I know I promised Saturdays, but I was insanely busy urban sketching yesterday (yes, I have other interests other than writing). As I'm on holidays now, I don't even really know the day of the week. In any case, here you go, chapter 2


The first Thursday of the new term brought with itself the first apparition lesson. Naturally, most of the sixth years, who were turning seventeen before the 31st of August and had paid the twelve galleon fee to be able to attend the lessons.

Harry personally, didn't feel that same unquenchable curiosity most of his classmates felt. As he had already apparated twice before - once with Dumbledore earlier in the summer and once as a little child - and had felt that apparition was the most uncomfortable of wizarding travel, he didn't really want to know how to apparate. Nevertheless, the fact that he had in fact apparated once before travelled quickly down the Hogwarts social grapevine and soon he found himself bombarded with requests to describe the sensation.

Many walked away, disappointed, when Harry explained to them that apparition was actually quite uncomfortable and made one feel as if one was being pushed through a thin, rubber tube. Harry actually preferred flying much more. Their spirits were, however not dampened as Harry soon saw them almost skipping to the Great Hall, where the lessons were to take place.

No one really knew what these apparition lessons would be like, or who would be teaching them, therefore they were all quite surprised, when upon entering the Great Hall, they found that the house tables had disappeared, and instead the whole Hall was filled with… hoops of varying colours. It reminded Harry of his sports lessons in his muggle school.

"Good afternoon," said the Ministry Apparition Instructor - a thin, frail, old man - when all the students had arrived and the Heads of House had called for silence. "My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to prepare you for your Apparition test in this time, by which time, many of you may be ready to take your test," Twycross said in monotone as if he had recited this speech many, many times.

"As you may know," he continued, "It is usually impossible to Apparate or Disparate within Hogwarts. The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasise that you will not be able to appraise outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try. I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you…"

The lesson continued, but Harry could not find it within himself to take part. He vaguely heard the instructor explain the three main parts to apparition - the three 'Ds' as he called them. Destination, determination and deliberation. But as Harry concentrated upon the space within the hoop in front of him, he found his mind wandering.

Lately he had been slacking off in lessons. It was getting increasingly hard to concentrate as he had a severe lack of sleep. The fact that Malfoy was still up to something (even now, instead of concentrating on his hoop, he was whispering something to Crabbe), his lack of sleep and the visions were very much destroying his ability to stay concentrated on something.

"One." The Instructor said loudly and Harry's head shot upwards - had he just missed most of the lecture? Harry groaned inwardly - what was he supposed to do then?

"Two." The man said, his voice wavering slightly and Harry found himself wondering whether the instructor was light enough for a gust of wind to blow him right off his feet.

"THREE!"

Harry chuckled inwardly when he saw most of his fellow students spin, and fall. Malfoy fell flat on his face - that alone made his day.

"Never mind, never mind," said Twycross dryly, who did not seem to have expected anything better. "Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions…"

.

That evening, once Harry had finished most of the homework he had been procrastinating for more than a week and was due tomorrow, he settled down in one of the large armchairs in front of the fireplace. Ron slumped down in the armchair in front of him and crunched into a ball so as not to be seen from behind - after all, hair was quite easy to spot.

"I'm hiding from Lavender," he murmured in a miserable tone. Harry laughed.

"Why? Does she want you to wear that wonderful sweater you got for your birthday?" Harry teased. Ron had, in fact received a horrible pink sweater with Lavender & Won-Won Forever embroidered right in the middle. This had been a huge source of amusement for the Twins, who had followed Ron around the house attempting to impersonate (and failing) Lavender.

Ron glared at him and Harry chuckled again.

"Harry. It's pink," This set Harry off in another round of giggles. At that moment, Lavender came skipping down from the sixth year girls dorm. She spotted Harry and waved at him rather enthusiastically. Harry smiled back weakly.

"Harry! Have you seen my dear Won-Won?" She called across the large common room. Some students turned away, sniggering. Harry shrugged, glancing at Ron briefly, who huddled deeper into his armchair, so as not to be seen by Lavender.

"Um. I think he went to the Owlery." said Harry, improvising. It would take her a good twenty minutes to go there and back - assuming she didn't skip. She thanked him with a blow-kiss and a smile. Then she left through the portrait.

Harry's giggles turned into full blown laughter.

"Thanks, mate." Ron groaned, then reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a miniature chessboard which he enlarged with a tap of his wand.

"Fancy a game of chess?"

Harry, who had finally managed to quiet down nodded while small giggles intermittently escaped his lips.

"Black or white?"

Harry picked the black figure from one of Ron's outstretched hands.

"Black," Harry muttered. That instant, the figurine jumped out of his hand and took its place on the board. Harry chuckled - the voice activation feature had been added by Hermione who was becoming increasingly better at charms.

Ron grinned, "I love playing white. White always gets to begin first."

"Ah yes," Harry murmured, gazing at the board as Ron exclaimed 'Pawn to E4!'.

"Haven't you heard? White begins, black wins."

Ron scoffed and said rather sarcastically, "Bloody likely."

"Pawn to D6," Harry replied evenly, choosing to concentrate on the game.

Seamus who had been reading the playwitch magazine in the corner raised his eyes to watch them play. It would be amusing to watch Harry loose again… then again - no one had ever won against Ron, so this wasn't exactly uncommon.

"Pawn to D4," Ron said slowly and his white pawn advanced forward while wringing his fist at the black pieces. Harry grinned - he would never tire of wizarding chess.

"Knight to F6." The Black Knight hopped over the other pieces with an open mouth, imitating a war cry.

"Knight to C3." Ron mirrored Harry's action.

"Pawn to G6." Harry leaned backwards, watching as his pawn moved to stand next to his knight. Ron glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"The Pirc defence?" The red-headed boy questioned. Harry nodded and grinned. He wasn't particularly sure how he knew of it, but who was he to deny his subconscious knowledge?

The game continued for quite a while - at some point Harry found himself yawning loudly. His lack of sleep and bad concentration led to him losing the game which was disappointing as this was the longest he had managed to play against Ron.

"Checkmate!" Ron exclaimed finally, pinning him down with his only remaining pieces - a rook, a queen and his king. Harry sighed as he watched his black king drop to his knees and strangle himself.

Seamus, who had fallen asleep long ago jerked upwards. The magazine fell to the floor revealing the contents - two topless women drinking butterbeer. Seamus blushed, grabbed his magazine and rushed up the stairs.

.

Harry found himself oddly excited to watch the next memory. After all… he now knew that this was THE Emrys. This was Merlin. The only thing that continued to irk him was why he was experiencing these memories. Why did he see them?

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Harry looked around and was surprised to find that he wasn't experiencing a memory from within the walls of Camelot. Indeed not - he was in a forest. The ground was covered with dirt and leaves, leading him to believe that it was Autumn. Harry could barely see the sun - the leaves were so dense!

However, patterns of light could be seen on the ground, dancing as the trees waved back and forth.

"Emrys!" Shouted a voice and Harry spun, trying to find the source. It was a fruitless search as it seemed to have come from all around him. Suddenly a figure appeared out of nowhere, eyes flashing gold. Harry raised his eyebrows - concealment charm?

Emrys, or rather, Merlin looked older than he had in previous memories. He seemed to be in his mid or early thirties. His angular face was adorned by a thick, dark beard which was trimmed to precision. His hair was as uncontrollable as ever and longer than Harry had ever seen it.

"Galatea! Only the Druids call me that. My name is Merlin."

Harry shuddered slightly, that was proof if he ever saw it.

A woman emerged from behind a tree, dressed in dark green robes and carrying a staff. She chuckled merrily, yet there was a sort of seriousness in her eyes that put Harry on edge. She was older than Merlin, her hair had greyed and wrinkles dominated her face.

"Emrys, need I remind you that I am also a Druid — and so is your magic?"

"I don't even live amongst them anymore. I reside in Camelot… King Uther has instructed me to teach his son, Arthur everything and anything, except for magic of course. That is still forbidden."

"So they welcome you with open arms in Camelot. Even knowing that you are a sorcerer?" Galatea asked, eyebrows furrowing. Merlin sighed in answer. Her eyes widened and she briefly stopped walking to stare at him.

"You mean to say they do not know you have Magic?"

The man licked his lips anxiously and he bowed his head in shame. Galatea resumed her brisk walk, now muttering angrily under her breath.

Merlin sighed in defeat and fell in step with her. They trudged through the forest with determined expressions as though very sure where they were going. Harry trailed behind, staring around in amazement at the ancient forest.

"A prophecy was told ages past. It foretold my birth to the Ealdor clan — it also foretold that I shall be the one to tutor Prince Arthur and then stand at his side once he becomes King. It is my duty, Galatea… can you imagine a land where each witch and wizard, sorcerer and sorceress is accepted? Where we, Druids, live alongside unmagicals?"

Galatea shot him a glare. "Those are fanciful ideas only the naive and clueless. That only proves your youth in mind, Emrys."

He fell silent, mulling over her comment.

They finally arrived at a large tree, under which there was a large hole. Harry raised his eyebrows and followed the pair in.

They appeared in a magically enchanted and enlarged cottage, much like the little tent that Harry and the Weasleys had lived in during the Quidditch World Cup. In the middle, there was a round fireplace with a kettle standing on a metal platform, around it Galatea had arranged several tables, two of which had small, individual fires and a cauldron.

Harry stared in bemusement as Galatea started giving a potions lesson to Merlin. The great Merlin receiving lessons from another Druid! Chuckling, Harry leaned forward, trying to see what they were doing.

"…Emrys. What does my tome say? How should the Moonseed be cut?"

Merlin consulted the tome, "Uhm. Diced. It should be diced."

"And what are you doing?"

"Oh. Uh. Chopping. Sorry." Harry grinned, he wasn't the only one who was crap at potions.

There was a brief pause, while Merlin continued brewing, chopping, cutting or stirring. Galatea watched him with her beady eyes, assessing him as if for an examination and Harry found himself to be slightly nervous. He hoped Merlin would get the potion right.

"No. No. No!" Galatea cried suddenly, eyes widening in shock and perhaps a little fright. "Never. Never. Ever just dump ingredients into a cauldron." Merlin blushed and started to gently put slices of a white root into the potion. Galatea glowered at him and Harry was suddenly struck by how different a person Galatea was when teaching.

"Also - crush the Sopophorous Bean rather than cutting, it releases more juice."

Harry laughed at the way Merlin ducked his face and obeyed her.

Almost an hour later (after a while, Harry had wandered off, staring at the different things cluttering Galatea's magically enlarged hole under the tree), Galatea announced that the potion was ready and that the next and last potion they would be brewing would be an antidote for a poison.

She had mentioned that one of her fellow Druids - a chap named Golpalott - had recently created three rules for potion-making which most of the Druid community now followed.

"Golpalott's Third Law is a law for making antidotes, which says that the antidote for a blended poison — that is, a poison created by mixing several other poisons together — cannot simply be created by finding the antidotes to each separate poison in the blended whole and mixing them together. Instead, the potionmaker must find that single ingredient which, when added to the blended antidotes, transforms them near-alchemically into a combined whole which will counteract the entire blended poison. Simply put, according to this law, a true antidote to a blended poison is more than the sum of its parts." Galatea said quickly, so rapidly that Harry barely understood what she was saying.

Merlin looked almost as confused as Harry. He had raised his eyebrows and was staring at her with a look that said 'Are you serious'. Galatea was very serious. In fact, she was so serious, that she took another vial, poured half the dark, dark green blended poison into it, and proceeded to drink it.

"You have half an hour before I die," she rasped out. Galatea smiled challengingly at Merlin and let herself drop to the ground. Both Harry and Merlin stared at her disbelievingly for a few moments, then Merlin gathered his wits and took hold of the flask with the other half of the poison. He sniffed it, put a piece of parchment (which turned green, then black and dissolved), and then poured it into a clean, empty cauldron.

"Wiggenweld poison," he whispered as he gazed into the cauldron. Merlin swallowed, obviously nervous - then started to make the antidote. Harry stared at his every move, wondering what was going to happen. Was he going to make it? Or was Galatea going to die? Oh, he hoped Merlin stayed concentrated?

Glancing at her for a moment, Harry saw that she had started convulsing and he gulped. Over twenty minutes had already passed and Merlin was still furiously pouring ingredients into the cauldron.

Harry stared as Merlin diced the Fluxweed. When Hermione had been making the polyjuice potion, she had chopped it - he remembered that vividly because she had lectured him and Ron about the proper way to cut Fluxweed. Either Merlin was making a terrible mistake, or he was being inventive like the Half-Blood Prince.

However, all his concerns were washed away, as the angry red of the potion turned into a translucent water-like liquid. Harry let out a breath of relief. It seemed Merlin had succeeded.

Said boy let out a jubilant cry and rushed towards his fallen teacher (who was still convulsing) and tipped the vial back, massaging her throat to make the liquid go down better.

Merlin and Harry stared at her for the next five minutes, unsure. Then suddenly, she took a gurgling breath and her eyes fluttered open. She glanced around in surprise, then let out a terrible cough.

"Too much Dandruff," she said with a grin.

.

The next day was a Friday. No. It was the Friday. This Friday, he would go up to Dumbledore's office at eight for their third lesson. First, however, Harry would have to suffer through two hours of potions. The fact that the teacher had changed, hadn't lessened his hate for the subject.

That was why on that gloomy, Britishly-rainy day, he made his way down to the dungeons with Ron. Hermione had left before them - she and Ron had had a row about Lavender a few days ago and were now somewhat angry with each other.

"I'm not sure how I got an Exceeds Expectations in Potions." Ron said once they had sat down. Harry shrugged and was about to reply when Slughorn started to call for silence.

"Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get though this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law… who can tell me what it is?" Almost instantly Hermione raised her hand. Harry's eyes widened - wasn't this what Merlin had covered with Galatea in their last lesson? Slughorn was gazing around the classroom, disappointment clear in his face when he saw that no one other than Hermione had raised their hands.

Then timidly, Harry raised his hand.

"Well of course - Harry!"

"Um," he paused when he saw Hermione staring at him, surprised. "Um. It's a rule which states that if… uh… one wants to make an antidote to a blended poison - a poison with more than two poisons mixed together - one must make an antidote… for the mixture and not find an antidote for each of the poisons in the blended poison…" He trailed off somewhat lamely but Slughorn didn't seem to notice. He grinned joyfully and nodded enthusiastically.

"Precisely! Ten points for Gryffindor!"

Harry tuned Slughorn out when he saw Hermione staring at him, her mouth slightly ajar.

"Did the Half-Blood Prince teach you that?" She said a little scathingly. Harry frowned at her.

"I have brains too!" He said indignantly. Hermione, used to being the best in the class, scoffed. Harry rolled his eyes - obviously, she was feeling threatened.

Ron was similarly staring him, his mouth agape.

"What?" Harry said indignantly. Why did everyone think that he was too stupid for potions? He had received an Exceeds Expectations in his OWL - had he not? Ron shrugged and continued doodling over his textbook.

"…And so," finished Slughorn, "I want each of you to come and take one of these vials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!"

Hermione had left her stool and was halfway towards Slughorn's desk before the rest of the class had realised it was time to move and by the time Harry and Ron returned to the table, she had already tipped the contents of her phial into her cauldron and was kindling a fire underneath it.

"It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry," she said brightly as she straightened up. "No shortcuts or cheats this time!"

Harry sighed - sometimes she could be too competitive. Harry stared at his poison and blinked when he saw it was a dark green colour. Hadn't Merlin's poison been exactly like this? Uncorking it, Harry dropped a piece of parchment into it and was elated to see that it turned green, then black. It was exactly the same poison Merlin had had to find a remedy for!

Smirking, Harry got to work.

.

"I don't get it." Hermione said shrewdly after she had swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "How did you know it was the Wiggenweld poison?! How did you know how to do the antidote?"

Harry shrugged, enjoying his triumph in potions. Granted he'd been good all year, but up until now he had been cheating… this wasn't cheating, was it? He had seen Merlin's memory. It wasn't really cheating.

"I just… studied."

Harry's appetite was gone in anticipation for the lesson with Dumbledore that he was going to have that night. He was a bit anxious. Before the holidays, Dumbledore had requested Harry to get Slughorn's real memory of his meeting with Tom Riddle. Harry hadn't really done that and he only had one hour left till his lesson at eight.

Glancing up at the Head Table, Harry noticed that Slughorn and Snape weren't there. Harry wrinkled his nose, hopefully Snape wasn't in the dungeons with Slughorn - he really needed that memory before the lesson.

"-wonder what the NEWTS exam for potions might be like," Hermione finished. Harry shrugged and threw his left leg over the bench - then his right.

"Right," he said, stretching, "I have to speak with Slughorn before my lesson with Dumbles tonight."

Ron nearly choked on his food at Harry's nickname for the Headmaster. Glancing at the Top Table again, Harry noted that the Headmaster was staring at him with unblinking, twinkling eyes. Had the man cast an eavesdropping charm on them?

"Dumbles." Ron gasped out, grinning. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly but the corners of her mouth had tilted upwards.

"I'll see you tonight." Harry said with a smile, and left for the Dungeons.

.

The door to the Potions Classroom P1 was open, and Harry glanced inside, only to see Slughorn grading papers at the desk at the front.

"Harry!" He exclaimed, beaming, when he caught sight of said boy. "What a pleasure, what a pleasure. Come in my boy!" Harry entered the room hesitantly. He gently stepped around a puddle of acid.

"Professor…" Harry started haltingly. "Ehm… I've been trying to get know Voldemort more intimately," he mentally slapped his forehead for his wording. Slughorn didn't say anything, but at the mention of his name grew a bit wary. "And well, Dumbledore's been helping me. But you see… we hit a wall when we watched the memory about Horcruxes."

Slughorn's face grew pale, and he stared at Harry in the kind of way one stares at a terrifying enemy. Harry supposed that was the way he had stared at Snape as a little child.

"Yes, of course," said Slughorn quietly, dabbing at his white and suddenly sweaty face. "Of course… well, if you've seen that memory, Harry, you'll know that I don't know anything - anything - about Horcruxes."

Harry gulped nervously and saw suddenly that Slughorn had stood up and was chucking papers into his dragonskin briefcase.

"Professor," he said suddenly, as if some exterior force was controlling his mouth. It seemed to be so, for his voice was grave, serious and full of power. Slughorn seemed to note the change too, because his head snapped up, and he stared at Harry, eyes wide in something akin to fear and awe.

"Professor," Harry repeated a little less forcefully, "This might be our last chance. This might be the key to defeating Voldemort…" He trailed off and saw suddenly that Slughorn was frozen in indecision.

"M'boy… I can't… I simply can't." The potion's master gave him a terrified grimace, grabbed a book from the top of his desk and disappeared into his back office, leaving an exasperated Merlin standing in the middle of the classroom.


So far, pretty close to canon. This will change soon bwahaha