The two sets of handwriting were clearly from different people. Harry didn't have time to dwell on it—he tried pressing the sopophorous beans with the flat of his silver knife, and sure enough, it worked far better.
Encouraged, he looked up at the second line of notes. After some hesitation, he searched around and found that the sopophorous root could indeed be twisted by hand to release its juice.
He added one extra drop to his cauldron. Nothing exploded, and the potion didn't seem ruined either.
Following the annotated steps carefully, Harry worked through each stage until the allotted time ran out.
"Stop stirring!"
Everyone froze.
Slughorn began walking slowly between the tables, occasionally sniffing a cauldron or giving one a light stir.
There were few surprises. The most successful potion belonged to Daphne—her result was even better than Hermione's.
As for Malfoy, his cauldron looked more like a pot of gelatin than anything resembling a potion.
From Slughorn's expression, Daphne could already tell she'd won. She glanced toward Hermione with a triumphant look in her eyes.
Hermione's hair was a mess—she clearly wasn't suited for surprise evaluations like this.
At last, Slughorn stopped in front of Harry.
"Oh my..."
Inside his cauldron was a potion as black as ink. Slughorn cautiously dropped in a single leaf.
The leaf dissolved almost instantly.
"Perfect! Undeniably the best! I daresay a single drop could send a thousand people into sleep. Its potency is ten times that of a standard Draught of Living Death." Slughorn's voice was full of awe.
His eyes shone brighter as he looked at Harry.
Harry himself was equally stunned; the effect was exactly as described in that second line of handwriting.
"Excellent—absolutely excellent, Harry! My word, you've clearly inherited your mother's gift," Slughorn praised loudly.
Then, thinking again of the potion's overwhelming power, he amended, "No, you have her precision and skill—but you possess even greater adaptability."
"Here—take it. I always keep my word." He held out the small vial of Felix Felicis, then pulled it back slightly before handing it over. "Use it wisely."
"I will, Professor," Harry said, nodding as he accepted the potion.
His mood soared—especially when he caught sight of Malfoy's furious, humiliated expression.
Malfoy snorted. "It's just Felix Felicis. I'll have John make me a bottle."
Daphne shot him a look. Why did it sound like John had replaced his father in his heart?
He used to say "my father" all the time—now everything was "John this, John that."
"Stop staring," Daphne said dryly, rolling her eyes at Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.
"You can look at him a hundred times, he's still not yours. Come on—John's waiting for us at the Constellation Society. Today's Astoria's first time there."
"Oh, right, Tori—"
Malfoy's sudden realization was cut short when Daphne's Advanced Potion-Making smacked him square in the face.
"Don't call her that!" she snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.
Malfoy clutched his nose; that book wasn't exactly thin.
Ignoring Harry, who was now being badgered by Ron about how he'd managed to brew that potion, Daphne and Malfoy made their way toward the Constellation Society.
On the way, they ran into Astoria.
She waved excitedly—clearly, she'd just received her invitation to the Society.
The silver badge on her chest shimmered with a shifting starlight, and she'd taken extra care with her appearance: her hair gleamed from the Silverhand brand shampoo, and her nails were neatly trimmed.
"You look beautiful, my sister," Daphne said warmly, pulling Astoria into a hug.
Astoria's cheeks flushed pink as she lowered her head, staring at her toes as if they'd suddenly become very interesting.
Malfoy glanced around, trying to look anywhere but at her. He'd walked a bit faster than Daphne earlier—and immediately paid for it when she kicked him hard in the back.
Good thing John hadn't given Daphne those Meteor Shoes, or that kick might've sent Malfoy flying straight into orbit, just like Sirius once had.
The three of them walked together toward the Constellation Society.
When they reached the floor and approached the entrance, they saw John standing outside, seemingly occupied with something. (A/N: Hey guys, I need help. I kind of forgot which floor it was—third or 4th?)
"John?" Malfoy asked, puzzled. "Why aren't you going in?"
John cast him a brief glance, but didn't answer.
Daphne's surprised voice broke the silence. "Since when was there an office here?"
Malfoy looked where she was pointing. The empty room next to the Constellation Society now bore a new sign.
"Gatekeeper's Office?" he read aloud, eyes widening. "When did that become a thing?"
None of them had ever heard of such a position existing at Hogwarts.
"Ignore it," John said, his gaze lingering on the door for a moment before he turned toward the Society. "Where's Neville?"
"He'll be a bit late," Malfoy replied, smirking. "He ate something bad."
Standing before the door, John didn't move to open it, and neither did Daphne.
Both of them turned their eyes toward Astoria.
With her heart fluttering in excitement, Astoria stepped forward cautiously.
The eye-shaped emblem on the door regarded her briefly, but no alarm sounded.
She placed her hand on the handle and pushed.
For those who weren't members of the Constellation Society, opening that door would reveal only an empty, abandoned room.
But now, as she stepped inside, she was greeted by a breathtaking space bathed in soft starlight.
Golden runes floated through the air, glimmering like ethereal sprites.
The clouds painted across the vaulted ceiling shifted and swirled, parting now and then as golden letters drifted through them.
Astoria walked in, reaching out gently to brush her fingers against one of the glowing symbols.
It shimmered at her touch, dissolving into a trail of golden particles that drifted toward the round table.
"It's so beautiful," she murmured dreamily.
At that moment, all the golden letters transformed into countless tiny motes of light, gathering above the table—where they shaped themselves into little golden figures that began to dance a lively tap dance.
The sight nearly melted Astoria's heart.
As John and the others stepped inside, the golden figures leapt down from the round table and lined up neatly on both sides of the walkway, welcoming them in.
"Is it just me," Malfoy muttered, rubbing his eyes, "or are there… more doors than before?"
Originally, the Constellation Society had only been a single room—but now, nine new doors lined the circular wall.
"You're not seeing things," John said calmly as he walked past him. "There really are more."
He casually approached one of the doors and opened it. Beyond was a dense, wild forest.
"You moved a forest in here?" Malfoy gawked, completely stunned.
"Let's say I was inspired by the Department of Mysteries' circular hall," John replied offhandedly. "Each of these doors connects to a different space. Of course, if you're not fond of jungles—"
He closed the door and opened it again. This time, it revealed an elegant study, warmly lit and tastefully furnished.
"Merlin's beard!" Astoria's eyes widened in amazement. "How did you do that?"
"Just a little trick," John said with a faint smile, raising his voice slightly so everyone could hear. "I plan to hide something in one of these nine rooms."
Neville arrived late, panting as he entered—only to freeze in shock at the sight of the new doors.
He hesitantly tried opening one himself, and a surge of water immediately burst out, drenching him from head to toe.
To welcome their new member, John opened a fresh constellation—one he'd prepared over the holidays.
Golden liquor flowed into their glasses, and Astoria's cheeks turned a bright shade of red; it was her first time tasting anything like it.
John couldn't help but suspect that the Greengrass family didn't drink much—both daughters seemed hopelessly intolerant of alcohol.
Knock, knock.
Malfoy blinked, glancing between his glass and the door. "Did I drink too much, or did someone actually just knock?"
"You're not drunk," John said casually, watching as a slightly tipsy Astoria stumbled toward the door. "That old man next door's come by."
"Old man next door?" Malfoy repeated, confused. Daphne and Neville shared equally baffled looks.
Astoria opened the door—only to find herself staring at a long silver-white beard, faintly singed at the ends.
Her eyes followed the beard upward, and behind a pair of half-moon spectacles was a kind, familiar face.
"P–Professor Dumbledore!" she blurted, sobering up instantly.
"Good evening, Miss Greengrass," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. "I'm the old man next door."
He gave a small, playful wink—waking up the rest of her mind completely.
Malfoy shot to his feet at once, hand flying to his wand, and Neville mirrored the motion just as quickly.
John raised a hand, stopping them before they could make another move. His smile held a faint edge. "The Fool's strategy, is it?"
"It works rather well, doesn't it?" Dumbledore replied with an approving nod.
John rose and walked forward. With a small motion of his fingers in the air, a crystal goblet with gold trim materialized in his hand.
As if refilled by an enchantment, golden liquor began to rise within it, shimmering softly.
"Well then," John said lightly, "since you're my new neighbor, allow me to offer a toast, Mr. Gatekeeper."
He handed the glass toward Dumbledore, his voice laced with amusement. "Unless, of course, you're afraid I've done something to the drink."
"Of course not," Dumbledore said kindly, accepting the challenge with a smile. "As I've told you before, John—I trust you."
The tension between the two was palpable, their combined presence so intense that Astoria instinctively backed away into the room.
Pressing a hand to her chest, she whispered nervously, "Merlin, that scared me half to death. What's going on between John and Professor Dumbledore?"
She still had no idea what the Constellation Society truly was—or what had transpired between the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix.
John watched as Dumbledore reached out for the glass, apparently without a hint of doubt, exactly as he'd claimed.
A faint smile curved John's lips.
The goblet vanished from his hand.
"That sort of drink doesn't quite suit the greatest wizard of the century," he murmured thoughtfully. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he clapped his hands once and said with a spark in his eyes, "I know just the thing that would."
He raised his left hand, and starlight slowly gathered in his palm.
A golden chalice took shape, radiant and flawless, the liquid within it glowing with a brilliance far beyond the wine from earlier.
John's expression carried quiet meaning as he asked, "How about this one?"
It was the Holy Grail—said to hold the power of rejuvenation and immortality.
The very thing Voldemort had longed for, now casually conjured before Dumbledore's eyes.
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