This is something I've been brewing for quite some time now (pun intended), and it has finally come to completion. This may be the longest fic I've written yet. Enjoy!
I had never believed in luck. Well, not at first, anyway. Ever since I was toddling around Malfoy Manor in my nappies, my father had instilled in me a solid work ethic and an independent mindset.
The year I turned eleven- the year that I was to start my schooling at Hogwarts- he perpetually told me "Scorpius, there is no such thing as good fortune. We make our own luck in this world." I was reminded of this when I started school; my first Charms test was evidence of that. The 'Poor' written at the top of my exam and the scowl from too-old Flitwick hung around my neck like a wadding chain of failure. Needless to say, I spent time studying for the next one.
And so it began. I stopped becoming petrified by difficult things and started 'making my own luck,' as my father had insisted. I intentionally stationed myself to be in the right place at the right time, befriended an alright crowd, and earned O's on most of my exams and reports.
So there I was, earning my way through life like the stubborn, nontraditional Malfoy I was raised to be, and it was never a problem. That is, it wasn't a problem until the afternoon I saw the golden liquid sitting at the front of my Potions classroom like a god speaking to an Atheist.
I knew what it was. Just like everyone else in that room, I earned my spot in NEWT Potions with Professor Helling when I successfully completed my OWLs the year before. But unlike everyone else in that room- save one or two other students- I knew what we were going to be brewing. And it changed everything.
I took my seat alongside my partner Niall Blishwick, whom I had befriended during my first year of school. My mother had explained to me once that Niall and I were related somehow, but I could never see the likeness. While I was commended for my perfect façade, he was popular for his characteristic laziness. Even as I sat in class with him, he was hiding behind his eyelids and had his large forehead pressed to our table. I didn't doubt for one moment that he was sleeping. Truth be told, it annoyed me to no end that Niall, my sloppy, unprepared roommate, still managed to make it into NEWT Potions.
I sighed quietly in exasperation and removed a quill and ink from my sack before fixing my gaze on the mystery of the hour. The people around me went unnoticed as I attempted to conceive the potion ahead of me. Not only was I questioning why it was there, but I most certainly felt that it changed everything I had lived by for the last few years.
"Felix Felicis," Professor Helling's voice echoed a little too loudly in our small classroom, causing several students to flinch. Niall woke rather loudly beside me and looked around in confusion. "Also known as-"
"Liquid Luck," a small voice to my left answered.
"Very good, Miss Weasley," our professor remarked with very little amusement. "Ten points for Gryffindor."
Typical. I sat taller in my chair so I could glance at Rose Weasley. She, like myself, had perfect posture and was incredibly composed- especially for a Weasley. During my first and second years at Hogwarts, I hated everything about her; she had too-wild hair, was incredibly emotional- even for a girl, and always always had to be right. But time had treated her kindly, which was more than could be said for the Flint children. The hair that was once too bushy now fell in chestnut waves around her fragile face, she gracefully accepted the criticisms of others, and rather than looking incredibly smug about her intelligence, she had become a model of humility as she sat at the edge of her seat in anticipation for class. Once I had noticed these changes, I found that I had a lot of respect for my rival Seeker.
"As I was saying, Felix Felicis- also known as Liquid Luck- is said to dramatically increase the luck of the drinker," Professor Helling smiled rather uncharacteristically. The dark rings under his eyes made his smile look like that of a mad man.
Chairs maladroitly scraped the floor as students leaned forward with interest. It was understandable why everyone in the room had suddenly turned solemn and attentive; three years prior, a NEWT student, Andrew something, had stolen and used Liquid Luck at an end-of-the year party. I wasn't there to account for the details, but the official statement that was released by Hogwarts claimed that he ended up pitching himself off of a moving staircase. To my knowledge, he lived to tell the tale. But after several angry letters from parents, threatened lawsuits, and news spreading about a student in the Emergency Wing of St. Mungo's, the Hogwarts administration was quick to ban the solution's use inside and outside of the classroom. I wasn't even aware that the school was allowed to have it on the premises after that incident.
"Never fear, students. I have received permission from Headmistress McGonagall herself to teach you how to prepare this potion," Professor Helling quickly addressed our fears. "I assured her that an incident like that of Andrew Mink's will not happen again. If it does, they're your hospital bills, not mine," he chuckled to himself while my classmates and I awkwardly avoided eye-contact with one another. "Some of you may be pleased, others disappointed, but I've chosen to have you work individually on this project." Niall groaned beside me, apparently having woken from his sleep. "There is a reward involved for the first potion that is completed correctly."
While most of the class started whispering- rather unsuccessfully- about what the reward could be, I could make out from the corner of my eye that Rose was already peeling her book open to page 412 to get started. Her lips moved silently as she read what I assumed was the list of ingredients before she darted toward the supply cabinet.
Rose's movement was all that the rest of us needed to get started. Several people, Niall included, looked panicked about working alone. I, however, kept my calm. It was nearly impossible not to work alone with a partner like Niall.
I waited patiently for the area in front of the supply cabinet to open up. I had no intention of getting in the way of Karen Horntail and the ingredients she needed; she was practically clawing other people away from the best pieces of Occamy eggshell. That girl was a Blast-Ended Skrewt in another life.
After Karen moved a safe distance from the cabinet, everything went smoothly. I had decided not to rush myself for once, and it was working well for me; not to mention that my hands were so much steadier without Niall breathing down my neck.
I was just about to 'add a sprinkle of powdered common rue' when I heard a soft 'thud' to my left. Rose had dropped her stirring utensil onto her organized table as a greenish steam rose from her cauldron. Her curls bounced back and forth as she angrily shook her head and slammed her book shut.
I almost couldn't believe it. Rose Weasley had given up. Or failed. Or both. That never happened.
For a moment, I allowed myself to worry for her, but I soon found myself more determined to finish this potion. I stirred vigorously and heated my cauldron one last time before moving my wand over it and muttering "Felixempra."
As I released a long gasp of air I didn't know I'd been holding in, Professor Helling and several other unsuccessful students were by my side almost instantaneously.
"Well I'll be!" my instructor exclaimed as he peered over his thick frames into my steaming cauldron. "I'm surprised to say it, but I think you've done it!"
Underneath my smile, I bit my tongue to avoid uttering a sarcastic remark. It was a bit off-putting that my professor seemed so impressed that I'd done something right, especially after I had successfully brewed the Polyjuice Potion correctly last month. If anything, I felt that he should be more surprised that I beat Rose.
Fifteen pairs of eyes watched as the liquid in my cauldron turned from an orange to a golden hue that matched the vile up front. Helling fished out a linty ladle from his robes and gently scooped some into a clear vile. "Take it, Mr. Malfoy. You've earned it. You are the first to successfully prepare a Felix Felicis potion. Use it in whatever way you choose. Except," he murmured to me, "for trying to fly without a broom."
Though I left class in a stupor, I saw Niall slug down the hallway in the opposite direction of Transfiguration. Karen was walking closely to me, probably deciding whether to kill me before commandeering my reward or jump me for being brilliant. Rose had her Potions book open to page 412 and was scribbling little notes into the margins as she walked. But aside from these small observations, I felt like my brain had stopped functioning.
After years of believing that I made my good fortune by working hard, the potion I had pocketed seemed like a slap in the face. I tried my best to ignore it, but I could hear a light pattering in my robes as I walked from class to class that day. It seemed to occupy my every thought, even when I had moved it into my bag.
I hated to admit it, but I was curious. Could luck really come in a miniscule bottle? Much less, could I have purchased it this entire time? I knew that there was only one way to find out, but it couldn't be wasted.
For the most part, the rest of that Wednesday was highly uneventful. I hadn't paid much attention in class, nor had I been involved in the Wizard's Chess Tournament that had been held before dinner. My mind was churning over what I had created.
Eventually, I managed to stroll down to the Great Hall for dinner. Thoughtlessly, I occupied the space in-between my bickering mates Rylan Zabini and Justin Ubeck. I scooped two heaping spoonfuls of mash onto my dish and swirled its steamy goodness around with my utensils.
"Scorpius. Mate, you listening?" Justin snapped his fingers not two inches from the end of my nose. "You agree with me that we're going to cream Gryffindor this Friday, yeah?"
"Says the guy who isn't even on the team," Rylan scoffed. As Quidditch captain for the Slytherin team, it was obvious to anyone with sense that he carried more favor for the opinions of team members than for the input of outsiders. "All I'm saying is that Potter has undoubtedly been practicing for this over the summer. I mean, look at the guy. He was a stick last year. There's no way Yeats can block Potter's shots if he's gotten better."
I was inclined to agree with Rylan on that point. Albus Potter was famous for his name; anyone who knew anything about Wizarding history would understand why. As a chaser for the Gryffindor team, he had always posed a mediocre threat to his opponents, but the short summer months had changed him. A newer, more built Potter now took his place and wore a shiny captain's badge on his Quidditch robes. "I agree," I put in. "He means business." What I didn't say was that there was absolutely no hope for Slytherin this Friday.
As Justin and Rylan continued to argue over who was right, I looked across the center aisle of the Great Hall to where the Gryffindor Quidditch team had gathered for dinner. The red-headed horde was difficult to miss; Albus' black mop stood out amongst them. As I watched them huddle together and throw suspicious glances our way, I noticed that a seventh member- with hair more auburn than red- was sitting calmly to the side picking away at her bangers and mash.
Rose. Her hair would only be distinct among her relatives. I couldn't help but smile to myself for it. Almost as if she could sense me watching her, she turned her gaze directly at me. She sent a smile and a small wave to me before rolling her eyes at her cousins.
"Actually," I interrupted my mates, "I think Rose is more of a threat than Potter." Turning my attention back to my dinner, I tried pushing down the sudden vivacious feeling in my stomach with large forkfuls of food.
Justin glanced over to the Gryffindor table. "Since when do you call her Rose, mate?"
"I thought I'd narrow it down a bit. You know they multiply like rabbits around here," I tried to say offhandedly. Rose was easily the best player on her team, but I wasn't about ready to acknowledge that I was the only one who'd noticed.
"Right," Justin stared at me for a moment before turning back to the girl in question.
I could feel Rylan smirking maniacally at me. "The only reason Weasley could be a threat is if you can't stop staring at her for more than five seconds come game time." I resented that quite a bit, but found that I had nothing to say in return. "If not, well, we're going to need a new seeker. And a whole lot of luck."
Luck. In that moment, I knew how I was going to use my winnings. What better way to test my potion than to use it to my advantage when there was no hope at all?
Gryffindor wouldn't know what hit 'em.
That's what I told myself Friday morning after breakfast as I uncorked the vial of gold under the table. It was early enough that no one else would notice; half of Hogwarts was still in bed while the other half looked as though they could fall into their porridge at any given moment.
After I emptied the potion into my mouth, I could feel its warmth trickling down my throat and filling me entirely. Every part of me felt alive and untouchable; it was easy to understand why Liquid Luck was considered to be dangerously addictive. While I had no intentions of jumping from the Grand Staircase, Gringotts suddenly seemed rather permeable.
As the day progressed, that invincible feeling became an addiction that I was alright with having. The warmth had worn off by my first class, but I had no doubt that the Luck was working its magic when Professor Flitwick handed me two beautifully round O's as he returned our exams and essays. I had even bested Rose, which was wholly unheard of.
Without a doubt, it was the best day I've ever had. Arithmancy was cancelled, Niall was awake and alert for Potions, we didn't receive assignments all day, there was mint chocolate ice cream at dinner, and my owl Benedict brought me something I never thought I'd see.
At one point, I thought I'd dance out of sheer joy.
When we beat Gryffindor at the seven o'clock game that evening, I actually did.
The odds had been stacked innumerably high against us. Potter brought the score to 140-260 in favor of Gryffindor, but I had saved the game. Admittedly, I had been distracted by the way Rose's waves flew behind her as she shot around the pitch, but once I saw her in pursuit of the snitch, I was right there pushing ahead of her.
"Weasley!" I hollered as I was heading back to Slytherin from the locker rooms. She was walking alone along the stone walls, hand reached out to brush the cold rock as she moved.
"What now, Malfoy?" she called over her shoulder, looking utterly defeated. "Come to gloat?" I set a hurried pace to keep up with her. The dampness of her post-game shower caused several of her dark curls to cling to the nape of her neck, just above her collarbone.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," I simpered down at her, willing my eyes not to follow the trail of long hairs down her milky skin.
"So we can pretend that you didn't beat me three times this week?" She was referring to the game, Potions assignment, and Charms exam; I had also kept track.
"We can pretend all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that I did." Her small mouth visibly puckered at that as her left hand played with the sleeve of her robes. I knew I was being a prat, but it wasn't every day I could say that I had beaten her at something. If I was fortunate, that happened once every other year, if at all. "I guess I'm just feeling lucky."
It took a moment, but I could see it start to sink in. I jumped when she whirred around at me. "You're on Liquid Luck!" she shouted in accusation. Some first or second years down the hallway turned to the source of noise. I quickly clamped my hand lightly over Rose's mouth to prevent more echoing denunciations from falling from her small lips. Hand still covering her, I pulled Rose into a small alcove outside of a classroom.
"Shh, someone could hear," I muttered to her as she squirmed free of my grasp.
She brushed off her robes as though there was mud on the perfectly spotless fabric. "That's the idea. You cheated, Malfoy. Madame Hooch isn't going to like this."
We both knew that it was an empty threat. "You're not going to tell Madame Hooch, Rose."
"Why wouldn't I?" Both of her arms crossed in front of her in defiance.
"Because I haven't told Professor Andrews about your paper yet," I quipped. Earlier this year, Rose had all but begged me to write a three-foot essay on Occulmency with her because she had two tests and three essays due the following day; long story short, I somehow ended up writing the entire thing. "Besides, you don't want to ruin my good day, now do you, Rose?" I put on my most winning smile and lightly jabbed at her abdomen. She flinched in surprise and moved her hand over stomach before stepping away from me. I had always had an inkling that she was ticklish, but I had never been bold enough to adequately test that theory.
"It's tempting."
"What I mean to say," I started as I fished through the excessively-deep pockets of my robes, "is that I'm having a pretty amazing day, and I know you won't want to ruin it." The envelope I held out to her had been crumpled quite a bit, both by its ride in my pocket and my excitement in handling it, but the gold insignia still reflected the candle light in the hall.
Rose's hazel eyes flashed in recognition. "Is that-?"
"Yeah. It is." The paper in my hand was easily the best part of my day. Earlier, when Benedict had delivered it to me, I was sure that it was the rejection letter that over 90 percent of applicants received. For nearly an hour I had stared at its daunting seal and unknown contents, but I forced myself to open it when my curiosity got the best of my fear.
I had been accepted into the Auror program.
As Rose stared at the envelope in my hands, I saw her demeanor change. What used to be a defensive stance became an open one, and the scowl on her porcelain face softened into a genuine smile. "Congratulations, Scorpius," she told me softly. "I know how much this means to you. You deserve it."
It was true. She did understand what it meant to me. While I frequently engaged in healthy competition with Rose, she and I had found common ground in recent years. She knew things about me that not even my best mate, Tucker Rowley, knew. Initially, I hadn't meant to share so much with Rose, but after a while it was hard not to. I liked the person I was with her; more than that, I liked the person she saw in me. We didn't talk often, and we weren't best friends by any means, but her company was special.
"Hey," I put two fingers under Rose's chin to raise her drifting gaze up from the floor. Her green-brown eyes burned with the intensity of a hundred different emotions, but her mouth was scrunched up the way it only did when she was worried; I saw it a lot on the evening I wrote that Defense essay for her. "You're going to hear back from them," I referred to the Daily Prophet, where Rose was hoping to intern.
At first I was surprised to learn that Rose had applied to work as a writer. In all the time that I had known her, she never once struck me as the writing type. She was far too intelligent for that. When I asked her, however, she told me that she needed experience because she wanted to rewrite virtually every wizarding textbook known to man. Apparently we weren't learning enough from our texts. I wouldn't know; I had never read mine.
"Will you come celebrate with me tomorrow?" My heart pounded in my ears as I realized what I just did. I had wanted to ask her that for the past seven months. Now, as she was standing fractions of a meter away from me, I couldn't help myself. "In Hogsmeade," I clarified clumsily.
"Just us?" she whispered, breath rising to meet my collarbone in a way that made me forget how to breathe.
"Yeah. I mean, if you'd prefer it, I can ask others, too. I'm sure -"
"Yes." Rose's eyes hadn't left mine for a moment.
"Yes?" I questioned, missing which part she was confirming.
Shyly tucking her hair behind her right ear, she clarified, "Yes, I'll go with you."
My belief in the power of Liquid Luck over the course of the day was nothing compared to the ineffable gravity of what had just conspired. Rose Weasley, possibly the most eligible, take-home-to-meet-mum bird in all of Hogwarts, had just agreed to accompany me to Hogsmeade. Not as friends. Not as acquaintances. No, I was going on a date with a superlative girl that made my head spin and eyes glaze-over. I had it in my head to order an entire stash of Liquid Luck at that point.
After clumsily agreeing to meet her outside of the Great Hall at ten the next morning, I skipped down the hallway toward my dorm with far too much recklessness for a Malfoy. The world seemed a far brighter place than I had ever known it to be. That feeling must have been what the author of our text meant by 'Felices high.' At that rate, I considered it good fortune that there weren't any considerable heights to fall from on my way back to Slytherin; I may have risked a jump for the sake of seeing just how lucky I was.
My mates threw each other confused looks when I cheerily clapped them each on the back on my way through our common room. Even my bed felt more comfortable than usual as I kicked my loafers nearly the ten meters that separated my bed from Justin's bed and fell squarely on my back.
Life was good. There was no doubt about that. I had the single most brilliant day. Tomorrow would be even better.
Bullocks! Tomorrow was a whole day away. How had I missed that? I scrambled out of my bed, socks threatening to throw me off-balance as I slid around the room to my trunk.
Pulling out "Advanced Potion-Making" from the trunk's depths, I frantically thumbed through the pages trying to find the foreword for Felix Felices. I was a dead man walking to his grave, but I let myself cling to false hope for as long as it could last. However, the blow came swiftly as I muttered aloud "Felix Felices, or 'Liquid Luck' can last up to 12 hours if brewed correctly."
I may as well have swallowed a dragon whole for all of what I felt at that moment. My stomach churned, my throat throbbed, and even my eyes burned from the enormity of what that simple sentence meant.
My luck would be over within the hour. There was absolutely no chance this feeling would last. More than that, there was absolutely no chance Rose would desire to see me tomorrow.
I had refused to embarrass myself by showing up and waiting for her. If I was being perfectly honest with myself, I would have admitted that I was disappointed. But, being the stubborn creature I was, I successfully pretended that all was well. Not even Tucker could note a change in me as I reviewed Arithmancy with him Saturday morning.
Though I may have been able to keep up the act for several hours, all of my mental stamina was put to use on not breaking character and pitching myself into the Black Lake. It was so distracting, in fact, to keep up this presentation, that before I knew it, Tucker, Rylan and I were in the Great Hall for lunch.
Had it occurred to me that the source of my emotional coma would also be there, I positively would have faked sick and hid beneath my bed. Even the disgusting, semi-living mess that has always been living along the floorboards in our dorm seemed appealing compared to experiencing complete and total rejection. But for now, the best I could do was grab food and pretend like my entire being wasn't melting into nothingness. Though I had received spectacular news the previous day, it seemed unimportant compared to being unlucky in love.
They weren't kidding when they insisted one could experience depressive during Felix Felices withdrawals.
"Mate," Tucker abruptly knocked me in the elbow, causing me to spill a spoonful of stew onto the table in front of me. I had to blink several times to bring myself out of my cheerless trance. "Weasley keeps looking at you."
Of course she was there. She was every weekend, regardless of whether or not her classmates were in Hogsmeade. Until that point, however, I managed to avoid what I assumed were indifferent glances and focused on reaching the bottom of my bowl as soon as humanly possible.
"And?" I asked as casually as I could muster, trying to nonchalantly pick up The Daily Prophet and hide my face from the Gryffindor table. My eyes glazed over as I stared uninterestingly at a picture of American diplomats posing ceremoniously.
"And you should probably just ask her out already," Rylan piped in, throwing me an impatient look.
Coughing up a spoonful of food rather painfully, I blurted, "What? Why?"
"Cause she's fit," Rylan managed to say before receiving a prompt kick from Tucker.
"What he means to say," Tucker amended, "is that we're not as dumb as you think we are. So buck up and do it already."
I actually debated telling them that I had indeed invited her to Hogsmeade, and no it obviously did not go well, but dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. "As interesting as this conversation is, I have a History of Magic essay that won't write itself." Pushing myself up from the Slytherin table, I walked out of the hall far more slowly than I would have liked.
I made it about halfway down a moving staircase before I heard my name being called from behind me. Queasiness overcame me instantly. Thanking Merlin that I hadn't eaten much for lunch, I summoned up what little bravery I had and addressed the call. "Rose," I managed. Avoiding her violet eyes at all costs, I quickly asked her how she was out of common courtesy. Rose hated small talk, and I immediately regretted opening that can of worms.
Clenching her jaw rather uncharacteristically, she responded smoothly, "I've been better."
"Ah." An uncomfortable pause stretched between us. "Well," I piped in just as I thought I was about to explode, "I hope the rest of your day is an improvement."
She looked at me a long moment before speaking. "It will be once you tell me why you stood me up this morning."
"I didn't- I- what?"
Whatever I had been expecting Rose to say, it hadn't been that. If anything, I had assumed she would have forgotten our plans altogether or have been bitter about making them.
"I waited an hour for you this morning. The least you could do is tell me why you decided not to come."
She had expected me. She had actually planned to accompany me to Hogsmeade. My insides were positively humming, every breath I drew in shakier than the last. "I didn't think you'd show," I finally choked.
A surprised look graced her porcelain features, even her eyes, when I dared to look. Auburn curls fell past her cheeks in such perfect harmony that I felt the air suddenly became too thin to breathe.
Clearing my throat, I murmured "I had taken Liquid Luck yesterday morning. I don't know, I had just assumed that you…" Trailing off, I ran my hand through my hair trying- and failing- to comprehend what this new information meant.
With a light pit-pat, Rose descended the stairs until she was standing only two above me. She matched me in height with this difference. I was sure that she could hear my heart beating firmly and rapidly in my chest from where she stood.
"School and Quiddich I understand, but you thought you needed Liquid Luck to ask me to Hogsmeade?" she asked. Before I could dumbly affirm that, yes, this had been the case, she broke out into laughter. Hiding her bright smile behind both hands, her small form shook in time with the giggles she gave.
As cute as she was, I couldn't help but feel a bit put-off by her reaction. "Alright, Rose. I get it. No need to take the mick."
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed earnestly, wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "But I feel that I should ask you something." She took my nod as affirmation, and stated, "You do know that the potion probably didn't even last you until lunch, right?"
I couldn't form a single coherent thought.
"Liquid Luck takes months to brew to full strength. I'd be surprised if your potion even lasted you an hour."
Feeling suddenly dizzy, I leaned onto the left railing for support. All this time, my father had been right. I hadn't needed a miserly potion to win or accomplish anything. I had earned those O's, beaten Rose, and been accepted into the Auror program all on my own. "So that means-"
I couldn't have finished that thought if I had tried. Rose had interrupted me stepping closer. The material of her flowing pink shirt brushed against my arm, leaving a noticeable trail of goosebumps on my pale skin. "Still think you need luck, Malfoy?" Her smile was positively mischievous.
I had to force myself not to gape as she backed away and innocently straightened herself, but she merely beamed at me between rosy cheeks.
"Now come on," she began retracing my steps toward the Great Hall. "There's a whole day left of Hogsmeade. You can buy the Butterbeer, I'll get the chocolate, and if all goes well, I may let you kiss me behind Zonko's," she chimed with a wink before disappearing up the stairs.
I made a mental note to thank my father later when Rose was true to her word.
So there it is. As always, please let me know what you think by clicking 'favorite' and reviewing.
I love you all and hope you are having an absolutely smashing week!
Blessings,
CompletelyDone