HP: god of potions

Chapter 39

Some time had passed since Professor Lupin's class, and most of the school had gone to Hogsmeade Village, except for some students, including Gray, who didn't have a permission slip. He hadn't asked his guardian, the lady who ran the orphanage where Gray grew up, to sign it, and he didn't want to, anyway, since he had a potion to brew. "Too bad the students are going to spend the money they would have otherwise spent on my Sleepless Potion," he thought. Yes, Gray was still selling that potion to students because it was still profitable. Currently, Gray was finishing brewing a new potion that he had been perfecting for days, and today was the day he got it right. A minute later, he deactivated his mana, took a breath, and looked at the status window of his new potion.

[ Name: Oracle's Vigil ] 

[ Grade: High ] 

[ Description: Oracle's Vigil is a potent high-grade potion that heightens the consumer's instincts, granting a 500% increase in their ability to sense impending danger. Crafted with level 6 potion-making skill, this potion attunes the drinker to minute environmental shifts like air pressure changes and faint sounds. The primary ingredients include Dittany Root (for enhanced intuition), Standard Ingredient, Flobberworm Mucus, Knotgrass, and Bat Wing (to sharpen sensory perception). Auxiliary materials include Asphodel Petals, Infusion of Wormwood, and Nettles. The effect lasts for up to 2 hours; however, repeated use can lead to sensory overload, causing temporary disorientation once the effects fade. ] 

[ Deterioration Rate: 100%, the freshness of the potion ]

"Perfected, literally," he thought to himself as he took a sip of his new potion. "Ahh, it feels… suffocating." 

Almost instantly, Gray's senses sharpened to an overwhelming degree. Every small shift in his suitcase felt amplified—the sound of his own breath, the faint scratch of fabric, the creak of the wooden floor below. The air felt thick with a strange tension, every particle buzzing against his skin. It was as if he could sense the entire room holding its breath, a thousand invisible details crowding his awareness. His body tensed at the overload, heart racing, but after a few long breaths, he steadied himself, letting the heightened sensation settle into clarity.

Gray took a moment to gather himself, adjusting to the new realm of awareness. Once he felt ready, he climbed out of his suitcase, immediately noticing the bustling energy outside. Gryffindor students were rushing out of the common room, their faces etched with urgency and concern. He followed, curious, his senses catching snippets of hurried whispers and thudding footsteps.

As he stepped into the corridor, he glanced up at the Fat Lady's portrait. To his shock, the canvas was empty, and there were three deep claw marks slashed across it, the torn edges still fraying as if the attack had happened moments ago. Ron snickered, "Probably stuffing her face with the apples in that still life on the second floor again." Ginny shook her head, her expression anxious. "No. You don't understand—" Suddenly, Dumbledore appeared, commanding, "Mr. Filch, round up the ghosts. Tell them to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady." A scream echoed, sending the students rushing to the landing, where all the paintings whispered fearfully.

Filch, eyes narrowed, raised a finger, pointing to the ceiling where the Fat Lady cowered in a portrait not her own, trembling. Dumbledore's voice softened, "Dear lady, who did this to you?" She shuddered, her voice distant, "Eyes like the devil he's got, and a soul as dark as his name. It was him, Headmaster. The one they talk about. He's here, somewhere in the castle. Sirius Black." The students gasped, but Dumbledore's voice cut through the chatter. "Secure the castle, Mr. Filch. The rest of you… to the Great Hall." Gray lingered for a moment as he thought, "Huh, it's just a fanatic of Voldemort," dismissively as he went to the Great Hall.

The next morning, the Gryffindors, Gray included, found the Fat Lady's place taken by a new painting: Sir Cadogan, a tiny knight brandishing his sword and taunting any who approached. "Who dares challenge Sir Cadogan! Back, you scurvy braggarts! You rogues!" Seamus groaned, "He's barking mad!" Dean muttered, "What d'you expect? After what happened to the Fat Lady, none of the other pictures would take the job." Neville waved a wrinkled parchment. "But he keeps changing the password. Twice just this morning! I've taken to keeping a list." As they left, Sir Cadogan bellowed, "Farewell, comrades! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!" Ron muttered, "Hey, Gray, is he your relative?" to which Gray just looked at him, amused.

"Hey, do you want to vomit slugs?" he asked, completely naturally, which freaked Ron out as he gagged before leaving. "Kids," Gray thought to himself before suddenly, his surroundings started to stretch as he thought, "Huh, I am under surveillance," as he looked around. However, he couldn't detect where he was being watched from; well, he could tell where it was from, but it was from every direction: up, down, left, right, forward, and backward. "This is a problem," he thought as he walked away.

In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Snape snapped the screen down over the blackboard. "Turn to page 394." As the students exchanged glances, Malfoy finished scrawling on a bit of parchment, balling it up until a moth fluttered from his hands. Harry, bewildered, asked, "Excuse me, sir, but… where's Professor Lupin?" Snape's gaze didn't waver. "That's not really your concern, is it, Potter? Suffice it to say, your professor finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time. Page 394." Ron whispered to Harry as Hermione began to protest. Snape's patience waned as he commanded, "Quiet!" Pointing at the attacking werewolf on the screen, Snape challenged, "Now. Which of you can tell me the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?"

Hermione, brimming with answers, waited, but Snape's silence prompted her, "Please, sir, an Animagus is a wizard who elects to turn into an animal. A werewolf has no choice in the matter and actively hunts humans—" Malfoy howled mockingly, but Snape silenced him with a glare before turning back to Hermione. "Tell me. Are you incapable of restraining yourself? Or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?" before he turned towards Gray, who was quietly taking notes—well, at least he looked like he was. In reality, he was tweaking some of his data and doing some calculations. "Why can't you be like Knight, who I am sure would know the answer but doesn't open his mouth unless I ask him?"

This made Gray look over his notes and glance around; the whole class was looking at him before Ron whispered to Harry, "He's got a point, you know." Snape's voice cut through, docking points and assigning them a lengthy essay on werewolves. "Passing notes, Potter?" He snatched Malfoy's crude drawing, sneering, "Not exactly Picasso, are you? I hope you demonstrate more talent on the Quidditch pitch this weekend than you do as an artist."

Snape's cold voice sliced through the silence as he warned, "If not, I fear you'll perish, given the weather forecast. Until that time, however, you'll forgive me if I don't let you off homework. Should you die, I assure you… you need not hand it in." He turned, barely concealing a smirk, while Malfoy, Crabbe, Coyle, and Pike snickered, while Gray groaned, "Gosh, it's like I'm in a movie or something," he thought as he closed off everything before returning to his experiment.

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A/N i have a habit of writing of other fanfic while my stocks on the one i am realising dwindles.