Chapter Thirty-Seven: Felix Felicis

Since Cameron and Marissa were the only friends we had staying over holidays, Pernella and I had ample time to meet secretly. The corridors were usually deserted and no one was using any of the classrooms, so we had plenty of places for furtive rendezvous (including one in the Astronomy Tower, where we were interrupted by two seventh-years and had to hide behind a large statue of an enormously fat man with a large mustache). Cameron and Marissa were so preoccupied with their own romance that they didn't notice the amount of time Pernella and I were spending alone. Pernella said we were lucky—if one of us had been a boy, everyone would have assumed we were dating immediately. But since we were both girls, she said, people would just think we'd gotten tired of playing third and fourth wheel to Cameron and Marissa.

I guessed that we were lucky, because it made pretending easier, but it made me mad, as well. Who said that two girls had to be just friends, while a boy and a girl had to be dating? Where was that written?

I wanted to talk to Sarah about all of this—the secrecy, the lies that weren't really lies so much as they were keeping things quiet. I thought that, of all people, she might know what I was supposed to do. But even I knew that asking Sarah for advice would mean breaking the promise I'd made to Pernella not to talk about us—and for that matter, I wasn't exactly sure what "us" entailed. I was starting to think of Pernella as my girlfriend, but we hadn't actually talked about being girlfriends, or even about going on an actual date. We were just snogging in dark corners and making up excuses for where we'd been, and—since I'd only told Meg—it didn't seem real, somehow. Meg had written back promptly, but her only advice had been, "Talk to her about it," and Pernella didn't seem inclined to talk about it, or us.

Snape was still gone—he'd be gone for the rest of the holidays—but I had access to his lab, and when I needed time to think, I went there. I was trying to make the Felix Felicis potion, but it felt like an uphill struggle—Felix Felicis was incredibly difficult to brew and could be downright catastrophic to mess up, and I was too preoccupied with Pernella to give the potion the attention it deserved. Madam Pomfrey, luckily, had several quick remedies for third-degree burns, and I was able to repair most of the shattered glass in the lab (thankfully none of the full jars had broken). I thought about giving up, but the lure of a full cauldron of Felix Felicis was hard to ignore—properly brewed, the potion practically guaranteed unlimited success if you drank it. (Of course, it was banned in most organized competitions, but they didn't always test for it and it was a good thing to have around, just in case.) The Felix Felicis would be my Christmas present to myself, if I could get it right.

OOOOOOOO

By Christmas Eve morning, I was fairly certain that I'd successfully finished phase one of the Felix Felicis. The powdered unicorn horn had turned it into a light lavender (I had added a little less than the recipe called for, remembering Professor Snape's thoughts on overusing unicorn horn), and I'd set it by an open window to sit under the waning moon from moonrise to moonset. The clock had just stopped ringing the hour (eleven o'clock) when I shut the window and stirred the potion carefully, sniffing at it delicately. It gave off a decidedly minty smell.

"Okay," I told it. "I guess we're good to go—what's next, the dried clover?" I double-checked the book just to make sure I was right, and then added in two generous pinches of clover. The green swirled together with the lavender, slowly turning a light amber color. The smell was delicious.

Let sit, stirring slowly in a clockwise direction. Add three tablespoons crushed ladybug wings little by little, pausing between additions, the book read. I followed the instructions carefully, although I did add a counter-clockwise stir every seven turns. The potion was lightening, turning slowly from amber to gold, and tiny droplets were beginning to jump out of the cauldron to glitter in the air before falling gracefully back in. They looked like dolphins or merpeople, I thought.

The Felix Felicis was supposed to sit for twenty minutes for full potency, so when the color change was complete I stopped stirring, floated the cauldron off the fire, and sat down to wait. I couldn't help thinking of all the ways I could use the potion—maybe if I took it, Pernella would actually answer me about whether we were dating or not, or maybe if I drank some next time I talked to Teddy, he'd stop wondering why I wasn't at home more often.

Maybe Lyra would even break up with Hornby.

When the potion was finished, I bottled a little of it up into a crystal vial. The rest I decided to let sit; no one but Professor Snape would see it, and he would know what it was – besides, I wanted him to see what I'd done. Most NEWT-level students couldn't make the Felix Felicis, and I was only thirteen. I brought the vial back to my dorm and placed it on my nightstand. Even bottled up, it looked beautiful—the crystal caught the light, and the gold shimmered and glittered and looked…well, lucky.

OOOOOOOO

None of the Ravenclowns were at dinner that night—the Head Girl, who was a 'Claw, had managed to get permission to take anyone staying to Diagon Alley for the day—so I actually had Cameron's full attention.

"Where've you been, anyway?" he asked around a mouthful of stuffing. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but…what've you and Pernella been up to?"

About the same things you and Marissa have been doing, I thought—but of course I couldn't say that. "Keeping away from you two," I told him. "You think we want a visual lesson on what happens when a boy and a girl lust after each other very much?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I just didn't realize you two were that good of friends, that's all."

"Well…she's good to talk to," I said finally, even though we didn't really talk. "And I've been working at brewing stuff, too—I just finished the Felix Felicis today."

"Seriously?" Cameron nearly spit out his pumpkin juice. "You managed it?"

"Uh-huh," I replied evenly, as if it were no big deal.

"That's brilliant," he cried. "I mean, do you have any idea what that stuff does? Can I buy some? Could you give it to me for Christmas? What are you going to use it for?"

His questions were coming at me too fast to actually answer them, so I waited until he'd calmed down enough to take another forkful of turkey. "You can't have any, Cameron," I said flatly. "I'm saving it for when I really need it."

Cameron harrumphed. "Aren't we friends, Lydia? Don't you consider me among your trusted circle of—"

"You aren't getting any, Cameron," I repeated.

"Good girl!" said the Hufflepuff next to me (sixth year, prefect). "Don't let him pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do. Your body is yours to control!"

Cameron collapsed into giggles and I let my head fall to the table, too embarrassed to even correct her. Besides, what could I say? "He isn't my type"? "I'm dating his girlfriend's best friend"?

"Let's go," I whispered to Cameron. I could feel my face slowly returning to a normal, non-red color. He nodded vigorously, and stood to offer me a hand.

"Remember!" the 'Puff said brightly as we left. "Wait until you're ready!"

I groaned under my breath. "Do they Sort for that, Cameron?"

"For what?" he asked. "Ridiculous attitudes towards what normal, healthy men and women do together, or the inability to tell when two people aren't dating?"

"The second one, I guess," I replied quietly. I was still thinking about the first part of what he'd said: What normal, healthy men and women do together. I didn't ever want to do that with a boy (whatever it entailed—I wasn't exactly clear on the details). Did that mean Cameron would think I wasn't normal or healthy?

"You okay?" he asked after a while.

"Yeah, why?"

"You sounded…off, or something," he told me slowly. "Did what she said bother you that much?"

"Oh…no," I said, flashing him a quick grin. "Nothing like that." Maybe the Sorting Hat had been right, two years ago, when it had bypassed Gryffindor, because I couldn't quite get up the courage to explain to Cameron why I was upset—why his comment had upset me.

"Okay," he replied, but he sounded a little doubtful. "Do you think Evan's having fun in the states?"

"Probably," I said. "I mean, his cousin seems pretty lenient about things, doesn't she? And if Meg's telling the truth, then there's no way for them to tell if he does magic, as long as he's smart about it…"

"I don't think that's fair," Cameron complained. "We can't do magic outside of school."

"Gryffindor was a thief," I said to the common room door. "I agree with you, Cam," I said as the door swung open. "I wish we could do magic too."

"See you at ten?" he asked. "I've got to go wrap presents—I've been putting it off for ages, I hate wrapping things."

"You know there are spells for that?"

Cameron nodded sheepishly. "I can't get the paper to stay smooth."

"Maybe you just need to practice," I suggested. "My grandmother's really good at it, but she's had loads of time to get it right."

"Or maybe it's a girl thing," he suggested.

"Cameron!" I lobbed a Leg-Locker Curse at his retreating back. "Don't be a moron."

"Sorry!" he called up the stairs. I considered going after him, but girls going down the wrong staircase was strictly forbidden, and I didn't want to wind up blasted back into the common room. Instead, I made my way through the tapestry-covered door and into the Slytherin library.

Lura's book was open when I got there, but the room seemed empty. Hi, I wrote.

Lydia, good evening, appeared almost immediately where my words had been. What can I find for you?

I'm—I hesitated for a moment, then scratched it out. When you said you could find me books on lesbians and stuff…

Would you like a list? Her words swirled away while I looked around again, to make sure no one was watching.

Please, I wrote finally. Just the stories, though. I paused half a moment, then added, Not ones where they die in the end.

Just a moment, she wrote. Her words lingered on the page, then disappeared; after a few seconds, titles and authors began to appear. There were hundreds of them, it seemed like, far more than I'd ever thought were possible. Who'd written them all? There couldn't be that many gay girls, could they? Did other people write them? But why would a straight person write about lesbians?

The words stopped coming for a moment, as I looked over the three pages of titles. Which would you like me to get for you? Lura asked. Or would you prefer to browse?

I stared at the list of titles. How could I be expected to know what was best? Could you pick some for me?

How many would you like?

Five? Five would be enough to read before everyone else came back to school.

Of course. Books began flying off the shelves, and I had to duck to avoid being hit by a large leather-bound tome. When five books had stacked themselves neatly on the podium, Lura wrote again. You've got them for two weeks, Miss Carmichael.

Thank you, I wrote back, and I waited until my words disappeared to shut the book.

I examined the covers of the books Lura had selected as I walked back to my room. The one on top – Am I Blue? -- had a pink and blue cover and looked to be a dusty collection of short stories. But it was the book on the bottom that really caught my eye: a large leather-bound book with creamy pages covered in tiny cursive. The front page said it was the personal journal of a girl named Olivia Stuart, who was born in 1923 and had started Hogwarts in 1934 and the journal four years later; it also had a little gold sticker to indicate it was unedited (usually journals were edited to reshape events in the writer's favor, or to protect the guilty). I kept stealing glances at it as I changed into my pajamas and wrapped myself in my dressing-gown. I desperately wanted to start reading it—was Olivia gay, too? Had her roommates minded?—but I'd promised Cameron I'd meet him in the common room at ten for cookies. The journal would have to wait.

By the time I got down to the common room, everyone had already grabbed a mug of hot chocolate and a couple cookies. I sank into the armchair next to Cameron's and grinned at Eleanor Carrow and Alexis Newbury, who were the only other two Slytherins staying over. Alexis was a sixth-year prefect, and Eleanor was our keeper and Quidditch captain. "Where've you been?" Cameron asked. "You're late."

"By six minutes!" I protested, taking a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. "Who brought the food, anyway?"

"I did," Eleanor said. "That's part of my job, as the oldest: get cookies when Snape's not around."

"Yeah, where is he?" Alexis asked. "He's always here for Christmas."

Eleanor shrugged. "He's been gone all break."

"He had an unavoidable commitment, he said," I explained. "He won't be back until the start of term."

Alexis shot me an odd look. "Teacher's pet, much?"

I shrugged awkwardly, but Eleanor tossed a napkin at her. "Leave her alone, Alexis. It's not Lydia's fault you barely managed an A in your potions O.W.L."

"That's not the point," Alexis grumbled, but she fell silent. Eleanor wasn't a girl you wanted to cross: she ruled our winning Quidditch team, and our team ruled the House.

"Besides," she continued, "Snape doesn't pick favorites, not like Slughorn did. You remember the Slug Club, Alexis?"

Alexis grinned sheepishly. "I guess you're right. Merlin, that was fucked up…"

"You're just jealous because you weren't invited," Eleanor laughed. Cameron and I watched this exchange with puzzled expressions; who was Slughorn, and why had there been a club named for him?

"Oh, right…" Alexis said, noticing Cameron and I blinking at them. "Sorry, I forgot you two just missed him. Slugs was…how can I explain it, Eleanor?"

"He was kind of a snob," Eleanor began, swirling her cocoa thoughtfully. "But he was also nice – you don't get that with Snape so much. Slugs would talk to you, he wanted to know how things were…I mean, not that Snape doesn't, because he does, but it's different."

"Slughorn talked to you," Alexis agreed. "He wasn't so cold. And he knew everyone—not just, like, you, but your family and what you were good at…."

"So what was the Slug Club?" I asked. "Did he head a potions club or something?"

Alexis burst out laughing, and even Eleanor couldn't stop giggling. "No…it was more like a popularity contest. If you had the right grades, or parents, or talent, he'd invite you to these parties in his apartments…I guess the idea was that then you'd remember him when you were rich and famous. I mean, Slugs knew everyone important…"

"Seriously," Alexis put in, "everyone. He knew all of the Order of the Phoenix, and the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes…Rose Zeller…seriously, everyone."

"Rose Zeller?" Cameron repeated. "The Rose Zeller? The lead singer of Twisted Coven? That Rose Zeller?"

"How many Rose Zellers do you know?" Alexis snapped. "Of course the Rose Zeller. She even got him tickets to that concert in Edinburgh, the one where that guy almost got trampled to death." We were all silent for a moment after this, basking in the glory of Twisted Coven and Rose Zeller in particular, until Eleanor finally summoned her stereo. We finished the last of the cookies and hot chocolate singing along to all of their Death on A Broomstick album, and I went to my room that night still humming the chorus of "More Than Just My House." (Which House she was singing about was the subject of much discussion: we claimed her for our own, because Slytherins were so marginalized; but the 'Puffs thought Rose Zeller was theirs. This was obviously nonsense, though, because Twisted Coven was cool and Hufflepuffs…were not.)

I was exhausted, but Olivia Stuart's journal was too tempting to leave for tomorrow, and I wanted to know all about her—how did she realize she was gay? Had she had a girlfriend? I took the journal to my bed and snuggled into the covers to read.

Olivia's first entry had been on September the first, right after the Sorting and feast. There was a list of the things she'd forgotten at home (socks, toothpaste, third-best quill, and back copies of Witch Weekly) and her schedule, which included Muggle Studies (apparently a new elective, only a term long) and Care of Magical Creatures. Olivia's handwriting was cramped and hard to read, and her spelling was atrocious; furthermore, most of her first entries dealt with the tiny details of her life—books to check out, homework assignments, to-do lists. I was beginning to wonder why Lura had recommended the book to me when I finally flipped the page to a longer entry from January.

I haven't been very good at keeping a Diary, have I? it began. My New Year's resalution is to try harder and write every day, or at least every weak. The problem is that nothing interesting happens, though! Molly is supposed to go to Hogsmeed with Ed, but none of the boys have noticed me this year eether. At least she might not be able to go, because Sluggy caught her teasing one of the second-years about being a Muggle-born, and he's put her in detention all this weakend for it. Molly says the boy kept saying he was really a Slytherin, like that he was related to Salazar and she was just trying to teech him proper respect for being related to the Founders, since she's related to one to, but Sluggy didn't believe her.

Oh! Yesterday Will A. asked Jean to go on a walk around the lake with him after the Quittich game, and she said no. I don't understand her. He and his brothers are the most handsum boys in our whole school (or at least the two older ones are. Pete is still only twelve), and I would give all the gold in the world for Will to ask me for a walk. He even smells good, sort of outdoorsy and kind of expensive, and I think he's the most amazing boy in all of Hogwarts. It isn't fair that he likes Jean, who doesn't even seem to notice him at all, when I'm right hear. I'm practicully completely in love with him all ready. Maybe I should wate for him after brekfast and ask if he's got the Transfiguration notes? I didn't really understand what Dumbeldor was talking about yesterday anyway. Or would he think I was stupid then?

Well, I'll tell you what happens tomorrow. And I forgot to say that the Muggles are having a war! I was worried that they might get us—Jean says they have queer wands made of metal that blow people up, and also things they drop out of metal flying carriges—but Will said wizards are protected from that sort of thing. (That's why I'm in love with him. He always knows everything.) I only remembered to tell you now because there starting a ratuning thing where we can only get a little sugar and butter and meat and stuff, and even wizards have to go by it. Jean says that means fewer cakes, because I guess the increased sugar tastes differently than the original? Anyway, I promise to write to you tomorrow and tell you if it's true!

Olivia's handwriting was so difficult to decipher that I'd gotten a headache just from the little I'd read, so I put the book aside and snuggled deeper into my quilt. It didn't seem like Olivia had many friends—she'd mentioned Molly and Jean, who I gathered were two of her roommates, and Ed and Will, but nothing in her journal so far had talked about late-night conversations or midnight raids on the kitchens. Plus, Olivia sounded almost…stupid, or at least trivial, and she was certainly not a lesbian—she'd just spent a whole three-quarters of a page going on about a boy! What was this journal possibly going to teach me about anything?

OOOOOOO

A/N: As usual, I don't own anything JKR does. T. M. Hatter beta'd this for me, so she should be showered with praise and chocolate—especially because it's almost her birthday!

The next chapter is in the hands of my betas, so it will (hopefully) be out soon, and of course reviews make me happy. Happy spring, everyone!