdered Graphorn horn."

I agreed, grabbing a mortar and pestle. One of my favourite parts of potions was cutting and grinding the ingredients.

"Remember when you created random potions in the dungeons?" Blaise grinned, picking up a vial of salamander blood. It was useful for strength, which was essential for physically draining poisons. "Saint Potter was infuriated after you snuck that Hair-Raising Potion in his goblet."

I burst into laughter at the memory. His hair stood up for the rest of the day, which led to some proper roasts delivered from Professor Snape. Father wrote an angry letter later that weekend, demanding me to apologize. I never did, of course.

Those were the days.

By the time we finished creating the first antidote, Draco was absolutely wasted and passed out on the couch. If it weren't for the steady rise and fall of his chest, we wouldn't have known whether he was okay or not. One firewhisky... What a liar.