A/N: Well, finally got a laptop! Yay! But personally, this chapter isn't great. Kind of just a filler chapter, I suppose. I know, I know; not a very good "I'm Back, Witches!" chapter. But tried! Writer's block is such a curse! And even though it's summer, I have so much work to do. And I need to find a new job that will fit in my school year! I'm too busy for my own. But in any case, I've managed to finish this chapter and will try to work on another one, but for which story, I've got no idea…

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Harry Potter and the Forbidden Love
Chapter 2: The First Day Back

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"As most of you are already aware, your penultimate year here at Hogwarts determines your future career and shapes your life outside these castle walls." Professor McGonagall's reasonably scratched voice cut through the silence just like the piercing gaze of her hawk-like eyes had cast on the once tumultuous classroom, silencing them immediately. The elderly woman took quick strides across the front of the classroom, hands pressed tightly together with her fingers laced, and continued her traditional sixth year's lecture. "N.E.W.T. students must be aware of the responsibilities, both in life and in work that will be imposed on them this year by the teachers of Hogwarts. Folly and indolence will not be tolerated, especially in my classroom."

Harry grunted softly behind the paper walls of his Transfiguration textbook, an ink blotched page curving over his mess of hair. His hands, hidden underneath his desk, unconsciously fiddled with a feather quill he borrowed from Hermione this morning as he had forgotten his own quill set somewhere in his haphazardly packed school trunk. The same school trunk which lay opened and ransacked at the foot of a messy, unmade bed, its sheets and duvet tangled within each other. Such was proof of Harry's most horrifying and confusing nightmare yet.

Professor McGonagall was in love with him.

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry shot straight in his seat. Similar to his dream, Professor McGonagall stood stately before him, but a distinct change could be discerned: her face was glowing with fury, not burning with lustful passion.

Her nostrils flared angrily. "Do pay attention, Mr. Potter, or there will be consequences."

"Yes, Professor." Harry's face burned bright with embarrassment; barely audible giggles and whispered murmurs filled the classroom, but one was most certainly distinguishable from the rest.

Dracia Malfoy's condescending yet soft laugh rang in Harry's ears like the final prolonged note of a beautiful symphony echoing off the curved walls of a high ceiling opera house. Withal, it stung him with the intensity of a thousand blades piercing one single point on his body: his heart.

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"And then, McGonagall leaned in closely-"

"Shut up, Ron."

"And whispered: 'Please take me!'"

"Shut up!"

Ron doubled over in laughter while Harry attempted to kick him the side but missed and landed flat on his bum. Ron, blinded by increased laughter, involuntarily took a step forward and tripped over Harry's sprawled legs, falling on his stomach and having the wind knocked out of him. This was Harry's turn to laugh and exact delicious revenge: Harry ruffled Ron's flaming hair (for he knew how much Ron hated that), stole Ron's left shoe, and made a break for it. Harry barely ran four inches from Ron before the older boy grabbed Harry's pant leg and pulled him back down. The shoe was sent flying high in the air, only to drop in Hermione's outstretched hands. Silence reigned for a few moments: Harry and Ron looked at Hermione; Hermione looked at them both; they looked at each other… and broke out play-fighting.

All the while, Hermione looked curiously at the two of them with a small smile playing her lips.

"You seem to have a flare for idiocy, Potter."

Dracia passed by their display of male idiocy, paused to stare at the worn out trainer in Hermione's hands incredulously, and then continued to the Great Hall for lunch.

Harry stared at Dracia as she continued to the Great Hall, mesmerized by the outline of her body and the sway of her hips as she did that little swagger of hers. Her hair gently shifted but stayed perfectly windswept; her hands (consciously or unconsciously, Harry did not know) fingered the Slytherin emblem sewn on the bottom of her skirt, near her thigh; and as she turned the corner, Harry felt her slate grey eyes lock with his emerald ones for a millisecond to the third party viewer. But to Harry, it felt smaller.

"Hey, Harry! What are you doing?"

Jack Sloper, one of the two Beaters from last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, stared strangely down at Harry with a small, folded piece of parchment in his hand.

Harry, still holding Ron's entire weight off by shoving a foot in his face as Ron tried to claw at Harry with his uncut nails, looked up at Jack with an unconvincing smile. An uncomfortable silence ensued, only the sound of Ron's aggravated grunts could be heard.

"Uh…"

Cough.

"Grrr…!"

"Honestly!" Hermione sighed. She grabbed Ron's shoulder and with impressive strength, pulled him off Harry. "Boys are such idiots…"

"Just yours, Hermione!" Jack playfully teased.

Harry laughed awkwardly, getting to his feet and dusting off his school robes. "You wanted something, Jack?"

"Yeah, Jack! What'd you want? I was just about to cream him!" Ron cursed under his breath as he slipped his trainer back on. (His words earned him a harsh reproach from Hermione)

"I was just wondering when Quidditch tryouts were going to take place. I want to prepare."

"Oh!" He had completely forgotten. "Um, maybe sometime next week?"

"Awesome!" Jack enthusiastically slapped Harry's shoulder with a wide grin. "Also, I was told to give you this."

Jack handed Harry the folded piece of parchment and left them with a hearty "Bye!".

Harry looked at the parchment closely:

Dear Harry,

As sudden as this may seem, I would like to start your private lessons this Friday at 8 p.m. Please kindly make your way to my office then. I hope you are enjoying your first day back.

Yours respectfully,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Though Madam Pomfrey will scold me for this, please bring along with you a few Acid Pops. I enjoy them very much.

"I have some Acid Pops with me, if you need them." Ron said, reading the message over his shoulder.

"That's the password to get passed the gargoyles, Ron." Hermione stated matter-of-factly, reading the note as well.

"I still think you should take some…" Ron muttered darkly.

"I wonder what Dumbledore has planned." Hermione whispered excitedly.

"Me too."

Hermione's excitement was contagious. Harry wanted nothing more than for Friday night to arrive faster than a finger snap. But he knew life wasn't that kind so he settled with speculating what his future lessons would be like with Ron and Hermione as all three friends walked to the Great Hall.

It was funny how fast time flies when three friends were discussing in hushed whispers the prospects of learning advanced new jinxes and hexes that could match the power of ten Death Eaters combined ("I highly doubt that is possible, let alone legal, Ronald." "Let me at least dream, Hermione!"). But before they knew it, the lone bell at the very top of the Astronomy Tower rang, the powerful, everlasting charm cast upon it by Rowena Ravenclaw causing it to be heard all across the castle. This specific ring meant one thing as Ron double checked their timetables: Potions with Professor Slughorn.

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For the past five years, the trip to the dreary dungeon classroom was filled with dark prospects and Ron's occasional declaration to 'accidentally' poison Snape with a special killing potion that kills slowly and painfully, whose name Ron kept forgetting ("Whatever! I'll call it the Super-Awesome-Perfect-for-Snape killing potion!"). But now, with a new, unknown teacher filling the post of Potions Master, the trip down the narrow, torch lit corridor was strangely lighter than usual.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last of the class to arrive in front of the classroom. Including themselves, there were only a dozen students progressing to N.E.W.T. level Potions. Four vaguely recognizable Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff boy Harry immediately recognized as Ernie Macmillan were presently making small talk. And just like during Harry's encounter with her, Dracia wasn't flanked by her usual two gargoyle bodyguards, but she was accompanied by two male Slytherins and another female Slytherin. The contrast between Dracia's sculpted face and the pug-like features of Pansy Parkinson was made all the more stark when Parkinson tried to mimic Dracia's cool indifference to those around her.

But Dracia's indifference soon morphed into a playful smirk at the sight of Harry. What was going on in her head at that moment as she eyed him up and down with that enticing smirk, Harry could only imagine and for the second time today, Harry felt self-conscious about his appearance, specifically the blood rising to his cheeks.

"Are you okay, mate? You look red." Ron said concernedly, touching Harry's cheek with the back of his hand and slowly following his locked gaze.

Thankfully, the dungeon doors opened wide before Ron could link Harry's stare to Dracia's flirtatious motions and Professor Slughorn's round belly preceded him into the corridor. He motioned all the students inside and greeted them individually as they entered but greeted Harry and Blaise Zabini of Slytherin with peculiar zealous. Dracia, who was expecting to be treated the same way, if not better, was in particular shock and anger with the half-hearted greeting she received.

But any bad emotion she felt melted when she stepped into the classroom. The room was unusually filled with vapors of different potions simmering in black cauldrons on the teacher's desk. The scent of each potion filled the nostrils of each student as they slowly passed each one. But a cauldron full of a gold colored liquid caught especial interest: it emitted the most seductive scent the students had ever smelled as the vapor gilded the air above it with an attractive golden mist.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron raced to the table closest to this dizzyingly intoxicating potion. Ernie plopped down on the extra seat next to them, a drunken look on his face. The four of them breathed in deeply and slowly, savoring every moment like an especially flavorful drink. A strange euphoria passed over them and they were contented.

"Now then, now then! Students, focus!" Professor Slughorn's voice pierced through their contentment, but not entirely extinguishing it. The round Professor stood at the front of the classroom, beside the table laden with potions, with a big smile curving his walrus mustache. "Books, scales, and potion kits out everyone!"

"Sir?" Harry interjected.

"Yes, m'boy?"

"Well, I thought I wouldn't be taking Potions this year so I haven't gotten any scales or anything. Neither does Ron."

Professor Slughorn laughed heartily. "No problem, no problem, Harry, m'boy! Take all the ingredients from the cupboards today, there are a few spare sets of scales, and luckily, I have two battered potions books you can use until you can order a brand new one from Flourish and Blotts." He handed Harry and Ron the old potions books along with two sets of worn scales.

"Now then! Let us refocus!" Professor Slughorn declared, repositioning himself in front of the students. "I have concocted a few potions here" (He gestured to the simmering cauldrons beside him) "for your interest. These are the types of potions you will be able to make by the end of this year. Now who can tell me what potion this is?" This time, Professor Slughorn gestured to a specific cauldron: its contents were clear. So clear, in fact, Harry thought it was simply boiling water.

With five years of practice, Hermione's hand cut the air before anyone else could even flinch. "It's Veritaserum: a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth." Hermione recited word for word from Advanced Potion-Making when Professor Slughorn pointed at her.

"Very good, very good!" Professor Slughorn commented brightly. He then gestured to the cauldron beside the Veritaserum. "This one is featured in Ministry leaflets nowadays, so it is pretty well-known. Who can tell us-"

"Polyjuice Potion, sir. With a piece of someone's DNA, like hair, the drinker can transform into that person fully. But only for an hour." Hermione answered yet again with the reflexes of a cat on alert.

Harry recognized the bubbling, mud-like substance in the second cauldron as well. Glancing at Hermione, Harry could instantly tell that she was bursting to say she already knew how to make it. She did, after all, concoct a successful Polyjuice Potion in her second year.

Professor Slughorn had simply gestured to the third cauldron, the one emitting those seductive scents, before Hermione's hand cut the air once more.

"Amortentia, sir. It's the most powerful love potion in the world."

At this, Dracia and Pansy Parkinson seemed to lean in closer to the cauldron with interest.

"Quite right, quite right, my bright girl!" Professor Slughorn clapped his hands repeatedly together, making Hermione turn a light shade of pink. "I suppose, you recognized it by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

Hermione nodded overzealously. "And by the characteristic spirals of the rising steam. And it's supposed to smell differently to everyone, according to what attracts us. And I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment, and-" But Hermione turned pink and shrunk into her seat, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Harry leaned forward in interest, sniffing in the coquettish scent of the love potion, trying to decipher exactly what he smelled: treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and a dull, yet sensational scent of cherry blossoms that he swore he smelled before.

Professor Slughorn ignored Hermione's embarrassment but continued to stare at her, deeply impressed. "What is you name, my dear?"

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Could you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"Not very likely, sir. I am Muggleborn, you see."

Harry saw Parkinson whisper something in Dracia's ear; the two girls sniggered quietly. But Professor Slughorn showed no displeasure; in fact, he showed the opposite.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggleborn, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend you were speaking of, Harry?"

"Yes, sir." Harry replied.

"Well, well, take a well-earned thirty points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Declared Professor Slughorn jubilantly.

"Did you really tell him I'm the best in our year? Oh, Harry!" Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and a sincere smile.

Ron muttered, disgruntled. "So what? I would've told him the same thing if I met him earlier…" But Hermione just shushed him, disgruntling him further.

Harry glance in front of him: Dracia was glaring hatefully at Hermione. Now this shouldn't be strange as Dracia had an open prejudice towards Muggleborns, but this glare was more intense than prejudiced hatred. There was more substance to it; more feeling was added than usual to the glare that made it more piercing, more penetrating.

An old saying that Sirius had once told Harry popped in his head: "Jealousy makes a woman fiercer than a Blast-Ended Skrewt on heat."

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"That's cheating, Harry!" Hermione reproached.

"Leave him be, Hermione!" Ron retorted rudely.

Hermione pressed her lips in a thin line and contorted her face with anger, speeding up her pace and disappearing around a corner to her next class: Ancient Runes.

"What's her problem?" Ron muttered, confused. "I can't believe she's not happy that you won that lucky liquid potion, Felixus Felial."

"Felix Felicis, Ron. And she's probably not happy because I used this Half-Blood Prince's instructions instead of the 'official' instructions." Harry replied, grasping the tiny bottle of liquid luck tightly in his pocket.

"Slughorn could've handed me the Prince's book, but no, I got the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the looks of page fifty-five, but-"

Harry just shook his head and continued to walk towards the Gryffindor Tower. On the outside, Harry was calm and contented, but on the inside, Harry felt confused and impatiently thirsty for information. He couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore wanted to teach him 8 p.m. this Friday, who the Half-Blood Prince was, and why Dracia Malfoy had glared so hatefully at Hermione.

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