Chapter 59 - The Invitation
Ginny and Dean got off the Pape subway station and followed a sparse crowd from the train onto the street. They walked south and turned left onto busy Danforth Avenue, where bars and clubs were abuzz with twenty and thirty-somethings having a good time that Friday night.
"Are you sure this is where we're supposed to go?" Dean asked her, his head doing one eighties as they entered a jam-packed Muggle nightspot called the Howler.
"Pretty sure," she replied over the music as they made their way over to the bar, noticing the many Bruin emblem influenced décor within.
They sat at the end of the long counter and ordered a couple of beers. She tried to sit still, waiting and straining at the club patrons to see if she could recognize the woman she saw at Sir Isaac's home earlier that day.
After getting so much grief from the Canadian MLE about being, in their words, in the wrong place at the wrong time, they finally gave her access to a phone around seven o'clock. The first person she called was Harry and was surprised when Hermione answered. They were in a hospital with Dean, who had been trying to get in touch with her all afternoon. Neville had killed Kingsley, almost killed Harry and had walked out of the Ministry taking more lives and injuring others without much challenge. And she thought she was having a bad day.
But Neville? Really? The past few hours was like living in some twilight zone. Just last night she was convinced it was Malfoy. She was still thinking, maybe hoping, Malfoy was involved in all this but Neville, a murderer and the Potion Master?
Harry's partner got her out of interrogation and she joined her, Hermione and Dean discuss the case over take out dinner at the bedside of the still unconscious but clinically stable Harry. They went around the table with their stories of the day.
Ginny elaborated on the pro-potion Bruin family tree that highlighted daughters born to Squib parents, the one she had sent Harry late last night, told them how the Bruin Council of Elders came into being a century ago and how the anti-potion zealots persecuted the same Bruin women of Squib parentage their pro-potion relatives put on a pedestal. Then she recounted for them what she saw at Sir Isaac Umber's, including the part about talking with the Bruin woman she may have forgotten to mention to the MLE. From their descriptions, they figured that her Bruin woman was the same one Hermione and Harry met in the alley yesterday.
Dean talked about his second run in with a giant plant in the last twenty four hours, Hermione about their discovery that the potion was being smuggled into the country through the Ministry and about the mishap at the potion labs, and Andy about the Malfoy interview, including the fact that Legal was still mulling over whether or not to lean on him about Waterman, particularly after his 'heroic' efforts against Neville. Andy also recounted Kingsley's last interview. They were still in shock, finding Neville's story tragic it was hard to swallow but at the same time difficult to negate and justify. The disturbing thing was Ginny could still imagine herself taking Neville aside and talking with him about this, trying to convince him to do the right thing. So did Hermione for that matter. Andy thought them both crazy.
She did hear some good news that night; Hermione had patched things up with Harry and things between them were, in Hermione's words, 'promising'. She wanted details and by the sound of giddiness in Hermione's voice the latter wanted to talk about it too. But it was late and she knew the uncensored and unabridged version she would get if they were by themselves would be worth the wait.
The Canadian Auror took the Bruin parchment with her to compare with the list of conference attendees and left with Hermione about an hour before Harry woke up. Harry was understandably in a foul mood and insisted on leaving. The Healer came in, tried to talk him out of it and had as much success as she, Dean and Hermione had. That was when she received a text message, a Bruin invite to meet.
She was told to come alone. Dean read it and immediately thought it a stupid idea to do as she was asked. Had Harry been in better shape she would have mentioned it to him too and probably dragged him along. Dean was having difficulty getting a hold of someone to replace him for a few hours so when Harry told them to bugger off, they put up minimal resistance.
They must have been sitting and drinking at the bar a good thirty minutes when she got another message. It was a note passed on by the barkeep.
Muller's tagged you. Lose the boyfriend.
Ginny took out a twenty dollar bill and waved the bartender over. She leaned in and spoke in his ear as she put the cash in his hand, hoping the MLE who was watching them would think she was ordering more drinks.
"The boyfriend stays or we both walk out."
It was a gamble but Ginny thought the Bruins must need something from her too to make contact.
The man nodded and left them. Five minutes passed, ten, thirty. They were about to give up when the bartender came back with a couple of ales. There was another handwritten note.
"Let's dance!" she yelled over the blaring sound of a fast beat, pulling Dean with her as she waded through the sea of bodies and marched to the centre of the dance floor.
There was really no room to dance; there was no room to move. She faced Dean and they instantly pressed up against each other, pushed by others around them. Dean wrapped his arms around her protectively and pulled her closer.
Halfway through the catchy Shakira tune, a familiar female voice came from the hooded figure to her immediate right. In the strobe lighting she recognized the Bruin woman as the latter held out a thick red scarf.
"Grab it."
They obeyed. Not five seconds later they were spinning, the dance floor and the music faded away, and they thudded onto the wooden floor of a quiet dimly lit living room. Dean helped her up and shielded her with his body from the four hooded figures in front of them.
Ginny stepped out from behind him and guided his raised wand down onto his side as the woman revealed herself. The room was too silent and too tense. One of the hooded figures opened a door.
"Mr. Thomas can wait outside," the woman said.
"If you trust me you can trust him," Ginny answered.
"He would not be here if we didn't," she replied, then explained why she was asking Dean to leave, "I've never done what I'm about to do. I might misspeak and I'd rather only kill one of you."
Dean was already objecting but Ginny recalled the pancaked version of Lestrange, she convinced him to leave. The other Bruins followed him out.
"What's your name?" Ginny asked once they were alone.
"Not important."
I guess 'short Bruin woman' would have to do.
She looked around to gather more information. Atop the fireplace mantle, Ginny could make out dated pictures of two young girls. The Bruin woman followed her gaze.
"You and your sister?" she asked.
Ginny was close enough to see the sadness that flitted across her hostess' face as her eyes came upon another picture of a woman about their age with long flowing blond hair and a radiant smile that shone from deep within. Most likely deceased sister. The Bruin recovered and the comment was ignored.
"It's late. We are treading dangerous waters here," the woman was visibly nervous, making Ginny nervous too.
"Then you better think hard before you say anything," Ginny said lightheartedly.
"We should get to the point. All off the record," the bespectacled woman set some ground rules. "Give me your word that you will print none of this."
"You have it," Ginny did not hesitate, figuring she would deal with the Chief's wrath if it came to that.
The Bruin was satisfied. They sat across from the other.
"I have a message for Healer Granger," she said tentatively, "Mr. Creevey is...no longer with us. We'd appreciate it if she stopped looking for him."
It was not what she said but how she said it. Ginny read between the lines.
"You killed Dennis?!"
"Not me personally but one of us."
"Why?!"
Ginny was handed a folder and her fingers instantly flew over the documents; Gringott's records, Muggle bank transactions, money transfers, from Lestrange to Dennis for months. The phone records were not planted after all. She felt faint.
"He brought his death upon himself when he chose to work for Lestrange."
"Doing what?"
"We don't know exactly but I overheard Lestrange and my Uncle talking today. She was deep into Hufflepuff's prophecies. She mentioned Janus and claimed she had copies of all the predictions."
"Including the corollaries?"
"Yes. She said that was how she found Healer Granger. We think Lestrange hired Creevey to spy for her because she believed that Healer Granger is the One."
"She can't be," Ginny spoke without even thinking, "Her parents aren't Squibs. She's a Muggleborn."
"No, she isn't."
It felt like she was transported from the twilight zone to a twilight zone parallel universe. Ginny sat in silence as she listened to how the heroic Sir Isaac tried to do his part in saving over a dozen Cursed Bruins from the fanatics of the Council and how he followed their lives through enchanted books. In the end she had so many questions she didn't know where to start.
"If Hermione is one of you then why can she talk so freely about things that you can't?"
"I could change that very quickly. Why do you think I'm talking to you instead of her?"
"I don't follow."
"The spell is invoked by the act of receiving information from a blood relative," she struggled with her wording and cautioned, "I don't think I should say much more. Right now, it's better for everyone that she's able to communicate freely."
"But all those children placed in your families by Sir Isaac. They didn't have Bruin blood. What if..."
"The parents knew not to tell them. My uncle was very good at mind altering charms. He made sure there was no risk," the Bruin woman said and then continued, "You have to understand. Not all of us pass the legacy onto our children; many don't want to. Some don't care and most that do care are ashamed of it. If not for the need to make sure there will be others to succeed us in our task to prevent the prophecy, we wouldn't tell anyone. It is a curse and nothing more than a cross that we must bear because of what we have in our blood."
Ginny felt her resentment and could not help but compare that to the pride and honor her pro-potion counterparts felt about being a Bruin.
"I'm so sorry you feel that way. But maybe you're wrong. Maybe it's all for good."
"My sister died because of it. No matter the outcome, forgive me for not seeing the good."
Ginny nodded, understanding that part but still confused about the rest. So, she was the go between, but what did the Bruins hope to achieve by involving her?
"You want me to tell Hermione what you'd rather not tell her yourself."
"I only ask that you tell her about Creevey."
"And what about the other little thing, you know, that she could be the One generations of your family have been waiting to kill and celebrate at the same time?"
"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. My Uncle thought the idea premature and so far your friend has decided well. The less she knows the less pressured she'll feel, the more true she will be to the difficult decisions she will be faced with."
Hiding something this big and important from Hermione was easier said than done. It also had strategic implications. If it was indeed Hermione who Lestrange was after then the team shouldn't waste their time looking for another Bruin. On the other hand, she was already under protection. There was nothing else they could do except pull her from the case, which Hermione would never allow. There was tremendous temptation to do as the Bruin suggested. This truth, beyond the immediate realities that faced Hermione, would turn her life upside down.
But it still didn't make sense.
"What is it?" the Bruin asked, breaking her concentration.
"Why Toronto and why now?"
The pestering question resurfaced. Lestrange and Neville came over to join forces with the garden variety dispensable crook that Waterman was. Why?
"I can only think that in destiny there is always a place and time for everything. They must know something we don't. If you find the answer to your question, let me know."
She'll remember to ask Neville the next time they bumped into each other. The Bruin's last statement was seemingly dismissive and she had a lot more questions to go through. One particularly one she probably wasn't going to get a straight answer for. She reminded herself that the woman before her was anti-potion and mandated to do everything necessary to prevent the prophecy from happening.
"If she is the One, are you going to kill her?"
"If we were I'd never admit that to you," the woman answered.
The fact that Hermione was still alive meant that the Council was unaware but once they found out they would want her dead. One person kept the precarious but preferred status quo together.
"You're obviously acting on your own," Ginny said to her, the jury was still out on whether or not that was a good or a bad thing, "You haven't told the Council about her but why did you tell me?"
"I had to tell someone outside the family and you know us better than anyone else. My position is delicate. We have a traitor on the loose and I suspect there's more to this than meets the eye."
XXXXXXXXXX
Harry and Hermione lay in bed in silence, content at their nearness. While he had been with more 'skillful' women before, this burgeoning intimacy with her continued to amaze and challenge him. Their lovemaking had revealed to him an entire side to her that he never imagined existed. He never thought of Hermione as lacking in confidence but it was as if she was discovering things about herself at the same time he was.
She was as giving and as undemanding a lover as she was a friend, and even though she knew how to please and when, he sensed her lack of mindfulness about what it was that she wanted, that it was pleasing him that pleased her. It was refreshing for him to be with someone like that and while how she was wasn't entirely a bad thing, he wanted her to take more, as she somewhat had when she thought he was Roy, and he wasn't entirely sure how to make her do that.
He paused at that thought as he gazed down on her, watching her, smiling, plotting, and then frowning, questioning if she was that way only with him. Ron never talked about it and thinking about who else she could have been with just ruined the moment.
Hermione was still awake.
"Do you plan on staring at me every time we do this?"
"I don't really plan these things."
"It's kind of freaking me out," she said in a good way.
"Why?"
"I'm starting to really get used to it and if you stop I'll think something is horribly wrong."
"You think too much."
"You should know that about me by now."
"True."
She had her eyes shut and he found her smirk disarming. He pressed his mouth on hers and they kissed unhurriedly, blowing his mind away. He looked into her bliss-filled brown eyes after and the question bugged him again. It would not give him a rest.
"About Malfoy," he started to say then faded, realizing he had not really thought about a good way to ask this.
Hermione winced.
"I take it we're still not talking about him?"
"Still not."
"Won't ever?"
"We'll never see eye to eye about him. It's pointless."
"Can we talk about him anyway?"
"Is this another thing of yours?"
"What thing?"
"Talking about the other men in my life while we're in bed."
She was probably referring to the fact that he kept on wanting to talk about Ron. Ron's case was different, very different. At least she gave him the opening to pursue the topic.
"So you're admitting that Malfoy is another man in your life."
"It's a very short list and we're really scraping the bottom of the barrel here," she laughed. "I do have to tell you I'm not keen to talk about your ex's, especially not while we're in bed."
"Well, it's not a thing."
"Good. You had me worried for a while."
"I just want to know how um…close you are to him."
He faltered and she guessed.
"You want to know if we've slept together."
"Among other things."
"What other things?" she asked, challenging.
It was probably too much to expect her to just tell him if they had or they hadn't.
"I admit, I can't think of any other question more important than that."
"Why does it matter to you so much?"
"The thought bothers me," Harry replied, suppressing the stronger adjectives that would have been counterproductive.
"I've slept with Ron. Does that bother you?"
"No."
That was not entirely true. He could not admit to something so foolish and nonsensical although he suspected it had something to do with the regrets he had about stepping aside for his friend years ago. The thought of her being with Ron also disturbed him, just not as much.
"Then why would it bother you if I had sex with Draco? You've had sex with countless other women. I would think you'd be more understanding."
He should have just said 'yes' to the Ron question. Don't let her make this be about you. Focus.
"He's different. He's not nameless and he's not faceless, he's...you know a Slytherin, the enemy, he's..."
Evil…evil...what's a better sounding word than that…
"Evil?"
"Unworthy."
She raised her eyebrows.
"What?"
"You're not being honest and I don't think you realize it yet."
"What?"
"Tell me. Would you think less of me if I did sleep with him?"
"Of course not," he said quickly, maybe too quickly to be believable.
"Maybe make me as unworthy as he is?"
"You're upset."
"No I'm not," she said, he thought honesty, "I'm just helping you sort out what you really should have sorted out by now."
"That being?"
"How important is it to you? This is all wonderful but when we get back to London can you put up with me still being friends with him? Or will this be the deal breaker?"
"I'm confident that it won't be."
"Are you thinking I'll give it up for you knowing how much you despise him? What if I don't? Are you going to ask me?"
He hated it sometimes that she knew him too well.
"I'll never be friends with him, Hermione, even if he did save my life."
That was so difficult to get out. His heart was heavy with the thought. Neville said he didn't come to the Ministry to do him in and now he had to thank Malfoy for an afterthought. He still hadn't. And if he didn't know any better he would have allowed himself to blurt out that the only reason Malfoy did that was because he knew Harry would rather die than owe his life and all that was in it to a git like him. It was a terrible thing to think but he could not help it.
"I know and I would never ask that of you. I have no problem with you not wanting to be friends with him. The question is how much of a problem will it be for you if I continue to be friends with him?"
She was right. He had not sorted this out yet. Taking his silence as a sign that their talk about Malfoy was over, she rested her head on his chest and nestled closer.
"I never slept with him, Harry," she said, finally answering his question.
Deep down inside it was the only answer he was prepared to get. He had not even thought how he would have felt had it been otherwise.
"There was Ron, there was Roy and then you."
"And the kiss?"
"Was just a kiss."
"What about Mexico?"
"I'm not saying I didn't think about it."
It seemed like she was about to say something but changed her mind.
"You're really better off not getting it on with him," he said to her, pleased when he heard her unsuccessfully suppress a snort.
"I'm sure you're about to tell me why."
"Things would never work between you two."
"Because?"
"Imagine the arguments you'll have. I mean, we both know you're right all the time."
"Patronizing but not true," she corrected, "I'm right almost all the time."
"Almost all the time," he repeated after her, correcting himself, "Being a lawyer, Malfoy can make anything wrong sound right. It'll be like arguing with Ron, except, and I hate to admit this, the lawyer would actually make more sense."
She found that very funny; he was glad that she did.
"And frankly speaking I don't know if anyone can put up with him for so long. You heard him talk emphatically about his imaginary lines."
He could already feel her shaking.
"There'll be a bathroom line, food on the plate line, a bed line...you don't want to be caught on the wrong side of any line."
She lifted her head up as she laughed with him, her eyes sparkling as they exchanged meaningless banter. For a moment they forgot what it was they were faced with and while that question about Malfoy festered it was not as urgent anymore.
As the laughter tapered off into wide grins Harry felt a bit nostalgic and wondered out loud, "Had I asked you to go out with me before you and Ron became a couple, what would you have said?"
"I had a crush on you since first year. What do you think?"
Harry shifted on his side and they faced each other, open and transparent. He, and likely Hermione, thought about what could have been. It was a certainty that his life would have been much different; he probably would have stayed in Quidditch, definitely moved to play closer to where she was and probably married her a long time ago. She was way ahead of him in the what-if exercise.
"We'd have broken up by now."
It was a surprise that she came to that conclusion but she had this tinge of playfulness in her voice he couldn't think she actually believed it or was totally serious. He decided to play along.
"You don't think it would have worked out between us either?"
"Not a chance. I would have driven you mad with my fussing and you would have driven me mad by the way you lull me into believing you'll take my advice and do what you want anyway."
He didn't know he was that obvious.
"But you still fuss and I still don't listen well."
"Three years, five tops."
"It's reassuring you have confidence in us making it."
"Mad. As in running-in-the-opposite-direction mad."
She was exaggerating and definitely not serious, she couldn't be with that straight face.
"So if we're doomed to fail, why are you even doing this?"
"Let me see," she said feigning deep thought, "We're older, both jaded about relationships and I figure five great years is better than none."
"Better to have loved and lost?"
"Than never to have loved at all. Precisely," she finished for him, "And making out with you has been most amazing I'd have to be certifiable to pass this up."
They chuckled.
"I kind of missed your fussing this past year," he admitted.
"And I missed fussing over you. Fine. Maybe our odds are a bit better."
As Hermione said that he thought he caught a momentary look of concern in her eyes but before he could ask her about it she had him in a deep kiss that was filled with a mix of love, longing, and regret. He felt the same and had been wondering about what to do with his misgivings of what they could never get back.
"I've been thinking. After all this and we're back in London, I was wondering...if it's okay with you...I'd hate for us to waste anymore time..." he stumbled all over what he was about to ask and had to pause to gather himself.
Geez Potter, get to the point.
She interrupted, and very solemnly said to him, "There's no rush. This is good for now. We can talk about it when we get back."
He nodded, relieved but somewhat puzzled at that moment, questioning if there was more to her suggestion to postpone talking about their future that he should be aware of. He had never known her to procrastinate and thought she would actually be happy about getting all that settled.
At some point he felt her fall asleep, the slow and rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the sensation of her quiet breathing so familiar now. He heard it had been a very long day for her and it was only then that he realized they didn't get a chance to talk about it and about the case. Both would have to wait.
Harry's mind drifted off to the events of the day. Dean and Ginny filled him in the best they could. So, Neville changed his mind and maybe out of frustration decided to kill him. But his actions did not make total sense.
Why come to the Ministry and admit everything if he never intended to turn himself in? There were other ways to take credit for Lestrange's death. Why take the risk of incarceration before he could improve the potion if that was really his objective? And what was in Toronto that was necessary for him to be able to do that?
XXXXXXXXXX
The hotel alarm clock sounded at 5am. Hermione turned it off. She had been awake for some time, knew she had to get up, but didn't really want to. Harry had her in the comfort and security of his warm embrace and she wanted to stay there forever.
Of course that was not realistic. There were very few things in life that did not end. She looked at Harry's sleeping form and felt a swell of emotions. That probably was one of them. The rest of it was beyond her and she wasn't as optimistic.
Last night, she was struck by a feeling of inadequacy as they made love and woke up to a sinking feeling that Harry was thinking the same. The glaring contrast of his vast experience compared to hers made her wonder if she was good enough in bed. Would he tell her if she wasn't? Was that question about Draco really about that or was it his way of pointing out the obvious?
Alright…breath…calm down…he's still here.
Yeah but for how long? He agreed with you when you told him that this wouldn't last.
He thought I was joking.
Even if you were, he should have known better than add to your insecurities. And he definitely failed on how he handled your what if you wanted to remain friends with Draco question.
He was being honest.
He thinks only about himself. And you could tell from his babbling about your future he is so not ready to be in a relationship with you.
He hasn't had one in a long while, not a real one.
He doesn't even know what he wants. It was painful to watch and you bailed him out again.
She sighed and shut her eyes for a moment, resigning herself to the thought that not everything lasts forever. If this thing with Harry did, then great; if it didn't then at least it wouldn't be a surprise. Then she heard Harry's voice.
"You think too much."
Harry was right. She kissed him and woke him up.
"Good morning," she greeted after he responded.
"Good morning," he answered, smiling back.
Hermione saw that he was happy, happier than she'd ever seen him at any point in their lives and that was all she needed. Forever would be great but right now, she was perfectly fine with one day at a time.
It took some doing before she successfully extricated herself from his arms. She made her way to the shower, as he dressed and said he was going over to talk with Andy and Leo in the other room.
As warm water soothed her body she closed her eyes and focused on nothingness. It was a calming white and she lost herself in it, cherished it until...
"Hey, honey. You lost a bit of weight. It's kind of nice."
Ron's beaming face was halfway in the shower stall and he was unabashedly checking her out from top to bottom.
"Ron! You're not supposed to be in here!"
"Why not? We won the case. We can go anywhere we want."
Yesterday, the trial was reconvened after the courtroom was cleaned up. With Ron well behaved and cooperative, it took less than an hour for the review panel to repeal the laws on ghost designation and crossing over deadlines.
"Designation may have been abolished but that doesn't give you the excuse to be a peeping Tom!"
"Really?" he showed genuine disappointment, "I should get Malfoy to work on that one. I thought Harry was in here with you. Where's the traitorous bastard this morning?"
"Next door," she replied.
"Is Ginny in there?"
He must have somehow heard Ginny was in town. She tried to convince him that talking with Ginny wouldn't be a bad thing but he still didn't want any of the Weasleys to find out that he was a ghost.
"I don't think so," she told him.
Ron disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He still couldn't crossover but at least there was no longer a deadline. They talked about it yesterday and Ron was convinced bringing Waterman into custody would do the trick.
Hermione finished up, stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her and grabbed another off the hook to dry her hair. As she did that, Andy's muffled shriek filtered through the wall of the adjacent bathroom.
"Get the fuck out of here, Ghost!"
She shook her head. Ron. He was totally out of control. Deciding to use her wand to dry her hair completely, she searched for it on the bathroom counter and instead saw and picked up her phone. Hermione mindlessly checked for messages as she used the towel in her hand to clear the steam off the mirror.
There was one from Ginny. Two a.m. and she sounded like she was high on sugar. The Bruins had made contact and there was a message for her about Dennis. Dennis was dead, murdered by the Bruins because he was working for Lestrange. That confirmed what Draco told her. Ginny ended the message saying she'd call back in the morning.
Hermione speed dialed her and a man picked up after three rings.
"Dean?"
"Hang on."
She waited then she heard Ginny's still sleepy voice come on.
"Short Bruin woman invited me into her living room last night."
"How did it go?"
"She didn't kill us inadvertently. I would rate that as `great'. Met a few of her Bruin family, hooded robes with the emblem are kind of their thing, reminds me of Death Eaters. Anyway, she was really nice but totally into it. She had a sister die because of the potion. You got the message?"
"Yes. I can't believe it."
"They showed me proof, monies changing hands. I'm so sorry but next time run a check on people you hire. So, Bruin woman said Lestrange was into the prophecies and has copies of each and everyone one of them. I don't know why she hired Dennis…"
"Draco told me why," she interrupted and told her.
"Uh-huh…uh-huh…really…and the ferret told you that…"
Ginny was more awake now but Hermione sensed she was holding back.
"What is it?"
"Things don't fit."
Ginny said they would be over in half an hour. She set the phone and towel on the counter. The news effectively dampened her earlier upbeat mood. Her jaw tightened and she felt warm tears stream down her cheeks. She wept silently. It was overwhelming; not only the deaths but the circumstances surrounding them.
Hermione looked up at her reflection, brushed the tears away and steeled herself for the day she was about to face. She wondered how many more of her friends were going to die or turn into bad guys before this was over.
"Why so sad?" a voice asked sincerely.
She froze, for a moment thinking it was Ron intruding again. The voice was familiar and her heart raced a million times faster than usual as another reflection appeared on the mirror beside her, pleasant, kind and innocent as she had known him all these years. Neville's.
"If it's about yesterday, I'm sorry. I wasn't myself," he spoke to her as if nothing was amiss, "I don't want to hurt anyone else but there's this potion I'm dying to make and I really need your help."
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