Harry Potter and the Draught of Living Death

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros. and J.K. Rowling, copyright 2000. Some portions of this fan-fiction have been taken directly from the novel.

Chapter Three: For Everything There is a Reason

It was after several servings of rock cakes and around ten cups of tea that Harry finally got around to poking questions at Hagrid.

"Ms. Figg seemed really worried the other day," he mentioned in a tone that conveyed concern.

"Oh, you know how older women get. A few curses get thrown around and they go to pieces." Hagrid stood up and started making himself busy with the dishes that lie on the table.

Harry stood and started helping with all the dishes. "No, I mean really worried, like there was something else involved."

"Harry, you're askin' questions you ought not ask."

"Aren't I always?"

"I know what you're doin', Harry, and it won't work. You're mother didn't want you to know about it until you were older."

"Didn't want me to know about what?"

Hagrid stopped himself. "Look, I've already told you more than I should have."

Harry sighed. He knew Hagrid would give him information, but he also knew that there was only so far that he could push him. The information he had stayed with him though. It was something to do with his mother….

* ~ *

Harry didn't know what else to do. He walked to his room after a lengthy dinner and began reading more of the assignment books. He never noticed when the sun set, but he knew he was almost done reading all of his books. In fact, he only had a few chapters left of his standard book of spells, grade 6.

Harry put a marker in the book and set it on the table beside his bed. He didn't feel like sleeping yet and at the same time, he was completely exhausted.

He finally decided to finish the rest of his standard book of spells, that way he wouldn't feel guilty about not completing the books. Finally having come to a decision, Harry stretched out on his bed and began to read.

* ~ *

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death --- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut --- fame clear isn't everything… For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death…."

* ~ *

Harry awoke with a suddenness that sent his book fly to the ground. He wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep reading it.

The dream was beginning to unnerve him. He didn't know why he kept having it; all he did know was that the Draught of Living Death was important. The dream, however, was not accompanied by any of the usual scar pains that warned him something was wrong.

Harry picked his watch up off the table beside his bed. The blurry numbers told him that his glasses had fallen off during the night. He searched for them and put them on after finding them in the mess of his thrown blanket. He picked up his watch, only to groan in frustration after realizing that it still wasn't working.

After putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and finding his missing shoe, he made his way down to the common room to find the time.

He was shocked to find it was nearly ten o'clock. He couldn't remember being aloud to sleep this late in a very long time.

Deciding to skip breakfast, he made his way to the library to do a little reading on asphodel and wormwood.

* ~ *

Asphodel, while very common, was very hard to mine. It was a stone that most muggles mistook for quartz rock. Most kept it in drawers at their homes, some tried to sell it off to people, disguising it as fine jewelry. The very large problem with getting a hold of it was that for any potion requiring it to work, you needed a very large quantity of it. It was possible to buy small amounts of it at a time, or even find small amounts, but in order to really get a hold of a large quantity, you'd have to be purposely mining it, which would bring a lot of muggle questions. Muggle questions, in any form, were to be avoided. The wizarding world did have one mine, which the muggles thought was a coal mine, buried in the depths of Bulgaria, not far from Durmstrang Academy.

The hardest part of creating the Draught of Living Death was getting a hold of Wormwood. Wormwood only existed in one part of the world. It was the tip of the root of a tree in Northern France. The roots of this particular tree went down nearly 3 kilometers. The part that made it hard to get to, was that it happened to be on land that the muggles considered protected. Severe digging would have to be justifiable or well hidden. In other words, it would be almost impossible to get to.

Just knowing that the ingredients were so impossible, made Harry feel a little more comfortable. All the same, there was a slowly growing seed of dread of in the pit of his stomach.

Hunger, Harry decided. He must be hungry. Content with this decision, Harry went down to the Great Hall to eat a late lunch.

* ~ *

Harry was surprised to see Dumbeldore seated at the single round table that decorated the head of the hall during the summer.

He gave Harry a warm smile was he sat down. "Good afternoon, Harry," he said easily. "I trust you've had a productive morning. Did you learn anything today?" The way Dumbledore was speaking let Harry know that he already knew something about what was going on.

"Professor… sir… can you tell me anything at all about the Draught of Living Death?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "Are you doing some studying on the side, Harry?"

Harry gulped. "I guess you could say that, sir." Harry considered telling him about the dream, but decided that he must already know. "Would it be possible to brew the potion, Professor?"

"I am reminded of your mother at present." Harry's ears perked in curiosity. "Yes, Harry, I do remember your mother from her days at Hogwarts. In her seventh year she did a good amount of studying on rare draughts and formulas. Most of us were worried about her obsession, until it was found that he had finally discovered the original key to making the draught. She never shared the information with anyone, not even your father. Lily was almost obsessed with keeping the draught a secret, even when the ministry ordered her to turn the information over. It is said that she even went so far as to have James perform a selective memory charm so that she would not remember how to do it. She kept all her potions in a book however, that no one ever found. To this day, no one really knows where it lies." Dumbeldore picked up his tea, eyeing Harry carefully. "Whoever might find it, however… would it priceless in value, that is to say, worth whatever task was required to get it." He continued looking at Harry until the boy's eyes flashed in realization.

"Was my mother… was she killed for that book?"

"I suppose," Dumbledore said, "that the book could be the reason. No one really knows for sure why Voldemort targeted them."

"Is that why Ms. Figg's home was attacked?"

"I cannot say anymore," the old professor replied. "But I think I may have given you some insight to ease your mind." Dumbeldore stood to leave the hall. "By the way, the Weasley's will be arriving by floo tomorrow to pick you up. Happy Birthday, Harry." Dumbledore dropped a small box on the table and was gone.

Harry was excited. He hadn't even remembered that it was his birthday. He supposed he had forgotten because he hadn't received any owl's yet. As if brought on by this thought, Hedwig entered the hall with a small box, followed by the exotic owl that had been there before.

The box Hedwig held was from Hermione, accompanied with a reply to the letter had sent her earlier on. The other was, obviously, from Sirius. Opening Hermione's first, Harry was not at all surprised to find a book. It was a guide to the care and maintenance of racing brooms, as well as a complete self-updating index of the top 50 brooms available. Pleased, Harry opened the letter she had sent. She had asked how Hogwarts was in the middle of summer, and if he had been able to do any Homework or reading while he was there. She had also expressed her jealousy at the fact that Harry was aloud totally unsupervised use of the library, which Madame Pince had never even given to her.

She would be surprised, Harry realized, to find that he had done all of his schoolwork, and even gotten a little ahead.

Harry moved on to the box from Sirius. In it was a small necklace with a bottle hooked to it. The bottle was filled with a purple liquid and sealed with a cork stopper. Harry moved on to the letter of explanation.

Harry,

Happy Birthday! I know this seems like an odd present, but I'm sure you'll find it very helpful. It is a draught designed for instant travel if you are in danger. I have spoken with Dumbledore and we both decided it was best for it to transport you to the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts. Do not hesitate to use it if you are in danger.

With Love,

"Snuffles" and Remus

Harry smiled. After Sirius' name had been cleared, the name "Snuffles" had become a rather endearing, teasing term only used with the people he was closest to. Pushing those boxes aside, Harry finally came to the one Dumbledore had dropped in front of him.

He pulled the note loose first.

Mr. Potter,

Yet another possession that was left with me that you might find useful. Use it well, once again.

Harry opened the box, only to find that Dumbledore had not given him anything he had never seen before, but it was something important. He had found it very useful before, and had suffered without it during his fifth year. Dumbledore had returned the Marauders Map.