Chapter 10: The White Owl at the Breakfast Table, Confrontation on the Eve of Potions Class (Patreon)

The next morning.

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was a clear, lofty pale gold, an autumn sky. Hundreds upon hundreds of white candles hung motionless in the air, spilling soft, warm light over the four long tables below.

The air was thick with the smell of toasted bread, frying bacon, and steaming pumpkin juice.

At the Slytherin table, Raven was unhurriedly spreading sliced butter over a piece of toast browned to a faint char. A cup of warm Earl Grey sat at his elbow.

Across from him, Draconia had clearly gone to some effort today. Her platinum curls were combed without a single stray strand, the ends resting on her shoulders, and she had even fastened them with an expensive pure-silver serpent clip.

Strangely, though, the young lady hadn't gone looking for a fight. She tilted her pale chin up, kept her delicate face cold, and sipped oatmeal from a silver bowl in tiny spoonfuls, as if Raven across the table were thin air.

Yet her slightly narrowed gray-blue eyes kept drifting toward him every few seconds without her noticing. Every glance carried the same awkward message: I'm still angry, but I'll allow you to apologize first.

Raven stayed calm and pretended not to see.

Then a vast, chaotic rushing of wings rose from above the Hall.

"Flap-flap-flap—"

Hundreds of owls poured through the high windows like a feathered storm that blotted out the sky. They circled over the students' heads and dropped parcels and letters onto the four tables like rain, each one landing precisely.

An eagle owl from Malfoy Manor delivered Draconia a large box of French almond biscuits baked by Narcissa herself, along with a small jar of expensive broomstick-polishing oil.

The young lady arched an eyebrow and made a show of tearing the gold-foil wrapping so that it crackled loudly, shooting Raven a smug look out of the corner of her eye.

But a moment later, a striking white shape cut her little display short.

It was a graceful snowy owl, its feathers flawlessly white.

It didn't fly toward the bustling Gryffindor table. Instead, under countless startled stares, it swept down in a smooth arc and landed squarely on the Slytherin table, right beside Raven's bone china teacup.

The nearby seats fell half silent.

Pansy Parkinson's eyes went wide. Daphne set down her teaspoon. A few of the older Slytherins even frowned.

That was Harry Potter's owl! On the very first day of term, the Boy Who Lived's snowy owl had flown in front of everyone to the Slytherin table?

Hedwig lifted her fluffy head proudly and nuzzled Raven's outstretched finger with her beak.

Raven smiled, speared a small piece of crisp bacon from his plate, and held it out. The owl swallowed it happily, then obediently raised her left leg to show a neatly folded slip of parchment tied to her ankle.

He untied the note and unfolded it. Harry's slightly crooked handwriting was hurried:

"Brother Raven: The castle's staircases are a total nightmare! This morning Ron and I nearly sank into a trick step on the third floor, and that ghost called Peeves kept throwing bits of chalk at our heads… Also, our first class this morning is Potions, with both Houses together. George and Fred say Professor Snape is the scariest teacher in the whole school, that he plays favorites with you Slytherins and loves picking on Gryffindors, and that he'll even make people cry in front of everyone! I stayed up half the night with Magical Drafts and Potions but I can't remember anything… I'm so nervous I'm about to throw up my breakfast. —Harry"

Raven's eyes crinkled with amusement at the lopsided, miserable smiley face drawn at the bottom.

He casually drew a slender, elegant quill from his sleeve and, in fluid strokes, wrote a few neat lines of dark green script in the blank space:

"1. The key to the Cure for Boils isn't the heat, it's the order in which you add the porcupine quills and the poisonous slugs. Remember: never add the porcupine quills while the cauldron is still on the fire, or the whole potion will turn into a corrosive acid the color of verdigris."

"2. If he asks about an obscure ingredient, remember that a bezoar is a stone taken from a goat's stomach, and it counteracts most common poisons."

"3. Professor Snape despises foolish cleverness but respects precision and silence. Talk as little as possible in class, read the steps on the board carefully, and mind your own cauldron."

After the last line, Raven's fingertip brushed the edge of the page, almost imperceptibly. A wisp of gentle, soothing mental-serenity magic settled between the lines of ink. It would ease the anxiety of whoever read them.

He rolled the note up, tied it back onto Hedwig's leg, and patted her feathers. "Take it back to your master."

Hedwig gave a soft hoot and took off, returning to the Gryffindor table under the strange stares of the whole Slytherin table.

"Capet."

Across the table, a sharp, sour, snappish voice finally couldn't hold itself back.

Draconia folded her arms, chin held high, her small nose wrinkled, her gray-blue eyes full of scorn. "If I'm not mistaken, that bird was Potter's, wasn't it? What, has our noble Young Master Capet sunk to being the Gryffindor savior's full-time nanny?"

Raven lifted his tea and took a sip, his expression unchanged. "A Gryffindor savior who seeks guidance from a better scholar when he's confused is being humble and eager to learn. Compared to certain people who mistake ignorance for pure-blood glory, that's a rare quality."

"You…!"

Draconia choked, unable to catch her breath, and a flush of angry pink rose on her snow-white face. "Don't get so smug! Don't think a couple of tips about herbs will make you shine in Potions! An idiot like Potter, raised among Muggles, will find out what real cruelty is when we get to the dungeon. Godfather… I mean Professor Snape will make sure of it!"

The young lady sniffed and raised her swan neck proudly. "Malfoy Manor's private potions library holds secret handwritten notes on more than thirty advanced potions. I've been identifying ingredients under Godfather's guidance since I was six! In today's Potions class I'm going to get the first Outstanding. And as for you, Capet, you'd better pray Professor Snape doesn't melt your cauldron on the spot!"

Raven set down his cup, a teasing smile playing in his dark eyes. "Is that so? Then allow me to take the liberty of reminding you of something, Miss Malfoy."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and clear. "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, page fourteen, third line, says it plainly: water avens and monkshood are different names for the same plant. And according to the Guide to Advanced Potion Ingredients you borrowed last night, when extracting monkshood you must grind clockwise seven times and stir counterclockwise once to neutralize the toxin."

He looked straight into Draconia's contracting pupils, the corner of his mouth lifting. "If I'm not wrong, while you were flipping through your textbooks this morning, you mixed up the extraction temperatures for monkshood and wolfsbane. If you don't want your beloved godfather pointing out your mistake in front of the whole class once we're in the dungeon, you still have fifteen minutes to go back to your dormitory and look it up."

Draconia went rigid all over.

The two pages of notes she had skimmed in a rush that morning flashed through her mind, and the certainty on her face gave way to a flicker of visible panic and doubt. Damn it… was the monkshood extraction temperature sixty degrees or seventy-five?! How… how could he see so clearly even what she'd only casually glanced at?!

"You… you're talking nonsense! I would never mix them up!"

The young lady flung the words back, all bluster and no backbone. She snatched up her napkin, wiped her hands carelessly, and, forgetting even her beloved almond biscuits, shot to her feet. In a huff of expensive perfume, she very nearly trotted out of the Great Hall.

Watching Draconia's rather undignified retreat, Daphne beside him finally gave in and laughed softly behind her hand. "Mr. Capet, the way you handle Miss Malfoy is not at all like a traditional Slytherin."

"A traditional Slytherin only blindly caters to power and bloodline."

Raven rose without hurry and straightened the collar of his robes, his tone calm as still water. "A true Slytherin is used to controlling every variable."

[Ding. Successfully influenced the emotional state of key character 'Harry Potter' and established a deep bond of trust. Causality Reversal Points +100.] [Draconia Malfoy's competitive pride has been shaken, producing self-doubt and anxiety. Causality Reversal Points +120.] [Current total Reversal Points remaining: 1320.]

What a perfect point-milking girl.

Hearing the crisp chime in his mind, Raven smiled privately to himself.

He picked up his bag and made his way down the marble steps toward the damp, gloomy dungeons.

The first Potions class was about to begin.