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The Great Potion Handicap by Bohemond [Reviews - 26]


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Disclaimer: all characters belong to J.K. Rowling. They are merely borrowed by the author and will be returned in reasonable operating condition. Not a single Knut is being made here.

Many thanks to Songquake for beta reading this; all remaining mistakes are mine. This is my first attempt at fanfic. Please review and let me know what you think!




‘That’s a new one,’ I thought as I examined the slip of parchment a Hogwarts owl had brought me. The bird had accosted me as I was exiting the shower at seven o’clock in the morning, and I wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods. On top of that, I had nothing edible to give the owl and therefore got my finger nipped.

The parchment read:

POTION HANDICAP RUNNERS AND BETTING PROBABLE STARTERS

Miss Henrietta Conroy (Ravenclaw), scratch
Miss Beatrice Hayward (Ravenclaw), scratch
Mr Roderick Wickham (Slytherin), scratch
Miss Scheherazade Daneshmand (Hufflepuff), receives five minutes
Mr Thomas Wilberforce (Gryffindor), receives ten minutes
Miss Elisabeth Grayson (Ravenclaw), receives twelve minutes
Miss Dahlia Ramsey (Gryffindor), receives fifteen minutes
Mr Gordon D’Arcy Cartwright (Slytherin), receives fifteen minutes
Miss Marianne Hillingdon (Ravenclaw), receives fifteen minutes

Prices. 5—2 Conroy, Hayward, Wickham; 3—1 Daneshmand;
9—2 Wilberforce; 6—1 Grayson; 100—8 any other


It baffled me. I turned the parchment, but there was no name or signature. Whoever sent me the damn thing should know better than to slip me exotic literature while I am still tea-deprived. I put the offending object in my pocket and proceeded toward the Great Hall to get a cup of said beverage.

I was addressed by a teapot-holding Filius Flitwick as soon as I sat at the High Table.

‘I say, Hermione, do you fancy a student yet?’ asked Filius.

I stared and decided I couldn’t have heard correctly. I motioned him to pour me a cuppa and after a few sips I managed to utter a reply.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’ve seen the race card, haven’t you? I sent it to you by owl this morning.’

‘So that was you! What do you think you’re doing, sending mail at such a beastly hour?’

‘But have you read it?’

‘I have, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.’

‘It’s quite simple, really. What with the cold weather, the Quidditch season is suspended until March.’

‘What of it?’ I asked, forking eggs and beans. ‘Happens every year.’

‘Well, we find ourselves with little to no entertaining occasions. So we’re running off the Great Potions Handicap next Friday.’

‘The Great Potions Handicap? What the dickens is that?’

Filius answered in a patient tone, as if he were talking to a dim-witted child.

‘I thought you’d been a student here. You see, Severus organizes a voluntary Potions exam each year for students who wish to earn extra credit. The session for fourth-years is held at midterm — next Friday.’

I rolled my eyes. I knew it very well, having passed the exam with flying colours.

‘What in Merlin’s name does it have to do with anything?’

‘It’s very simple, dear girl. As yet, nine students have signed up. The session’s length is three hours. The fastest to turn in a good Potion wins. The race card I sent you gives the handicap and current odds of each of them.’

The scheme first struck me as somewhat inappropriate, but I was interested despite my better judgement.

‘Who’s running the book?’ I asked.

‘Rolanda, of course. It’s practically written in her job description. Septima set the odds. As you know, Severus always clocks the exams; he will serve as race steward.’

‘Does he know about it?’

Filius gave me a hurt look. ‘Of course not, Hermione. The man has no sporting blood.’

True enough, but I pointed out at once the weak point of his reasoning.

‘How will you get the results if he doesn’t know about the race?’

‘Septima will help him supervise the exam. It’s all set and done.’

My face still registered deep doubt.

‘Come on, old girl!’ exclaimed Filius. ‘It’s harmless entertainment. So would you care to come in on a little flutter? Almost everyone will do so.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I answered politely.

I was waylaid by Minerva on my way out.

‘Headmistress?’

‘I saw Filius speaking with you, Hermione. What do you think? Are you in?’

Five years of teaching at Hogwarts had taught me that if Filius was in a rum business, Minerva was in it, too. Though I had never suspected it as a student, they had a friendly yet keen rivalry going on, both in sport and academics.

‘I haven’t examined the race card in detail. I only saw the event is swarmed with Ravenclaws.’

‘It would be,’ she snorted. ‘Bunch of overachievers, the lot of them.’

I threw her a dark look, for I am very fond of Ravenclaws. Besides, in my time I had practically run to Snape’s office to sign up for the exam.

I pored over the race card. ‘I know Septima drew these odds,’ I commented, ‘but I can’t understand these handicaps. The event is a sitter for Thos Wilberforce.’

‘It is, and I can explain. Sinistra drew the odds working from the Potions marking roll; she also assisted one of Severus’s lessons under the pretence of cross-discipline work. The students were working on a Befuddlement Draught and I know for a fact that Wilberforce has a mild allergy to lovage. He manipulates it with extra care since he found himself covered with pimples in his first year.’

The poor boy had been nicknamed ‘Spotty’ for months.

‘He must have proceeded much slower than his usual pace,’ continued Minerva, ‘thus performing poorly in the trial gallop.’

‘Conroy, Hayward and Wickham are Professor Snape’s best students,’ I commented, ‘but they can’t hold a candle to Wilberforce with a ten minutes handicap.’

‘Exactly! It’s like finding money on the wayside. Good thing Wilberforce’s a Gryffindor, too. We can place a substantial bet on him without alerting the Ring. Besides,’ she added, ‘it will be good to see one of ours beat Filius’ Ravenclaws.’

‘Hear, hear’, I answered fervently. The autumn term was verging on disaster for Gryffindor; the performance of our House was appalling in every respect — academics, Quidditch and discipline.

‘Unfortunately, I’m skint. I spent my last Knut on my trip to Venice.’

Minerva slid me a sideways glance. ‘Who else would go to Venice and spend their time at the Magical Marciana, I wonder. Anyway, it doesn’t matter: we’ll form a syndicate. I’ll advance the money and you’ll supply the inside information.’

‘What inside information?’

‘You know your Gryffindors, and no other teacher talks that much to students who do not belong to their own house. Also, you can easily worm information from Severus, since you two get along well.’

‘I say!’ I began, but she ignored my protests and concluded, ‘So are you in?’

Minerva was right: Wilberforce was a sure winner. The extra Galleons would finance a copy of Wolfram Riemann’s From Transfiguration to Transmogrification: Rethinking Transfiguration for the 21st Century, which cost a small fortune. I made up my mind.

‘Put me in for fifteen Galleons.’

‘Excellent!’ she exclaimed before legging it to her office.



The following day, I found myself pounced on and drawn to the side by Minerva right before dinner. She was practically seething with rage.

‘The scheming, conniving, back-stabbing lout!’ she blurted in a low voice. That was strong language coming from her.

‘Minerva, what happened?’

‘He nobbled Wilberforce, that’s what happened!’

It made no sense to me.

‘You know how Severus only allows his best students to enter the special exam?’ I nodded. ‘Well, the wretched boy involved himself in a scuffle right in front of the Potions class. They were casting Aguamenti at each other for a joke.’

‘But Aguamenti isn’t taught before the sixth year.’

‘Apparently that worthless cheater who calls himself a Charms master demonstrated it to a handful of his students after class, including that idiot Wilberforce.’

Wilberforce was a boisterous lad and a first-class prankster; he wouldn’t have resisted the lure.

‘Anyway, they all landed themselves a detention and Severus forbade Wilberforce to sit the exam. It seems the boy is a repeat offender.’

I stood dumbstruck. ‘Tell me you haven’t put our bets yet!’

‘Forty Galleons on ante-post odds,’ she croaked. ‘We’re sunk. Filius must have collected intelligence from Severus and taken steps.’

‘We don’t know that for sure.’

‘Yes we do! The man could have been sorted into Slytherin as far as sport is concerned.’

Now you tell me!’

Filius’ smirk during the whole dinner was ample proof of wrongdoing, but he was keen to drive the nail home, for at the end of the meal he came to see us.

‘All is fair in sport and war, dear ladies,’ he declared with a grin.

I’m afraid Minerva’s answer cannot be repeated in mixed company.

Minerva and I met in her office after dinner for some serious thinking. She apparently believed Firewhisky would expedite the process; I kept prudently to a glass of port.

‘This is war, Hermione,’ she declared with solemnity.

‘It’s just forty Galleons,’ I said in a conciliatory tone. Forty Galleons could buy several books, but still.

‘Forty Galleons, forsooth! This is not about money. This is about the Laws of the Game.’ I noted with some concern that the level of Firewhisky in the bottle was declining steadily.

‘We’re in a pretty pickle, Hermione. With Wilberforce officially scratched, there isn’t much choice left. Miss Conroy, Miss Hayward and young Wickham are as good as handicapped out of the race.’

That much was obvious.

‘What potion exactly are they supposed to brew?’ I asked.

Minerva stopped her pacing and blinked. ‘I don’t know, really. Severus usually announces it to his students two days before the exam.’

I had been put down as ‘inside information’, so I had no other choice than to find out by myself.

The following day, I took the chair next to Snape at breakfast. He did not ask me to bugger off, which I took as an encouraging sign. Being a terrible liar, I saw no reason to beat around the bush.

‘Morning, Snape. I’m thinking about organizing a voluntary exam such as you do.’ That at least was true.

‘Nobody likes a copycat, Granger.’

I didn’t let myself be stopped by his chilling answer. Plodding on patiently and ignoring his barbs, I finally got the answer I was looking for.

‘A love potion,’ I said flatly.

‘Not any love potion, Granger.’

‘Surely it’s not Amortentia?’

‘Of course not. They will brew the Canticum Amoris — an elegant potion for a more civilized age.’

I had never heard of that potion in my life, but I’d be damned before I admitted it to him.

‘How exactly does a potion qualify as elegant?’

‘That, Granger, is exactly why you would have made a terrible Potion master. I could wax lyrical on the preparation of the Canticum Amoris.’

‘Lyrical? You?’

Things went rather pear-shaped from there, but I had the info I was looking for.



‘Why a love potion? The man despises love potions. He wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole.’

Minerva wasn’t exactly in the best of moods.

‘It’s the Canticum Amoris,’ I added hopefully.

She stopped in mid-rant and smiled fondly. ‘Is it? My, my. Severus has always had good taste.’

The statement was pretty baffling and I felt once again that something was eluding me.

‘Love potions are banned in Hogwarts. Is it safe to have students brew them?’ She was the Headmistress, but I felt it was my duty to point it out.

‘Mmm. You don’t know the Canticum Amoris, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. What is it with the blasted potion? Professor Snape said he could wax lyrical about it. Snape!’

‘The Canticum Amoris was very popular when I was young, but it passed out of fashion, probably because its effects are too subtle for current tastes. It’s effective only if the subject is already in love.’

‘How is that useful?’

‘It was used mostly to encourage young men to propose.’

She stood there for a while, smiling, her eyes lost in the general direction of the chimney; no doubt she was busy remembering days of auld lang syne.

‘Hullo?’ I called, waving my hand in front of her. She jolted out of her reverie.

‘Incidentally,’ she said, ‘it probably means they’re all doomed to fail.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked in bewilderment.

‘The Canticum Amoris is a beautiful potion, prettier perhaps than Felix Felicis. Its ingredients are common and almost non-magical, but the preparation requires specific qualities: fluidity, ease and grace.’

Grace? I rolled my eyes. ‘You sound like Professor Snape’s speech to the first-years, Minerva. How do you know all this, anyway?’

‘I brewed one in my youth for the late Mr McGonagall.’



I felt more than a bit miffed at not knowing the damn potion while everyone within a one-mile radius seemed to be on first-name terms with it, so I made a beeline to the Library directly after my classes to do some research. I found only a few passing mentions of the Canticum Amoris, and in fairly obscure texts at that. All of them insisted that the brewing was delicate, but seemed to believe it was a standard, run-of-the-mill love potion.

Of course, Snape had to happen on me in the Restricted Section while I was browsing through Potions of Yore: a Re-Evaluation of Some Forgotten Brews. I wondered, not for the first time, whether he stalked me in the hope of catching me in an embarrassing moment.

‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Granger, you are so transparent I can see right through you. There is only one Gryffindor student left standing for my extra credit exam, and you intend to tutor her.’

Not as such, but far from me the idea to derail the Snape Express train of thought.

‘Spare your efforts, Granger,’ he ranted further. ‘Your assistance will be but of small importance.’

My eyes narrowed and my voice could have frozen Firewhisky. ‘May I remind you that I majored in Transfiguration and Potions at University?’

‘You did well to stick to Transfiguration,’ he observed crisply. ‘In this instance, however, even I could not help the students. What the Canticum Amoris requires cannot be taught. It’s the touchstone for the true potioneer.’

His mellifluous voice was beginning to get on my nerves.

‘Why do I get the feeling that the Slytherins are all going to pass?’

‘As I said, the brewing of this specific potion requires style, grace and poise — Slytherin qualities.’

I snorted. ‘As demonstrated by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, I suppose.’

‘Every House has its mongrels, Granger.’

A few minutes later, we were nothing short of bodily expelled by a furious Madam Pince for shouting in the Library.

I reported to Minerva at dinner. ‘I honestly don’t know how you managed to stay on friendly terms with that man for so many years,’ I concluded. ‘One of these days, one of us will kill the other.’

She smiled and made a most cryptic remark. ‘Oh, to be young again.’

I was in the process of asking her what she meant by that when she spoke again.

‘Back to the matter at hand, Hermione; I heard Filius tell Bathsheda that Miss Hayward and Miss Grayson had succeeded in brewing a trial batch of Canticum Amoris. It’s time for payback.’

There was a strange gleam in her eye. I, on the other hand, was horrified.

‘Dash it, Minerva! We can’t penalise a student because of Filius’s misbehaviour!’

My cry from the heart sobered her a bit. ‘Of course, but we have to find a way to pay him back in his own coin.’

And then an idea struck me. It was a bit too hazardous to tell Minerva, but I had good hopes for it.

Being the youngest teacher in Hogwarts meant I was close to the students. They found it easy to talk to me, even the Slytherins. Unfortunately, it also meant I'd heard my fair share of heartache stories, privy to more of my students’ private lives than I felt comfortable with.

I had a Gryffindor-Slytherin class the following day with fourth-years. I caught sight of the young man I was looking for and kept him after class.

‘Mr Lorrimer, I have to say your last essay was quite disappointing. You show the right disposition for Transfiguration, but you need to apply yourself to your task.’

‘Yes, Professor,’ he duly answered.

‘Is something on your mind? You seem particularly distracted.’

He blushed and hesitated. ‘I'm having trouble with my girlfriend, Professor.’

Lorrimer was one of my Gryffindors, so I was perfectly entitled to delve further into this.

‘I’m afraid she fancies another bloke,’ he said in a wretched voice.

‘I’m sure Miss Grayson wouldn’t do something like that,’ I assured, not believing a word of what I was saying. Elisabeth Grayson was the best fourth-year student, but she was a perfect bitch as far as boys were concerned. So I felt no compunction in adding, ‘I can understand why her brewing a love potion troubles you, though.’

He blanched and swallowed hard.

‘You do know she’s taking Professor Snape’s extra credit exam, don’t you?’

He nodded.

‘They’re brewing a love potion,’ I repeated to drive the message home.

She isn't!’ he said forcefully, and took his leave.

Thank Merlin for jealous boyfriends. Now all I had to do was to suggest an extra credit project to Miss Grayson in compensation. She fared much better in Transfiguration than in Potions, anyway.



Filius tried to gloat at dinner about the predictable success of his Ravenclaws at the exam, but Snape cut him short.

‘Miss Grayson has withdrawn, Filius.’

‘Great Merlin! Why?’

Snape gave him a ‘Who cares?’ look and shrugged. ‘She blabbed something about a private matter. She’s one of yours; ask her.’

Filius threw a dark look at Minerva, clearly considering me a negligible quantity. It annoyed me more than a bit.

Snape, as was his wont, swept to his quarters after dinner. Rolanda shooed the rest of us to the staffroom and then announced that Miss Grayson was officially scratched from the race.

‘There’s some fishy business going on here,’ she added sternly.

Filius, Minerva and I assumed innocent stances, which didn’t fool her.

‘One more candidate scratched, and the race is cancelled. If I had my way, the Magical Jockey Club would be informed of this.’

Minerva invited me to her office for a glass of port, biscuits and some serious conversation.

‘I don’t want to know how it happened, but I must congratulate you on this brilliant move. To tell the truth, I didn’t think you had it in you.’

I scowled, but let the comment pass.

‘With both favourites scratched, we are left to work with Miss Daneshmand, Miss Ramsey, Mr D’Arcy Cartwright and Miss Hillingdon. What do you make of them?’

‘Miss Daneshmand is a true Hufflepuff: she checks and double-checks her work before turning it in; I don’t think she’s got what it takes to win the race. I don’t know much about the others. They’re all good students in my discipline. I can tutor Miss Ramsey, seeing as Filius does the same with his Ravenclaws.’

‘To be honest, Hermione, I think we should alter our approach. Severus told you that coaching wouldn’t work and I’m inclined to believe him.’

‘It’s all left to chance, then.’

‘Mmm, not necessarily. Remember that love potions work best if the brewer is personally involved — if they are in love as well, I mean.’

It seemed that Libatius Borage and other handbook authors had omitted rather a lot of information in their presentation of love potions.

‘I must say I’m astonished at the amount of knowledge you display in this specific field of knowledge,’ I commented.

She cast me an odd look. ‘Hermione, almost every young witch knows as much. You were too serious when you were a student.’

I harrumphed, but diplomatically kept my thoughts to myself.

I read the race card again. ‘Well, Miss Ramsey just broke up with her boyfriend and holds very definite views about love and how it shouldn’t be part of her life. She probably won’t feel personally involved in the preparation of a love potion. I don’t know much about the others, except that Mr D’Arcy Cartwright fancies himself a young Don Juan. He’s rather flirtatious, even with me.’

‘He’s a good-looking boy and a Slytherin to boot. It accounts for his conceit,’ commented Minerva. She paused to think for a bit.

‘Look, Hermione, it’s a long shot, but the boy is our best chance. Severus isn’t completely wrong when he raves about Slytherin qualities. D’Arcy is a good dancer, too.’

‘The odds have shortened since Wilberforce’s and Miss Grayson’s withdrawal,’ I observed. ‘He’s given four-to-one now.’

‘It ought to be enough to clear us up, though. I’ll put twenty Galleons on him.’



‘Well?’ barked Filius as soon as Septima and Rolanda entered the staffroom.

‘Tough luck for the big punters, I’m afraid,’ answered Rolanda in a cheery voice. ‘The handicapped results are as follows. The handicap proved too much for Miss Conroy and Mr Wickham, who finished fourth and fifth respectively. Miss Hayward ran a splendid race, I’m told, and pulled out in first position. Miss Daneshmand cut out a fair pace and pipped Miss Ramsey to the post for place money. Mr D’Arcy Cartwright was nowhere to be seen and arrived last. Miss Hillingdon’s potion was refused.’

Filius had gone down as badly as we had and could find solace only in the victory of a Ravenclaw. Bathsheda and Irma had wagered on Miss Grayson at starting price and had got their stakes returned. In a predictable show of house loyalty, Pomona and Aurora had placed small bets each way on the only Hufflepuff in the race and were the only ones to actually beat the book. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I was busy working out how I would reimburse Minerva when a silky voice cut through the hubbub.

‘Well, well.’

Only one person could make these words sound like a death threat. The noise subsided immediately and all eyes turned towards the door. Snape was leaning against the doorframe and sporting his trademark sneer.

‘It appears my extra exam has been turned into a gambling event.’

It dawned on me right at this instant that the blasted man had known about it for quite some time, possibly from the beginning. I put this to him in no uncertain terms, but he simply ignored me.

‘May I know the exact terms of the wagers?’ he asked.

‘First student who manages a good potion wins,’ answered Hooch sulkily.

‘In that case,’ replied Snape, ‘whoever placed a bet on Mr D’Arcy Cartwright hits the proverbial jackpot.’

Several odd noises were heard. I think the squeak came from me.

‘What do you mean?’ protested Septima. ‘You accepted all potions except that of Marianne Hillingdon!’

‘All students will earn points, with the exception of Miss Hillingdon, but Mr D’Arcy Cartwright was the only one to turn in a Canticum Amoris worthy of that name.’

‘You’ll have to elaborate,’ demanded Filius.

‘What do you mean, Filius?’ asked Snape, raising an eyebrow.

‘Let’s say you may have personal reasons to favour one of the parties involved.’

‘Do you accuse me of partiality towards my House?’

‘That as well.’ Bafflingly enough, Filius threw a sideways glance at me.

Snape frowned. ‘I had the students sample their own brew,’ he answered after a while. ‘Mr D’Arcy Cartwright is the only one whose potion actually worked.’

Confusion ensued. Snape stayed a few seconds to enjoy the spectacle, then left. I trusted Minerva to collect our winnings and popped off on Snape’s heels.

‘Wait!’ I called, slightly dishevelled by the sprint. The man walked damn fast.

‘Yes, Granger?’ he asked in a sugary voice, leaning close enough to me as to make me flush.

‘Why does Filius accuse you of favouring Minerva and me?’

‘I wouldn’t know, Granger.’ And then he smiled — a sight that instantly made it onto the list of the ten creepiest things I had ever seen in my life.

‘Out of the goodness of my heart,’ he continued, ‘I recommend you avoid Mr D’Arcy Cartwright for the rest of the day and for tomorrow.’

The goodness of his heart, indeed! ‘You’re off your rocker, Snape. Why would I do that?’

‘The Canticum Amoris has a half-life of thirty-six hours,’ he explained, still smiling mirthlessly.

Nothing made sense in the world since I had entered the staffroom, and I felt like screaming.

‘It seems the misguided boy is infatuated with you,’ went on Snape. ‘He was quite eloquent about it. No doubt it helped him brewing correctly the Canticum Amoris. Alas, it also earned him detention.’ I cocked an interrogative eyebrow. ‘For poor taste.’

Minerva popped over just when I was about to hex Snape into oblivion. She was in full Headmistress mode — stern look, crossed arm, tut-tuts of disapproval and all. We both froze on the spot, our wands drawn.

‘Enough with the two of you,’ she said in a dour tone. ‘And put those wands away. You, Severus — you rigged the exam.’

‘Isn’t it the pot calling the kettle black?’ he answered with a sneer. ‘Besides, your accusation is unfounded. Mr D’Arcy Cartwright turned in a correct potion, while the others did not.’

Minerva’s face could have been used as a model for an allegory of Scepticism.

‘You deliberately gave the victory to young D’Arcy, and I believe I know why. Fortunately, your exam allows me to address an issue that has been bothering me for a while.’

Snape and I looked at each other. He seemed to be as nonplussed as I was.

‘Is there some potion left?’ asked Minerva.

‘The most part of a vial, yes,’ answered Snape.

‘Good.’

She Accioed the bottle and then nudged us to the nearest door, an empty classroom. I didn’t like the twinkle in her eyes at all.

‘What in Merlin’s name are you playing at, Minerva?’ Snape asked in an angry voice. For once I agreed wholeheartedly with the man. I replayed the recent events into my mind, and the Knut dropped.

‘Minerva,’ I began, cold dread descending upon me, but I was cut short by her proffering the vial of Canticum Amoris under my nose.

‘Down it, the both of you, and in you go,’ she said nodding in the direction of the classroom.

‘Never!’ replied Snape hotly.

‘That wasn’t a suggestion, Severus,’ stated Minerva, holding her wand in a pointed way.

We couldn’t do anything but comply.



Epilogue

Minerva McGonagall smiled contentedly as she went back to the staffroom. Filius Flitwick lifted his nose from his Daily Prophet and threw an inquisitive glance towards her.

‘We should have some peace and quiet for quite some time,’ said the Headmistress. ‘The two of them are locked in Classroom Eleven right now, full to the brim with Canticum Amoris.’ She paused for a while. ‘I have very fond memories of that potion,’ she added.

‘They’re both very stubborn,’ remarked Flitwick. ‘I wonder what will come out of it.’

‘Either they hex each other into next week or they shag like bunnies,’ said Rolanda Hooch, joining the conversation. ‘Possibly both.’

‘Would you care to place a bet?’ asked the Headmistress.



Author's notes:

This story is inspired by two short novels by P.G. Wodehouse, 'The Great Sermon Handicap' and 'The Purity of the Turf', both from
The Inimitable Jeeves.

Canticum Amoris means ‘love song’; in late Latin canticum also means ‘spell, enchantment’.



The Great Potion Handicap by Bohemond [Reviews - 26]


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