Polyjuice Potion (Seeking Follow-up Reads, Seeking Votes)

Regarding the Gryffindor trial, Hermione was even more invested than Harry.

Early the next morning.

Ron was dreaming of gnawing on a table full of chicken legs when a sudden upheaval jolted him awake. "What's wrong?"

Half-opening his eyes, he was greeted by a bandaged chicken leg. Startled, he recoiled and slammed his head against the wall, waking up completely. Only when he looked up did he realize the true nature of the "chicken leg"—it was Hermione's injured hand, attached to her dead-serious face. "Oh, Hermione, why are you here?"

"Get up, it's time to go to the library," Hermione replied. "Where's Harry? I didn't see him in his bed."

"Gone to train," Ron said, yawning as he grabbed the alarm clock from his bedside table. "It's only six-thirty, Hermione! I don't even get up this early for classes!"

Hermione scolded him, "Look at Harry. He's out exercising his body, but all you know how to do is sleep."

A few pained groans followed.

"Ron, you're so loud," Seamus muttered, thumping his bed. "Be quiet and let me sleep."

Neville mumbled, "I must be having a nightmare. Why can I still hear Granger's voice? Good heavens, have mercy on me."

He was the one who had been scolded the most severely by Hermione yesterday.

Aside from Herbology, where he performed excellently, his other subjects... were all rather disastrous.

There were many spells he wasn't incapable of; he could explain the theory perfectly well—he was arguably the most brilliant student after Hermione and Harry—but for the life of him, he just couldn't cast them.

He had been dragged aside by Hermione for over an hour.

After returning to the dormitory, his head was still filled with the echoes of Hermione's relentless lecturing.

Hermione looked up, didn't see Neville, and glared fiercely at Ron. "I'll wait for you outside. Hurry up, Harry will be back soon."

Ron clutched his quilt in agony.

No...

He didn't want to get up; he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this bed.

When Harry returned, he was taken aback to see a vibrant, energetic Hermione sitting in the common room alongside a listless Ron—today was the weekend, after all.

"Up so early?" Harry asked.

Hermione stood up, hands on her hips. "We can go to the library now."

"How about breakfast first?" Harry suggested tentatively.

Ron scrambled to his feet. "Food, let's eat!"

"Hermione, you won't have the energy to flip through books without eating."

Hermione hesitated, then agreed.

They traveled from the eighth floor to the Great Hall, then walked all the way to the fifth floor.

Madam Pince yawned, looking at the three of them with surprise. Oh... aside from fifth and seventh years, there were actually young wizards who would voluntarily come to the library on a weekend, at such an early hour?

Hermione only had one hand, but she was nimble when handling books.

Ron also busied himself; he intended to start by browsing books on alchemy, looking for any items related to disguise while also keeping an eye out for news about the Sorcerer's Stone.

Harry was more casual.

He planned to look for information on Dumbledore first—the man still owed him a reward.

As the greatest white wizard of the century, his resume was almost entirely public.

Master of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Master of Transfiguration, Master of Alchemy...

The titles crowning his head were dazzling.

Extracting knowledge from him was clearly the best choice.

As he continued reading, Harry's gaze suddenly sharpened.

A line of text caught his eye: "Dumbledore possesses the only known Patronus in the wizarding world that takes the form of a magical creature; no one knows how he mastered such magic."

The Patronus Charm, Harry knew—he had read descriptions of this spell, hailed as one of the most powerful charms representing white magic.

But for most people, a Patronus was merely a common animal—it was rumored that for wizards who possessed an Animagus form, their Patronus would take the same shape.

If Dumbledore were an Animagus, would his form be a phoenix?

He closed the book.

Harry made up his mind; he was going to learn this.

By evening, Ron let out a cry of surprise: "I found it!"

Madam Pince shot a glare in their direction.

Hermione and Harry both leaned in.

Ron instinctively raised his hand to cover the book in front of him.

Hermione was impatient. "Take your hand away and let me see what you've found."

Ron stammered and struggled, but Hermione snatched the book away regardless.

The first line of text that caught their eyes read: "Ancient alchemy involves the creation of the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Sorcerer's Stone can transform any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, granting immortality to those who drink it."

Hermione froze, a surge of anger rising within her. She crumpled the parchment beside her into a ball, slammed it onto Ron's head, and hissed through gritted teeth, "We are looking for transformation magic, yet you're still obsessing over the Sorcerer's Stone?"

Ron looked guilty. "I was looking for transformation magic; I just happened to find that first, that's all."

Slap.

Hermione slammed the book shut and shoved it at Harry. "Keep going, or you can forget about copying my homework."

Ron didn't mind; Hermione wasn't his primary source for homework anyway.

Harry chimed in, "Same here."

Ron's face drained of color. He took a deep breath. "Oh, no! Don't be like that, I'll look properly."

Compared to the information on Dumbledore, material on transformation magic was even harder to find, and they came up empty-handed that day.

In fact, for a long time afterward, they made very little progress.

They fell into a repetitive daily routine.

Attending classes, eating, and camping out in the library.

Even the young wizards of Ravenclaw struggled to keep up with them.

Ron had developed a sort of allergy to the library; now, just hearing the word "library" made his stomach churn and his abdomen ache.

In Charms class, they finally began to touch upon their first offensive spell.

The "Firework Charm."

By waving their wands, they could summon a ball of cool-temperature blue flame. Professor Flitwick explained that this was a prerequisite skill for the "Incendio" spell, which they would learn in higher years.

This spell was not difficult for Harry.

However, it was significant to him—he had discovered the greatest difference in the essence of magic between the two worlds.

In the Witcher world, magic was like a catalyst; it guided the elements to release a spell. Just like the "Igni" Sign he had mastered, magic drew upon fire elements to produce an effect.

But in this world, magic was the essence.

From the moment this pale blue flame was summoned until it dissipated, it remained a ball of pure magic—unless it attached itself to a combustible material. Only when the magic faded would the fire left behind on the object become real fire.

So that night...

Was that the reason why other Signs were ineffective against the Troll, while only Igni had worked?

Harry had an epiphany. He felt as if he had grasped something, but his current understanding of magic lacked a complete system, making it difficult for him to truly explore this thought.

For the other young wizards, this spell proved quite difficult.

Even Hermione struggled with it.

She had to drag Harry back to practice for a long time before she could successfully cast the charm.

Other students lined up, waiting for Hermione's tutoring, which delayed their search for transformation magic once again. This gave Ron a moment to breathe, and he was quite relieved not to have to go to the library every single day.

Every day brought new distractions that stalled their plans.

Until two days before Christmas.

Hermione finally found it. She excitedly spread a book open in front of Harry. "Harry, look at this. This is definitely what we're looking for."

"Polyjuice Potion."

"Add something from the person you want to turn into—a hair or a fingernail—and drink it. You'll take on that person's appearance for an hour."

Harry frowned. "I didn't find this in the Potions textbook."

Hermione shook her head. "This is content for the O.W.L.s; I only found it while flipping through exam materials. I'm afraid we'll have to go to the Restricted Section to find the recipe."

As she spoke, she poked her head out to glance at the Restricted Section, which was only lightly cordoned off by a rope.

"We'd need a professor's permission for that," Ron sighed. "And we still don't know which book this... whatever potion is in."

"Most Potent Potions," Hermione replied.

Ron asked, "What?"

Hermione waved her hand. "In the book Most Potent Potions. It's written right here, didn't you see it?"

"Professor McGonagall likes you; shall we try asking her?" Ron immediately turned his head to look at Harry.

Harry shook his head decisively. "Professor McGonagall definitely won't. She's been very careful about teaching me second-year material during my detentions."

"I'd sooner believe Professor Snape would be easier to get a note from."

"Second-year material!" Hermione exclaimed. "Professor McGonagall gave you detention just to teach you second-year material?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes filled with envy. "Professor McGonagall is too biased. Oh, no, I mean—I wish I could have that too."

"Maybe you could go and talk to Professor McGonagall," Harry suggested sincerely.

Hermione hesitated. "Better not. My Transfiguration isn't as good as yours."

"Let's get back to how we're going to get our hands on Most Potent Potions."

Harry rubbed the rope for a moment, sensing it intently, but felt no trace of magical aura upon it: "I actually have a good idea."

Hermione leaned in: "Hm?"

"The Restricted Section doesn't seem to have any magical protection." Harry lowered his voice, "I have an Invisibility Cloak; I could try to sneak in tonight and copy the recipe."

Ron's eyes widened: "An Invisibility Cloak? You have something like that?"

"What is that?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Ron explained excitedly: "It's an incredibly precious, extremely rare treasure—a magical item that can conceal one's form. Harry, how do you have something like this?"

Harry was concise: "An heirloom from my father."

The excited expression on Ron's face froze, then faded bit by bit, replaced by a look of awkwardness: "Oh, I didn't realize. I'm sorry, Harry."

What was there to be sorry about?

The passing of his parents was already a settled fact, and he had never once resisted that reality.