Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing. Excerpts of this chapter come directly from JK Rowling's Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

XXXIV. September 2, 1996

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. Draco tucked in to eggs and bacon beside Crabbe and Goyle.

After they had eaten, the Sixth Years all remained in their seats, awaiting Professor Snape's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Snape needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Although Snape had already approved his class schedule for the year, Draco was still forced to wait for his official document. While waiting for Snape to wade through the options for Crabbe and Goyle, which included them re-taking some of their O.W.L. classes, Draco allowed his eyes to wander across the hall to the Gryffindor table. Arabella and the Granger girl had obviously been cleared for their schedules and were already darting out of the Great Hall, parchment schedules in hand.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," the drawling tone of Professor Snape snapped Draco's attention back to the matter at hand. "I see you've applied for Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration…no Arithmancy this year?"

Draco regarded his Professor with a neutral expression, "I'd like the extra time to study."

Snape regarded him from above, looking down his large nose, his curtains of black hair nearly falling in his eyes.

"I think you should take Arithmancy," and without waiting for argument, he tapped his wand on a piece of parchment that produced Draco's schedule. "I'll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Draco huffed in irritation as he left the Slytherin table. Snape obviously didn't understand—he needed that time to plan. He had bigger things to do than to just attend classes—like complete the task he was given by the Dark Lord.

An hour later, Draco and his fellow Slytherins made their way upstairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When he arrived, Granger and Arabella were already there, each carrying an armful of books and looking put-upon. Draco groaned inwardly—if a single class was making those two goody-two-shoes look so miserable, he couldn't imagine what a full workload was going to look like.

It wasn't too long before the classroom door opened and Snape stepped into the corridor. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Inside," he said.

As they entered, it became obvious that Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Granger hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. Arabella, who had also grabbed her book, unceremoniously dropped the book to the floor, where it made a slapping sound. When Snape regarded her pointedly, she shrugged innocently. Surely being one of his favorites was the only thing that prevented him from taking House points away.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I'm surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced."

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Draco's attention towards Snape's almost loving description of the Dark Arts was pulled away when he saw movement from near the Golden Quartet. When he glanced over, it was to find Arabella gazing at him, her expression unreadable and her dark eyes nearly invisible in the dim light of the classroom.

"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, and Arabella's attention was once more pulled back to the Professor, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" – he indicated a few of them as he swept past – "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" – he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony – "feel the Dementor's Kiss" – a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall – "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" – a bloody mass upon the ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil in a high-pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now…"

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him.

"…you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Granger's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well—Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," said Hermione, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively. Draco sniggered. "But correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power, which some" –his gaze lingered maliciously upon Potter – "lack."

Potter held Snape's gaze for a long moment, until Snape looked away.

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Draco quickly bee-lined it to Arabella when he saw Potter pair off with Weasley. Without allowing her time to protest, he had her by the hand, "Partners? Good."

Draco, of course, had already learned how to cast nonverbal spells from his time with his Aunt Bellatrix, so he insisted Arabella start jinxing first so he didn't have to fake inability. He watched as the other pairs began. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Granger managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat which would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, which Snape ignored.

Weasley was attempting to jinx Potter, but instead managed to turn purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. The expression on his face distracted Draco long enough that Arabella was able to cast a perfect non-verbal Tarantallegra. He didn't realize it until his feet began moving rapidly beneath him and the class began tittering around him.

"Very well done, Miss Riddle," Snape regarded her, again failing to reward Gryffindor with points. With a flick of his wand, Draco was returned to normal. "Weasley, however," Snape turned to loom over the red-headed Gryffindor, "Pathetic. Here, let me show you—"

Snape turned his wand on Potter so fast that Potter must have reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," said Potter stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor."

Several people, including Granger, gasped. Draco could see the other Gryffindor boys grin appreciatively. And then Arabella had to go and giggle.

"I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter…not even 'the Chosen One,'" Snape said before he whirled around to hover over Arabella. "And you, Miss Riddle, I expect better from you." He turned to face them both simultaneously. "I'll see you both in detention, Saturday night, my office."

Class was dismissed just a short time later with Snape insisting in front of everyone that Arabella stay behind. Draco lingered awkwardly as well, knowing he wanted to speak to them both.

Once everyone had left, Snape beckoned them forward to the large table that served as his desk in the front of the room.

He motioned to the two chairs in front of the table, "Sit."

Arabella, without a word of opposition, plopped immediately into her chair. Draco regarded her as he—more gracefully—took his own seat. Snape paced back and forth several times, his hands clasped behind his back, before turning to address his two favorite students.

"Not a good start to the term, Miss Riddle," he began. "I'm afraid I'll be writing your father."

Arabella looked at her Professor incredulously, "Because I laughed at a joke?"

"You laughed at a joke, made at the expense of your professor, delivered by Potter himself, and you earned yourself detention in the process. I believe your father would like to know."

"And will you be writing to Vernon and Petunia Dursley as well, to let them know their nephew earned detention? Or do you only write to certain students' parents and guardians? Perhaps you should write to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy as well."

"Enough!" Snape hissed, leaning over the table to regard Arabella. "I will be writing to your father, you will serve your detention, and you will refrain from sitting next to Potter during your lessons. Or I will move you myself in front of the entire class."

"You can't do that!"

"I can and I will."

"It's not—"

"—the next words out of your mouth best not be 'It's not fair,'" Snape interrupted. "I have been tasked by the Dark Lord to keep you in line, and I will do exactly that using whatever methods are available to me. Do not think for one second that my affection for you as a student of Potions will supersede that."

Arabella's face crumpled, her posture deflating. Draco thought for a moment she might cry, but she held it together quite well.

"Now, sit up straight, and let's return to the business at hand—our weekly meetings," Snape demanded as he finally took a seat. "Now that I have both of your official schedules, we will retain this meeting. Miss Riddle, you will remain after Mr. Malfoy departs for Arithmancy. Mr. Malfoy you will return during your free period after lunch. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Draco responded.

There was silence from Arabella, who was now sitting up straight, but had her arms crossed in front of her in defiance.

"Is that clear, Miss Riddle?"

"Yes. Sir," she bit out.

"Very good," Snape sneered. "You each have your assignments for the year. Get to them. Mr. Malfoy, you are dismissed for class. Miss Riddle, you will remain."

Draco departed swiftly, not wishing to incur the wrath of Snape upon himself. When he looked back before closing the classroom door behind him, neither Arabella nor Snape had moved. If he had to guess, it wasn't going to be a very productive meeting.

Sitting through Arithmancy, the only class Draco had without Arabella—and unfortunately with Granger—was killing his soul. When filling out his proposed schedule, he had purposefully left this period open so he could work on his task, but now it would be taken up with class and homework and studying. Perhaps he'd be forced to let some homework slide. As Professor Vector droned on and on, and Granger's quill never stopped scratching, Draco found himself becoming more and more irritable. When at last the bell rang for lunch, he couldn't suppress a sigh of relief as he all but ran for the door.

As instructed, Draco returned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom during his after-lunch free period to meet with Snape. The professor was sitting at his desk, writing quickly on a piece of parchment when Draco entered. Without looking up from his work, Snape called him forward.

"Take a seat. I'm just finishing up a letter to the Dark Lord."

"So you are going to tell him his daughter already earned detention?"
At this Snape did look up, "Of course I am."

Draco fell silent as his professor completed the letter, folding it into an envelope labeled with a false name. That envelope was then placed into an additional envelope labeled with the name Lucius Malfoy.

"Very well, let's begin. This time last year I took a moment to encourage you to be Arabella's friend. Unwavering. Persistent. Respectful. I will remind you of that here and now."

Snape regarded Draco pointedly down his long, hooked nose.

"Now," Snape continued on. "Anything to report thus far?"

"No, sir. Although I'd like to re-open the discussion of me dropping Arithmancy."

"Oh?"

"I think my time would be better served working on the task the Dark Lord gave me."

Snape paused for a moment in thought.

"And how is that task progressing?"
"Fine," Draco bit out, a tad defensively.

Snape squinted suspiciously, "Very well, I'll reconsider it and let you know my decision at the end of the week. Anything of Miss Riddle?"

"Nothing since this morning."

"Very well, you are dismissed."

Draco didn't argue with the brevity of their meeting. He really didn't fancy the idea of Snape sticking his nose in his business, especially when it came to the task the Dark Lord had given him. He really didn't need Snape "helping" and then taking all the credit for it. Draco needed this to prove himself worthy of the Dark Lord's daughter. He needed to protect his family. So off he went in search of a quiet place in the library to do some homework, but mostly to do research on cursed necklaces.

It seemed he'd just settled in when the bell rang announcing it was time for Double Potions. Draco reluctantly gathered his things and proceeded down to the dungeons. He was one of the first to arrive, and the door to the classroom was closed, so he leaned against the door frame and waited. Soon after, Zabini and Nott joined him. They were followed by four Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff, and then arriving just in time…the Golden Quartet. The Hufflepuff struck up a conversation with Potter specifically, but they had little time for idle chatter before the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Potter and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. The four Ravenclaws took a table over, and the Golden Quartet moved to do the same. That left the lone Hufflepuff to share with the three Slytherins. The Hufflepuff paused, a discontented look taking over his features. When Arabella realized the situation, she slung her bag back over her shoulder.

"Here, Ernie. Sit with Harry. I'll go over with the Slytherins," she whispered softly. Draco grew uncomfortable at the way she touched the Hufflepuff boy's arm. Causal. As if they were friends.

"You sure?"

"Yes," Arabella insisted. "They don't bite."

They switched places, and Arabella came to sit beside Draco.

"That was awfully nice of you," Draco whispered.

"Perhaps you'll give my father a positive report on my behavior, then?" she said, not looking at him as she unpacked her book bag.

"Perhaps," he said nonchalantly.

"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making."

"Sir?" said Potter, raising his hand.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything—nor's Ron—we didn't realize we'd be able to do N.E.W.T., you see—"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention…not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts…."

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Potter and Weasley along with two sets of tarnished scales.

"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Draco regarded what looked like plain water boiling away inside of it.

Granger's well-practiced hand before anyone else's; Slughorn pointed at her.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," she said.

"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known….Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too…Who can—?"

Granger's hand was fastest once more.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir" she said.

Draco had also recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, and had a stinking feeling that such a potion would come in handy this year with his task.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here…yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Granger's hand punched the air again.

"It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed. It seems foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"
"And thee steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—"

But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence. Draco gazed in amusement at Arabella, who he found was also blushing. He wondered what she could possibly be smelling that would turn her so pink. He wasn't surprise to find that he smelled Earl Gray tea; a mix of smells he associated with Quidditch, which included grass and leather and the woody smell of a broom handle; and a floral scent that seemed a mix of roses and lavender.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Granger's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

Malfoy swallowed the mean retort he desired to share with Nott, knowing Arabella would be able to hear it beside him. Slughorn beamed and looked from Granger to Potter, who was sitting next to her.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of who you spoke, Harry?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.

Draco couldn't help the soured expression on his face, which only deepened when he saw the knowing smile on Arabella's face. Didn't she ever get jealous of the great bushy-haired brainiac?

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room—oh yes," he said, nodding gravely in Draco and Theo's direction, for they had shared a rather skeptical look. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love….

"And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said the Hufflepuff boy, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. "Yes. That. Well, that, one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned smiling to look at Granger, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," said Granger excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Draco couldn't imagine a better potion to win. No doubt it would ensure his success with the task given to him by the Dark Lord.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed…at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?"

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing you know…highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally…"

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked the Hufflepuff with great interest.

"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, and once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, the effect was good.

"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," Said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions…sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only…and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!

"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Draco began riffling feverishly through is copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He really needed that lucky day.

Draco pulled out his silver knife and began cutting up valerian roots as quickly as he could. While hyper-aware of what Arabella was doing beside him, he attempted to remain focused on the task at hand, ignoring the fact that everyone else in the class kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing. That was both the advantage and disadvantage of Potions. It was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam.

Just as Slughorn passed their table, Draco perked up: "Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Arbaxas Malfoy?"

"Yes," said Slughorn, without looking at him, "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age…."

He then turned to regard Arabella's potion, which had finally begun to resemble the "smooth, black current-colored liquid" mentioned as the idea halfway stage. She was just a little bit behind, but otherwise her potion was flawless, as usual.

"Very well done, Miss—?" Slughorn turned to her, attempting to gaze into her face, though she was hovered over her work.

"Bella," she answered, ripping her gaze reluctantly from her work.

"It's Miss Riddle," Draco interceded, "technically speaking."

"Ah, yes," Slughorn murmured quietly, turning pale. "Dumbeldore mentioned to me…"

Arabella's expression faltered into one of heart-wrenching pain and embarrassment.

"Well then, carry on," he said, unable to meet her eye.

Draco watched the scene, his desire for the Felix Felicis momentarily forgotten. Arabella plopped unceremoniously back onto her stool, defeated. Draco began cutting up his sopophorous bean, which was proving rather difficult.

"Arabella—you need to keep stirring or it'll turn," Draco whispered at her. The bean was proving difficult to cut and Draco, who was regarding Arabella instead of his finger, nearly took his finger off when the knife slipped off the edge of the bean. This seemed to shake Arabella from her thoughts, as she sprang into action once again.

"Here," Arabella took both the bean and the knife from him. She used a pair of forceps to hold the bean while she stabbed it with the tip of the knife, wrenching the bean open to release some of the juice into Draco's cauldron. The potion instantly turned lilac. He looked at her aghast.

"Why do I have a feeling you need Felix more than anyone this year?" she whispered under her breath, turning to her own sopophorous bean, "Now stir."

Just as Arabella had finished with her bean and begun stirring her own lilac potion, Slughorn called time. He made his way around the tables, regarding all of the potions until he stopped at Potter's.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon, "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are – one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

Potter slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into the inner pocket of his robes.

"Since when is Potter so good at Potions?" Draco hissed underneath his breath. Zabini looked just as incredulous as he felt. And Arabella had yet to turn around to face her own cauldron again, still gazing off at her fellow Gryffindor. They set to cleaning up their potions and supplies. Arabella cleaned Draco's silver knife and handed it back to him carefully. He tried to catch her gaze, but she was obviously avoiding any further conversation.

"How did you do that?" Weasley whispered to Potter as they all began filing out of the dungeons and toward the Great Hall for dinner.

"Got lucky, I suppose," Potter replied, but Draco was certain it was just because he was within earshot.

Draco scarfed down his dinner as quickly as possible, not lingering to participate in the idle chatter of his fellow Slytherins. As he exited the Great Hall, stuffing a handful of biscuits in his robes for later, he glanced up at the head table. Professor Slughorn was pouring himself another glass of pumpkin juice and helping himself to seconds of the main course. Sufficiently confident that he wouldn't be interrupted, Draco directed himself back towards the dungeons.

When he arrived at the 6th year Slytherin boys dormitory, he dropped his bag unceremoniously at the foot of his bed, unlocking and wrenching open the large sea chest that contained his most prized possessions as well as some spare school supplies. He rummaged to the bottom and pulled out a heavy wooden box, engraved with the Malfoy seal. Opening the box revealed a lining of plush, dark green velvet, in which nestled several glass vials, flasks, and bottles of various sizes. He chose the largest flask, which he placed in a velvet bag of dark gray, along with a rubber stopper. Placing it gently in his book bag, wedged carefully between his Potions and his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks, he slung the bag over his shoulder and made to leave the room. Looking back, he thought better of it, and returned to lock everything away carefully. Pausing once more, he decided to grab one additional small vial and shoved it in the pocket of his robes, before darting back up the steps to the Slytherin common room and out the door.

The Potions classroom was locked, but only with the most rudimentary of protection spells. After casting a silent spell his aunt had taught him that summer, Draco slid inside closing and locking the door. As he suspected, Slughorn hadn't even bothered to put the potions away before proceeding to the evening meal. Pulling the large flask from its velvet bag, Draco cast a replenishing spell, hoping to avoid the need to pilfer ingredients and brew his own batch later in the year. Using his wand, he poured as much Polyjuice Potion as he dared into the flask, not wanting the cauldron to appear significantly depleted in its reserve and therefore garner suspicion. After capping and returning the flask to its place in his bag, Draco moved over to the cauldron of Liquid Luck.

"Merlin's bloody beard," he swore beneath his breath. The one potion he needed more than anything, and the old coot had cleaned it up. Of all the potions presented during the lesson, Slughorn had obviously known it was the most desired.

Not wanting to linger and get caught, Draco proceeded to the exit, vial empty, but in hand. He paused as he passed the Amortentia, once again breathing in the scent of tea and Quidditch and Arabella's soap. He scooped a portion into the small vial and pocketed it carefully. Slughorn's words echoed in his head as he slipped into the hall, hand still wrapped around the vial, "Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course...will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession…."

Not quite what he was looking for, Draco thought to himself; but the ferret within said, "Good enough."