Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.
So I am also, for those who recognise it, a victim of the vanishing reviews. Which is annoying because I had just posted a chapter, and now there are a hundred and fifty reviews I can't read until it's sorted out again.
Update: I can now read all the reviews, so I'll finally post this chapter without fearing the responses to it will be lost in the ether.
For those who feel Snape is a touch OOC; in canon he is perfectly capable of respecting Riddle, and I imagine he was not overly fond of Lily's killer, so it seemed in keeping to extend the same principle to my evolved Harry.
Alternate endings have been considered, but, to realistically create the character changes required for all but two of the alternates, I would have to rewrite about 150 000 words of this fic... several times. So unless I find myself feeling unhappy with how this ends (unlikely, but possible) it won't happen. Sorry, everyone.
And, for the record, who says veela can't conjure fire hot enough to melt steel? Their abilities are barely touched upon in canon.
Anyway, here's number 83!
Chapter 83
Red and gold, bright and bold; the inside of Gryffindor was so far removed from the cool, soft blue and ivory he was used to, and fond of. The first thing he had done was to ward his bed, the hangings, and the battered, all but empty trunk by his own four poster next to the window. They wouldn't be stopping anyone truly determined to get in, but they'd certainly slow them down long enough for Harry to get to the wand that was back beneath his pillow.
He had grown so used to sleeping somewhere safe over the summer, to relaxing his guard, that every time he awoke here to find himself alone, he instinctively snatched his wand from his pillow.
The slender piece of ebony swelled warm against his palm, and his heart rate slowed back to its usual, slow throb.
Neville's steady breathing was not audible, nor were Ron's snores reverberating around their dorm. Things were oddly quiet.
It must be late.
Harry pulled the hangings back, dressing swiftly; it was breakfast time already. Normally he would hear Neville rising, or, failing that, Ron's loud, slow preparation for the day could not help but wake him.
He holstered the wand he was still holding, gathering this things for the day, and pressing one hand against the faint warmth of the locket around his neck as he left the dorm. It was a poor supplement for Fleur.
The common room was empty, everyone was at breakfast already, so Harry hurried out through the portrait.
His late entrance drew a few eyes, and as he drifted along the length of Gryffindor's table, he noted both Romilda and Katie clear space for him next to them. Frowning gently he took a seat next to the latter.
'What's wrong?' She asked, offering him the plate of bacon.
'Nothing,' Harry replied, blinking, and wiping the frown from his face. 'How was your first day back?'
'Boring,' Katie groused. 'Apparently being quidditch captain means I have to organise everything myself.'
'That was a surprise to you?'
'Yes,' Katie grumbled, helping herself to everything Harry had left on the plate. 'McGonagall wouldn't let me delegate responsibility.'
'Really?'
'She said that referring to my teammates and subordinates as minions wasn't how a captain should act,' Katie told, pouting ever so slightly.
'She has a point,' Harry grinned, frown forgotten. 'You're not supposed to let them hear you refer to them as minions, that's poor Dark Mistressing.'
'I cry your pardon, your Supreme Darkness,' Katie smiled.
'Where's Neville?' Harry asked, not seeing his friend amongst the row of faces. Hermione was missing too, which was unusual, she rarely missed mealtimes.
'Room of Requirement,' Katie answered absently, 'he and Hannah have been bribing the house elves to bring them breakfast up there.'
'He's growing so sneaky,' Harry sighed wistfully, 'I remember when he was a shy, stuttering chubby thing.'
'He still is sometimes,' Katie grinned wickedly, 'you just have to say the right sort of things when Hannah's nearby.'
'Like what?' Harry asked, smirking. Teasing Neville was one of the few things that brightened up their more boring classes, though, ideally, he would no longer have to endure any.
'A few questions,' Katie's grin grew suggestive. 'Ones like, how far have you gone? Is she shy? Does Hannah like it if you pull on her pigtails?'
'You're a cruel girl,' Harry decided gleefully, imaging Neville's distress.
'You taught me well,' she beamed. 'I convinced Luna to ask him the last one in front of Professor Sprout.'
Harry nearly choked on his mouthful of bacon and eggs, coughing helplessly, eyes streaming, until Katie offered him her drink, and patted him on the back none too gently.
'You ok?' She giggled.
'Wait until I'm not swallowing next time,' he chuckled, finishing the rest of her drink in one swift steal. It wasn't pumpkin juice.
Katie snatched the goblet back, scowling at her empty cup. 'I had to bribe a house elf myself to get that,' she growled. 'Next time I'll poison it.'
It won't work, Harry thought, amused, though I might drink it just to watch the look on your face.
'Don't you have a class to go to?' She sulked, but Harry could see her lips trembling as she tried not to smile at him.
'Charms,' Harry said, 'then Potions, and Transfiguration.'
'A full day,' Katie remarked.
'Very.'
'Think any of them will let you take the subject early?'
'Flitwick and McGonagall hopefully,' Harry smirked. 'I'll have my Transfiguration NEWT before you.'
'You can help me at the end of the year, then,' Katie decided, leaning over him to retrieve a rack of toast, apparently she hadn't noticed the one just a foot away from her on the other side.
'If I'm still here,' Harry agreed.
'Where else would you be?' Katie asked, smiling, but obviously worried that he might actually leave.
'France is nice,' Harry teased, 'I know a beautiful spot with a willow tree.' He rubbed his chin, noting his need to shave again soon, and turning serious. 'I could spend forever there,' he smiled softly.
'You'll have to show me,' Katie replied casually, concentrating very hard on her toast.
'Maybe one day,' Harry grinned. He couldn't go back there now, not until Voldemort was gone, and Dumbledore dealt with; he'd lead the danger right back to Fleur's family otherwise.
'You should head off to charms,' Katie remarked, slightly stiffly.
'Don't you have any classes of your own?' Harry raised an eyebrow, both in query and at her tone.
'Not this morning,' she sighed. 'I might as well organise the quidditch practices and plays; all my friends are younger than me, and have fewer free periods.'
'I'll have a lot more than you after today,' Harry grinned.
'You think Flitwick and McGonagall will just let you stop coming to classes?' Katie looked hopeful.
'Hopefully,' Harry shrugged, 'I'll probably not go anyway if I'm honest; there's no point me being there.'
The only lessons he was sure he was going to keep attending were Slughorn's, Vector's, and Snape's; the former to impress him, the latter to keep an eye on the two-faced spy, and he didn't want to see what would happen if he fell behind in Arithmancy.
'You can come and keep me company in the common room then,' Katie's face brightened.
'Or I could jump off the Astronomy Tower,' Harry mused playfully. She glared at him, and kneed him none too gently in the calf, but her leg lingered for a noticeable moment before she retracted it back beneath the bench.
'If you have to jump off something try and land on Romilda Vane and take her with you,' Katie suggested. 'That girl needs a wake up call, who'd choose a normal girl like her over someone like Fleur.'
'I'm sure she's a nice girl,' Harry wrinkled his brow, 'but she needs to learn how to do the buttons on her blouse up, and realise that she's grown up too much to keep wearing her second year uniform.'
Katie snorted. 'Like that's going to happen. If she puts on any more eyeliner, she'll look like she gets as little sleep as Hermione.'
'She can put on as much makeup as she likes,' he shrugged, 'but I'm not really into girls that cover themselves up like that. A little bit looks nice, but that much just seems excessive.'
'I didn't think you'd like it,' Katie agreed cheerfully. 'Poor Romilda is spending a futile fortune trying to get your attention like that.' She glanced around her at the clearing crowd. 'You should go,' Katie told him reluctantly.
She was right. The Great Hall was quickly emptying. Harry smiled his own goodbye to Katie, patting her on the cheek on the way out, and doing his best to ignore the way she tilted her face into his fingers.
Flitwick was hovering just inside the door to the class when Harry got there, but everyone else was seated. Katie had clearly kept him until the last possible moment.
'Harry,' he squeaked animatedly, waving a thin piece of parchment in the air as if it were his wand. Harry was not entirely sure the excitable professor was aware that it wasn't his wand. 'This is for you, if you can perform a quick example for the class.'
'Is it a permission slip, sir?' Harry asked politely. Several of the Ravenclaws narrowed their eyes contemptuously, clearly they disagreed with their Head of House's belief that Harry was capable of taking the NEWT early. Not that he really cared what they thought. Half of them had once believed he had been setting a basilisk on unsuspecting students.
'It is indeed, Harry,' the tiny teacher nodded, ushering him cheerfully to the front to stand by a crystal wine flask.
'It's a bit early for me,' Harry grinned, knowing full well what Flitwick really wanted him to.
'You can drink it after the example, Harry,' Flitwick responded glibly.
'No thanks, sir,' Harry chuckled. He had no desire to drink a litre of vinegar. 'Non-verbal?'
'Of course,' Flitwick bobbed his head, 'wouldn't be a perfect example otherwise.'
Harry drew his wand, smoothly flicking it into his palm, and tapping the flask gently on the side.
The deep, burgundy colour transitioned smoothly to a dark brown with a clear, crystalline chime. Ron looked impressed, Neville rolled his eyes and grinned from the back, and Hermione, on whose desk the flask was resting, peered intently at the liquid before pursing her lips and sniffing gently.
Someone is envious, Harry grinned.
'Still thirsty, Harry?' Flitwick asked cheerfully, proffering him the note.
'Not even a little bit, sir,' Harry disagreed lightly.
'That is a perfect example of how to turn wine to vinegar using a nice little non-verbal charm you'll all be learning towards the end of this year.' The professor stepped up onto one of the stacks of books beside his desk so he could see all the way to the back. 'You will note that Harry, unlike myself, does not bother with the proper wand motion. This is because Harry has power enough not to need the extra precision, and can afford to waste a little magic to save time. It is not something I expect you to be trying until next year, since it requires a very intimate understanding of what you're trying to accomplish, and a supreme level of focus.'
'So it's better to use the full wand motion?' Hermione asked.
'In principle, using the full wand motion and incantation is the most efficient and safe method for every spell, Miss Granger,' Flitwick explained. 'However, in practice it is generally preferable to save time by sparing the motion, and to conceal the nature of the spell by casting it silently. It is crucial when duelling,' the tiny professor added, hopping off his stack of books.
Hermione's eyes flicked to Harry, to the flask, and back again, glinting with an odd light, but she said nothing further.
'There's no point you wasting your time doodling at the back of my class, Harry,' Flitwick squeaked, 'go find Professor McGonagall, she wants to discuss a few things with you.'
'Thank you,' Harry grinned, sweeping out of the class to more than a few envious eyes.
He hadn't been up to McGonagall's office in a long time, not since he had last been in trouble, and he hadn't been caught in quite in some time. Harry smirked briefly at the realisation of just how long it had been since he'd been apprehended for something.
'Come in,' Professor McGonagall called out clearly when he gently knocked on the door.
'Professor Flitwick said you had some things you wanted to speak with me about?' Harry drifted slowly towards the centre of the room, pausing when McGonagall got up from the desk and, with a sweep of her wand, cleared all the desks and chairs from the room.
'I do,' the strict teacher nodded, 'Professor Flitwick and I have come to the conclusion that there is little point in keeping you in our classes if you already know the material, since you are here I assume you passed his test.'
'I did.'
'I have no such test for you,' the transfiguration teacher admitted, 'you have, to Madam Pomfrey's dismay, already demonstrated sufficient knowledge of our seventh year syllabus to satisfy me. Quite impressive for a fourth year, Mr Potter.'
'So I can take it early?'
'Indeed you may,' McGonagall agreed. A second flick of her wand sent a piece of parchment sailing across the room from her desk into his hand. 'I wished to discuss the project that the headmaster suggested I ask for your assistance with instead of his.'
'Dumbledore didn't go into a great deal of detail,' Harry said, shrugging, 'just mentioned I needed to be able to sustain a partial, human transfiguration for a while.
'A very basic description of your role,' McGonagall frowned. 'I will not burden you with two many details, Mr Potter, but the aim of my project is to try and study the point at which a partial, transfiguration of one's self into an animal becomes a full one. It is my goal to try and better determine, and maybe even affect, the mental effects of such a transfiguration.'
'I take it that would have wide-reaching implications?' Her tone certainly implied it.
'An animagus, Mr Potter, as you are well aware, is able, once they are fully capable of using their form, of retaining most of their faculties, even if they are influenced while within their animagus body. Ordinary human to animal transfiguration leaves the altered wizard or witch with no more intelligence or understanding than the animal they have become. A partial transfiguration can have either effect, depending on the part of the body altered. Should I be able to affect this then the result will be any gifted transfiguration user will be able to, in effect, have an infinite number of animagus forms.'
'You're an animagus, aren't you, professor?' Harry remembered the first lesson he had ever had with her.
'As you may well be by the end of this project,' McGonagall replied earnestly. 'We will delve far enough into the principles behind it that you may well be able to take great strides towards following in your father's footsteps.'
'It might be fun, I suppose,' Harry mused. He'd not spent a great deal of thought in considering becoming an animagus. It had its benefits, but they seemed few and far between given how much effort had to expended to become one. If, however, he had to do the work regardless, then it may well be worth it.
At the very least I may well be able to shock Fleur, he thought, a devious grin spreading across his lips.
McGonagall eyed him warily.
'We may as well get started, Mr Potter,' she decided, 'since you now have nothing to do.'
'If you like, professor,' Harry shrugged.
'You used to have to hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month,' McGonagall noted almost wistfully, 'but simpler, more ingenious ways to influence the body to change have been devised since then. Your father and his friends stole all the leaves from the mandrakes in the tower, causing a whole class of first years to faint in their next class when they mistakenly emptied out the apparently empty beds without ear guards.' There was the faintest hint of wistful humour to her tone as she related the incident, though none of it showed on her face.
She handed him a small, green pill about the same size as his thumb nail.
'The transfiguration is easier, and more sustainable if you use the form most compatible with your own, so at the very least you will learn the creature you could become as an animagus.'
Harry picked the pill out of McGonagall's palm, holding it suspiciously between his thumb and forefinger.
'Eat it, Mr Potter,' the transfiguration teacher instructed, 'I have not poisoned it.'
The pill tasted very strongly like wood, but he swallowed it easily enough.
'What now?'
'That pill, Potter, has saved you two months of preparation for learning your form. As it is you should close your eyes, and let your innermost thoughts guide you.'
'Will it be the same as my Patronus?' Harry wondered aloud.
'Sometimes,' McGonagall answered, not realising the question was rhetorical. 'Most often it is not. A patronus embodies your emotions, your feelings, the animagus your instincts; it is your very essence altered into it's most fitting form.'
'Interesting.'
Harry closed his eyes.
Let it be an earwig, he hoped quietly, closing his eyes and relaxing.
There was a glimpse of a slim, black body. Slender scales, tapering away. Dark eyes, gleaming like gimlets. The dispassionate, distant curiosity of the hunter, its patience, its power. The cruel-edged, long, straight beak, curving talons, and the sleek feathers that concealed him in the shadows.
A raven.
It was not going to provide anywhere near as much entertainment as being an earwig, and wasn't amazingly useful, but at least it wasn't a snake. He had no use for the form of a limbless, earth-bound reptile.
The curiosity was catching, the sense of the raven slipping closer to himself, pervading and permeating his mind, twisting his thoughts into unreadable loops. Harry was distantly aware that he was changing, the world looming larger, and the ceiling rising away from him.
Old-cold-living-stone.
It rung under his talons as he tapped them against it, intrigued that what was not-alive felt so strange. He clacked his beak, hopping from the floor to the warmer, dead-wood-once-trees; it gave him a better view of the room. Dipping his beak into his feathers he eyed the surroundings, tilting and tipping his head to take in as much as he could as quickly as he could.
Two-legged-no-wings-no-feathers.
The creature seemed familiar, but it was old, and slow. He could see it in the lines of its pale skin, the talonless tips of its feet, and the greying of its hair.
Not prey. Not threat.
He clacked his beak at it curiously, hopping closer. It was the only creature present. The living stone drove the others away with its unusualness.
The creature moved with sudden speed, and the desk crumpled underneath him, pitching him onto the floor with an indignant squawk, until he found himself staring at his fingers on the stone, and the raven faded away.
'How curious?' Harry stood up slowly, inspecting himself to see if he was completely human again.
He was.
'I truly was the raven.'
'A raven.' McGonagall's expression was unreadable, her lips pursed in thought. 'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor. And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor. Shall be lifted—nevermore!'
Harry did not recognise the quote she muttered under her breath, for McGonagall was quoting, her face and tone turned reflective and taut.
'I did not expect to be a raven,' he remarked.
'Nobody is ever how we write expect them to be,' the transfiguration teacher sighed. 'At least I know you have not been studying to become an animagus alone. Your father, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew were at least able to look after each other.'
There was no inflection to make him guess it, nor any wavering of her tone to suggest it, but he was suddenly sure that Dumbledore had not suggested him because of his power, his aptitude for the subject, or any desire to see Harry become an animagus. The headmaster wanted to see if he already was one.
Why?
Harry gently flicked his wand into his palm, and back into its holster several times while he considered it.
The wards. He wants to know if that was how I was leaving the castle unnoticed.
'How do you not become the raven?' Harry inquired, quietly admiring the devious scheme. Had McGonagall not been unaware of Dumbledore's intent and stated her own, identical concern so explicitly he might never have guessed its purpose.
'You do not,' McGonagall replied simply. 'The reason the animagus is able to distinguish their self from their animal form is because the animal form is similar enough to them. You will become the raven, and then raven will become you.'
'It sounds… complex.'
'It takes a great deal of self study, understanding, and thought to be able to see the similarities between yourself and the form, and even more to bring them together.'
Harry nodded gently. The raven might be useful, very occasionally, but it felt unlikely that it would justify so much time spent dedicated to it. If he could manipulate these project sessions into suiting that purpose he would, but he would not pursue it himself.
'So what will we be doing next time?'
'We are not done, Mr Potter,' McGonagall remonstrated sharply. 'Now we know which form suits you best I can devise the optimum partial alterations to use. In the meantime focus on transfiguring your hair into the feathers of the raven; just your hair, mind you.'
Harry flicked his wand back out, imagining the feathers he had felt over himself, losing himself in the strange, stilted memories of the raven.
'Just the feathers,' McGonagall said sternly.
Harry frowned, relaxing and clearing his mind of all the thoughts of feathers and the raven. He rose another two inches, regaining his usual height, and the dark feather tips covering his arms retracted back into fine hairs.
Just the feathers, he reminded himself.
He silently wondered if it might be useful to ask Fleur about this, given she was capable of growing feathers herself.
This time he was able to keep himself detached from the raven when reviewing its memories, and the tiny, slight feathers spread across his skin, cascading down his neck, and rising from his head in a soft, sleek, ebony crown.
'How do you feel?' McGonagall asked, inspecting him curiously. An avid, genuine interest was present in her pursed lips, and for the first time in his life Harry caught a glimpse of a younger McGonagall, experimenting with transfiguration herself.
'Like Harry,' he answered simply.
'No raven?'
'None.'
'Try changing all your skin now,' she suggested, then wrinkled her brow. 'No,' she shook her head, changing her mind. 'Spend some time studying the anatomy of the raven, we'll continue on when you have a firmer grasp of what you're transfiguring yourself into. It will be a more reliable study if you're not just relying on your innate instincts from when you were the raven.'
'I should go?' Harry raised an eyebrow.
'Yes,' McGonagall agreed. 'It is nearly time for your next class. Do you have any questions before you leave?'
'Not that can't wait until next time,' he decided. 'I can understand why my father, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew named their animagus forms now.'
'It is not quite the same as being yourself,' McGonagall noted, 'though I felt no need to name my own form. The further you progress to becoming a true animagus the less separate you will feel from your other form.'
'I will not name mine,' Harry concluded. 'It might actually detract from the process.'
'Yes,' his head of house looked faintly approving, 'I daresay it might.'
'Thank you for letting me assist you, professor,' Harry said politely, sincerely grateful for the venture. It had proven quite interesting.
And I know that Dumbledore is not aware of how I can enter and leave the castle without triggering the wards, Harry realised grinning, setting off in the direction of Slughorn's class, and the hopefully less dreary dungeon. He couldn't imagine the portly wizard teaching in the same room Snape had.
He was right.
The dungeon was filled with steam, smoke and the scents of both potions and food. Slughorn himself sat on the front of his desk, his belly protruding out into the class beneath a box of what looked like either crystallised lemon, or pineapple.
'Welcome, welcome,' he chuckled, chins wobbling, beckoning Harry, and the gathering group behind him into the classroom. 'Take a seat.'
The desk Snape had set in neat, rigid rows were gone, and the sets of tables were scattered casually across the room. The uncomfortable stools replaced by padded, velvet backed chairs.
The Slytherins, including a dour-faced Malfoy, took the table upon which a small cauldron of polyjuice bubbled thickly, and the Ravenclaws another, huddling around the perfectly clear veritaserum, which left Harry to be joined by Hermione, Ernie Macmillan, and Ron, whom Harry would have been surprised to see here if not for his sudden maturation.
The cauldron in front of them shimmered iridescent, giving off soft, white mist in subtle spirals.
'Well now,' Slughorn began jovially. 'Who can identify these potions?'
Hermione's hand was instantly airborne.
'Yes, Miss Granger,' Slughorn's eyes passed over the others who had raised their hands, Ernie, and Terry Boot, uninterested. He was evidently aware of Hermione's talent, and potential.
'Polyjuice, veritaserum, and amortentia,' Hermione gestured to each cauldron in turn while Slughorn beamed approvingly.
'Quite right, Hermione,' he nodded cheerfully, 'you don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you? You can call me Horace at my little gatherings.'
'Of course not, sir.' Hermione seemed quite excited by the prospect of being on first name terms with a professor.
Harry leant forward curiously to inhale the mist while everyone's attention was elsewhere. A flood of pleasant aromas washed over him, the subtle, sweet smell of burnt holly, a faint hint of almonds and sugar, he caught a hint of old, musty paint, the sharp tang of eldritch ozone, a whiff of broom polish, coffee, and gentlest, almost indiscernible scent of cold, crisp ice.
'Ah,' Slughorn's eyes fixed on Harry, who swiftly leant back, 'Harry knows a thing or two about amortentia it seems. Care to tell us what you smelt?' The class stared at him curiously, and Su Li, the only female Ravenclaw, was watching him like a hawk. He realised immediately that anything that smelt remotely like any girl was going to be school wide gossip by the end of the day.
'Broom polish, and marzipan,' Harry admitted casually. Everyone knew he had liked quidditch; it was hardly a great revelation, and nobody who didn't already understand would be able to place the marzipan.
Su Li looked crestfallen, and dropped her like the others, but both Ron and Hermione were still staring at him. He met their eyes, glimpsing, with the aid of a touch of legilimency, Hermione's disbelief that he smelt anything, and Ron's memory of walking into Katie after quidditch practice.
Hermione flinched away from his gaze so violently that she jolted the cauldron, soaking her book in amortentia, and flaring very red at her apparent clumsiness.
'What about that one?' Malfoy asked, pointing imperiously at the small cauldron on the desk beside the professors paunch.
'Felix Felicis,' Hermione gasped, craning her neck, ruined book forgotten. 'That's liquid luck; it's really valuable, and almost impossible to brew.'
And very useful too, Harry imagined.
'To liven things up on our first day together I've decided we shall have a little competition.' Slughorn bobbed up and down on the edge of the desk, making it creak ominously. 'Whomever brews the best version of the Draught of the Living Death shall find themselves the owner of this,' he held up a tiny, bottle of the golden liquid, 'twelve hours of the best fortune they will ever have.'
'Have you ever taken it, sir?' Terry Boot asked. Harry hurriedly, but discreetly, flicked through the pages of his textbook to the Draught of the Living Death while everyone else looked on, making a careful note of the ingredients.
'Twice,' Slughorn's face took on almost wistful aspect. 'Two of the most perfect days you could ever wish for, but, since it is banned from being used in any competition or exam, you can only take it on an ordinary day.' He pushed himself off the desk, which rose at least an inch. 'Better get started,' he beamed, 'there's not long left.'
Harry was gone from his desk immediately, selecting the best looking ingredients from the cupboard while the rest of the class opened their books. He was joined by Hermione, Malfoy, and Su Li a few moments later, the former looking desperately along the shelves for a legible copy of the text book.
Bad luck, Harry grinned, seeing his toughest competition already at a disadvantage.
Having assembled his ingredients in a tidy, distinct pile next to his cauldron he was about to leap into action, his silver knife already in hand, when he remembered Snape's advice, and paused to think for a moment.
Considering what he knew of the Draught of Death, and the basics he had read up on since Snape had suggested it, it might be better to slice his roots lengthways rather than horizontally, and to remove the outer layer first.
Using the edge of the knife he quickly stripped off the hardened outer skin, and with a few deft cuts sliced his roots along their length. Hermione was watching him disdainfully, almost jumping to force her weight down on the knife he was pressing against the desk.
She's crushing the beans, Harry realised, grateful for Hermione's habit of preparing everything she could at the beginning while her cauldron boiled.
He mimicked her, smiling cheerfully at her furious scowl when his potion turned a perfect, blackcurrant, then faded to a smooth lilac. In the moments he had while it simmered down before stirring, he considered what the book had told him about arithmancy in potions, and, knowing that Hermione's was likely to be just as good as his when it was finished, he gambled.
Every seventh stir he added in an extra one in the opposite direction, watching gleefully as the potion's colour turned an almost perfect pale pink, fading a little more with each set of seven stirs.
'I think that's time,' Slughorn announced, tucking away a splendid looking, silver pocket watch.
He shuffled slowly around the cauldrons, nodding and tutting as he went, until he came to Hermione's, whereupon he stopped and bounced gently on the balls of his feet.
'Oh,' he cried softly, 'oh vey well done, Hermione, very well done indeed. This is almost perfect. We may have a winner!'
Malfoy sneered furiously, clearly unimpressed that he had been outdone by a muggleborn again. Harry really thought he should be used to it by now.
Slughorn caught Harry's eye, and his gaze flicked down to the cauldron swirling gently beneath. 'Oho,' he swept round the table more swiftly than Harry thought him capable of, 'but what's this?'
He glanced between the two practically identical potions for a moment, then he nodded, a shadow passing though his eyes.
'It seems you've inherited your mother's talent for potions, Harry,' he cried, pressing the golden bottle firmly into Harry's hand and shaking it gently. 'Well done, quite remarkably well done, even if Hermione gave you a run for your money.'
'Thank you, professor,' Harry grinned, slipping the bottle into his robes. Hermione looked both furious and worried. Her defeat in a fourth class to him must have shaken her faith in herself, though Harry had to concede he could not have picked his potion from hers had they been placed next to each other.
'Don't go using it for something silly,' Slughorn warned, the faintest waver in his tone.
'I wouldn't,' Harry shook his head. 'I'm going to have to get you a gift now,' he added thoughtfully.
'Oh there's no need for that,' Slughorn beamed, concerns forgotten. 'It's your prize! You're too humble, Harry.'
Hermione snorted, disgusted, and turned away to start packing up her things. He felt a little bad for her really, because he was starting to suspect that Slughorn might be trying to stay on the good side of the student who so reminded him of his former favourite.
Not that I'm complaining, Harry smirked. Life is unfair.
He would stow the liquid luck safely in the Chamber of Secrets where nobody could access it save him, and save it for the prefect moment.
'Off you go,' Slughorn waved, absently ushering Malfoy towards the door while the blonde was in mid sentence about his famous grandfather. 'I have heard, Harry, from the grapevine, that you intend to take your NEWTs early?'
'I do,' Harry replied earnestly. 'It will leave me time to pursue other things.'
'Severus implied as much,' Slughorn's chins bobbed down onto the brass buttons of his waistcoat, 'I'll evaluate your progress before deciding myself. Can't have you leaping too early and wasting all that talent.'
'You probably know best, professor,' Harry agreed.
'I have spent a lot of time teaching,' he gestured to the photos that were just visible lining the walls of his office. 'If there's anything you want to know, or are just curious about, come and ask,' he offered happily. 'I'd be happy to direct you to the right place; I do my best to do it for all of my students.'
'That's very generous of you, professor,' Harry said evenly.
'Nonsense,' Slughorn shuffled back around to his desk, 'it's what any good teacher should do. If I can help someone on their way to a glittering career somewhere then I should.'
'As long as they remember your help,' Harry frowned innocently, 'it's not fair that your important assistance should be forgotten.'
'I do get a lot of birthday presents,' the portly potions teacher admitted fondly. 'Pineapple, Harry? It's my favourite.'
'Thank you,' Harry selected a small piece. It was very sweet, and tasted only faintly like the fruit, but it wasn't unpleasant. Fleur would probably like it. He finished tidying his potion away, while he enjoyed it, dipping his head in goodbye to his new professor when he left. Slughorn smiled jovially back at him, then vanished the contents of the cauldron on his desk.
That seems a bit of a waste, Harry frowned.
Slughorn did not seem the type to waste anything that might still be useful, so he presumed that the potion had already served its purpose in being awarded to him. If that was so then it was an expensive bribe for his good will, and a neat way of earning Harry's favour without allowing him to escape the potions teachers influence early.
All the teachers seem more cunning this year, Harry noted, caught between elation at the challenge, and irritation at the new obstacles.
He would have to be far more careful, especially now he was almost certain that Dumbledore, Snape, Slughorn and McGonagall were all concerned about him for one reason or another.
The sooner my NEWTs are done and I am out from under their authority the better, he decided.
AN: Please read and review (I will see them eventually!), thanks to everyone who does!
