Love Potion
The behavior range of creatures doesn't typically change much if the environment remains stable.
The bicorn still frequented the same locations.
Harry even found a fresh pile of dung, less than a day old, enough to track the creature by scent.
However, he didn't act immediately. Proper preparation was crucial for a successful hunt.
Gryffindor Common Room.
Hermione woke up early and found Harry writing furiously at a table.
"What are you working on? Professor Flitwick's assignments?" she asked.
"I'm researching bait for the bicorn," Harry replied, shaking his head.
Hermione sat down, intrigued. "So you've found it?"
"Last night," Harry confirmed. "Judging by the tracks, there's only one. I'm planning to use bait and set some traps."
Hermione leaned in. She had evidently taken a bath, as her hair carried a faint mistletoe fragrance.
On the parchment, two names stood out prominently at the top of Harry's notes.
"Oh…"
"Professor Snape and Mr. Weasley? Are you consulting them?"
"Wouldn't asking Professor Snape be a bit too obvious?"
Harry's expression was unreadable. "I'm wondering if I can use them as bait."
Hermione's head shot up, looking at him in alarm.
"The bicorn favors men of unwavering loyalty," Harry explained. "Both of them are suitable—strong enough to handle a bicorn."
That's what he meant…
Hermione exhaled in relief and nodded. "That makes sense."
"But Professor Snape would probably try to stuff a dungbomb into my brain," Harry said, shrugging. "And Mr. Weasley is too busy for me to bother him."
"Unicorn hair, roses, lilies…" Hermione muttered as she read through the listed materials. "These seem unrelated in terms of properties."
"They're symbolic," Harry explained, pointing at the words. "Loyalty, love, faithfulness…"
"And symbolism often carries magical power," Hermione recited from Lily's notebook. The next line in the notebook was particularly relevant: When working with symbolic materials, the method and mood must align with their meaning. Violating their symbolism may weaken or even nullify their magic.
Harry nodded.
Hermione joined the discussion. Her knowledge of flower meanings, as a girl, was more extensive than Harry's.
Lilies, for example, weren't ideal.
Their symbolism leaned more toward loyalty and dignity, often representing a relationship between ruler and subject rather than romantic love.
Red roses symbolized passionate love, but for a creature like the bicorn, white roses—symbolizing pure love—might be more appealing.
By 8:30, they were still finalizing which materials to use.
Suddenly, Ron burst out of the dormitory, stumbling and shouting, "I'm late! Harry didn't wake me up—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Harry and Hermione casually seated in the common room.
Half his body froze while his legs kept moving, causing him to trip and fall. Sitting on the floor, he stammered, "Why… why are you still here?"
"The first class starts at nine," Hermione replied calmly. "We still have over half an hour, but we should get ready soon."
"It's almost ten!" Ron shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "Oh no, Hermione's mistaken the time too—"
"I set your clock an hour early," Harry said, closing his notebook. "You always complain about being groggy in the mornings. Feel more awake now?"
"Harry," Ron said, pausing as his shoulders slumped. "I really thought I was going to be late. That kind of joke…"
"Was funny, wasn't it?" A pointed tip poked out from Harry's robes.
"Was it your idea, Hat?" Ron asked, his eyes narrowing.
The Sorting Hat responded smugly, "Of course! Our dear Harry doesn't have such a refined sense of humor."
Ron clenched his fists.
The hat, however, hummed a cheerful tune as it retracted its tip into Harry's robes. Safely nestled on Harry's hip, it had no fear of Ron's retaliation.
The first day of term, a Wednesday, brought a packed schedule.
At 9 a.m., they had Charms with a visibly exhausted Professor Flitwick. However, his teaching quality remained impeccable.
After an hour-and-a-half break, they had Potions before lunch.
As usual, Snape's scowling voice filled the classroom: "Two points from Gryffindor, Potter!"
It was a familiar scene that brought a strange sense of comfort to the Gryffindors. Hogwarts life was back to normal.
The afternoon was spent in History of Magic.
The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were equally drowsy—most had stayed up too late in excitement the previous night.
By 3 p.m., classes for the day were over.
On their way to the Great Hall, Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "I've got it!"
"Got what?" Ron asked eagerly. "I hope it's lamb chops tonight…"
"Not food!" Hermione snapped, irritated.
"Love potion!"
Ron froze mid-step and turned to Harry. "Wait, you're giving Harry a potion? That's a terrible idea, and you shouldn't say it in front of him either."
"Not for Harry!" Hermione glared at Ron, her face reddening.
"That's fake love…" Harry frowned.
Hermione shook her head. "But it looks real—intense, passionate, and unwavering. I read that everyone smells something different, depending on what attracts them most."
"It could be useful," she added.
Harry pondered. "But it requires ashwinders' eggs, which are prohibited."
"The advanced students have some," Hermione said confidently, her eyes bright. "I know a few girls who carry love potions with them."
"Carry love potions around?" Harry's expression turned skeptical.
"Well, love does make witches desperate sometimes…" Hermione said, her voice trailing off.
Ron, still confused, asked, "Who are you two planning to drug? Him or her?"
Hermione's patience snapped. "It's for it! The bicorn!"
Ron clapped a hand to his forehead. "But why use a love potion? Oh, Harry, you're not thinking of…"
Whatever he was imagining, his face contorted in horror.
"Looks like Mr. Weasley needs a refresher on magical theory," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "While we're trying to solve a problem, Mr. Weasley is focused on…"
"Whether dinner will have lamb chops," Harry finished dryly.
Ron mumbled, his face red, "What's wrong with lamb chops? You said you wanted French food yesterday."
That evening, their plates indeed featured French-style lamb chops. Ron devoured three before patting his stomach in satisfaction and following Harry and Hermione back to the common room.
Later, Hermione returned with a small bottle of potion. The long-necked bottle shimmered with a pearly glow, its neck surrounded by spiraling wisps of mist.
"Thanks," Harry said, placing it inside the Sorting Hat.
Ron eyed the group of giggling older girls who had given Hermione the potion. "What reason did you give them?"
"Don't ask!" Hermione snapped, her face turning crimson as she slammed her hand on the table.
Ron flinched and nodded quickly, sensing it was best to let it go.
Harry later approached the Weasley twins by the fireplace, interrupting their game of Wizard's Chess.
"George, do you know where the kitchen is?"
George immediately overturned the chessboard.
"Hey!" Fred protested, scooping up the pieces. "He was losing!"
George ignored him, running over to Harry. "You want to know where the kitchen is?"
Harry nodded.
"It's below the Great Hall," George explained. "Follow the underground corridor until you find a painting of a bowl of fruit."
"Tickle the pear," Fred added, joining them with an armful of chess pieces. "It'll open the kitchen door. The house-elves inside are very friendly."
"They'll make anything you want," George said.
"And they won't tell the professors," Fred chimed in.
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Powerstones?
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