Dumbledore and McGonagall arrived quickly.
McGonagall's serious expression instantly quieted the Gryffindors. Several students, in a panic, hid their glasses behind their backs, forgetting entirely that they could use magic to vanish them.
"I'm here to celebrate Harry's success," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand, summoning a glass of wine to himself. "Today is a good day."
McGonagall nodded. She flicked her wand and a glass of wine floated into her hand as well.
The students, reassured by the professors' relaxed attitudes, brought their cups back out.
"Harry, move closer!" Godric Gryffindor's voice called from the painting. He had been eagerly waiting for a chance to et the current headmaster.
Harry obliged.
The portrait floated toward Dumbledore and McGonagall. Godric gave them both a scrutinizing look, his gaze lingering on McGonagall.
"You're the current headmistress of Hogwarts?" he asked.
"I wish I were, Mr. Gryffindor," McGonagall said politely, inclining her head. "I'm the Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and the Transfiguration Professor. My na is Minerva McGonagall."
"So he's the headmaster?" Godric turned to Dumbledore, his voice laced with mild disbelief.
"I am," Dumbledore confird, tugging on his beard with a smile. "Albus Dumbledore. Please, call Albus. Do I not look the part?"
"I'd prefer if this lady were headmistress instead," Godric said bluntly. "She seems more responsible."
"That wounds deeply," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of his wine. Though he hardly looked wounded.
McGonagall's lips curved into a slight smile.
"Perhaps we should discuss Harry's ti at Hogwarts," Godric suggested lightly. "In his first year, a dark wizard broke in. His second year brought a basilisk. In his third year, the school was surrounded by Dentors. Care to explain?"
Dumbledore's hand froze mid-sip.
"My dear, current headmaster?" Godric smiled pleasantly.
Dumbledore, without missing a beat, waved his finger, took control of the portrait, and pulled Godric off to the side. "There are reasons for everything, Mr. Gryffindor."
McGonagall followed them quickly. She wasn't about to miss a chance to hear soone give Dumbledore a well-deserved scolding — even if it was from a painting.
The Gryffindor common room descended into joyous chaos.
Before long, George and Fred were performing a hilariously clumsy rendition of The Four Little Swans, joined by Dumbledore himself. Godric's portrait hovered nearby, giving them tips on dieval dance steps, while the Sorting Hat provided a lively musical accompanint.
By the fireplace, Ron and Hermione sat with Harry.
As the star of the celebration, Harry sat quietly, undisturbed. Occasionally, a tipsy student would raise a glass to him from afar, then dash off to continue dancing.
Ron, full of curiosity, pressed Harry for details about his trial.
The stories of facing giant Acromantulas and crossing treacherous swamps made Ron's skin crawl. The ntion of a surprise attack by mountain trolls made him shudder.
Though Harry wasn't a natural storyteller, his straightforward recounting had Ron and Neville, who had also co over to listen, practically vibrating with excitent.
When Harry got to the part where he pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the stone and beca Godric's heir, Hermione sighed in relief.
"I'm glad it's over," she said.
"This would make an incredible novel!" Seamus's eyes sparkled as he stared at the sword on Harry's lap.
Harry shook his head. "I don't want to beco another Lockhart."
Seamus froze, looking awkward.
"Harry, will you really go looking for Avalon?" Ron asked thoughtfully.
Harry nodded. "I will. But not yet."
Hermione's hands clenched briefly before relaxing again.
The celebration lasted until curfew.
As McGonagall left, she waved her wand to vanish all the alcohol. "It's ti for bed. You've all got classes tomorrow."
Before she left, she turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, you may take a day to rest before returning to classes."
Dumbledore took Godric's portrait with him.
Though Godric would have liked to stay, the temptation of learning to travel between paintings was too great.
Harry finally had a long, peaceful sleep.
The next morning, he woke early as usual for his exercise routine. When he returned to the common room, Hermione, curled up with a book, glanced up in surprise.
"Harry, aren't you going to rest today?"
Harry shook his head. "Yesterday was enough."
He pulled out a notebook of Gryffindor's personal writings and sat beside her.
Godric Gryffindor's notes were a treasure trove. His insights into magic, potions, and dueling were unique. He had delved into the sa advanced magical concepts Dumbledore had once ntioned — the idea that "all we think can beco reality."
What fascinated Harry most, though, were Gryffindor's potion notes.
They included not only his own research but also ideas from Helga Hufflepuff. Gryffindor's experints revealed that potions were profoundly influenced by the brewer's emotions and mindset.
One example in his notes described a witch brewing a potion right after a marriage proposal. She was so filled with joy that she accidentally created a Giggling Potion so potent that the drinker couldn't stop laughing for an entire month. If she hadn't cast constant spells to ease his exhaustion, he might have died from laughter.
Gryffindor emphasized that a potion's outco was deeply affected by the brewer's emotional state.
Harry finally understood why his attempts to alter the Snake-Eye Potion had failed. He'd been stuck in the ntal frawork of that potion, unable to escape its fundantal essence. Unless he completely dismantled its structure, any new ingredient he added would simply reinforce the original potion's nature.
Determined, Harry summoned a piece of parchnt.
He began drafting a new potion formula.
The base would be White Seagull, a volatile ingredient known for imbuing potions with intense energy.
Next, he wrote down Thunderbird Blood, which would grant the potion an affinity with stormy weather.
Then, Giant's Blood, for enhancing physical strength.
Harry worked ticulously, sotis crossing out ingredients and replacing them as he fine-tuned the recipe.
The next few days were busy.
Despite returning from a harrowing trial, Harry threw himself back into classes, extracurricular studies, and Quidditch practice. His dedication impressed the professors, who showered Gryffindor with points.
The Gryffindors, anwhile, proudly bragged about having a "true heir" in their House.
"Do any of you have an heir?" they taunted Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students.
The other Houses could only sigh enviously.
"And you lot, Slytherins? You had an heir once — but our heir took care of him!"
This teasing drove the Slytherins to fury. Fights between Gryffindors and Slytherins broke out daily.
By the end of the week, over ten students had spent ti in the hospital wing.
Both Houses' point totals plumted.
Gryffindors didn't care. They still had Harry, and they were ahead of Slytherin by ten points. That was enough.
On Sunday afternoon, Hermione and Ron were busy with their studies in the corner of the common room.
George and Fred huddled together, plotting mischief. They'd recently acquired sulfur and saltpeter from Sirius and were experinting with creating explosives.
Harry sat alone, surrounded by a magical barrier.
The Sorting Hat, perched on a chair nearby, acted as his guard.
"Stay back!" it warned anyone who got too close. "It's dangerous!"
In front of Harry, a cauldron bubbled with White Seagull.
Carefully, Harry added a drop of Thunderbird Blood.
A crack of thunder echoed as the potion turned a deep purple.
Next ca Giant's Blood.
The cauldron flared, and a column of black smoke billowed up.
Harry quickly vanished the potion with a flick of his wand.
"Not a good combination," he murmured.
Undeterred, he took notes and adjusted the formula.
Hours later, a deep purple potion finally stabilized in his cauldron.
Harry took a cautious sip.
Power surged through him, wild and potent.
This was it.
This was his potion.
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Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: /michaeltranslates
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