The moment Bree was on Hogwarts grounds she felt as if she had been swept up into a hug as the school rushed to meet her.
"She missed us." Luna said happily. Neville nodded in agreement.
"I don't think she likes to be left alone with people who can't hear her." Bree stated. She felt a tingle of agreement from the wards.
Hermione came up to them, breathless with a look off panic and worry, as they entered the great hall.
"Have you seen Harry? We can't find him." She said.
"I left Slughorn's get together early." Bree answered. She turned to Neville.
"You stayed, did you see where he went?" she asked.
Neville shook his head. "He said he had something to do." He replied. Bree sighed and turned back to Hermione.
"He had his invisibility cloak with him, he could be right in front of us and you wouldn't see him." She told the bushy haired Gryffindor.
"You don't think he got into any trouble, do you?" Hermione asked.
"Knowing Harry, that's what most likely happened." Bree answered. Hermione looked even more worried.
Bree let out an irritated sigh as the sorting went on and fought the urge to storm over to the Slytherin table and accost Draco. He had set off a dark magic detection ward, something about him had changed. It was something he now had in common with Snape.
Harry was still missing. Bree sighed again and directed her thoughts elsewhere. Her newest plan to undermine Dumbledore was going better than she had expected. Dumbledore himself was helping the plan unintentionally. Beyond looking "a bit tired" he was now looking downright sick, especially since one of his hands appeared black and dead. It was now quite obvious that he was no longer the man he once was, now to get the wizarding world to realize it.
Harry finally showed up sometime after the sorting. He was still wearing muggle clothes and his face was covered in blood.
"Where've you-blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.
"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.
"You're covered in blood!" said Hermione. "Come here -"
She raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood.
"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose looking?"
"Normal," said Hermoine anxiously. "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"
"I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop.
"But -" said Hermione.
"Not now, Hermione," said Harry, in a darkly significant voice. He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of chips, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with puddings.
"You missed the Sorting, anyway," said Hermione, as Ron dived for a large chocolate gateau.
"Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.
"More of the same, really... advising us all to unite in the face enemies, you know."
"Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?"
"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast doesn't he? It can't be long now."
"Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast -"
"You've seen Snape? How come?" said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.
"Bumped into him," said Harry evasively.
"Hagrid was only a few minutes late," said Hermione. "Look, he's waving at you, Harry."
Harry looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed waving at him. Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid's elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapprovingly at this enthusiastic greeting.
Over at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was miming the shatterering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause.
"A thousand points from Slytherin." Bree muttered. Slytherin's house points were now in the negatives.
"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked.
"Different things from different people." Bree answered. "Wanted to know if I was a seer. I left before hegot to Harry."
"He wanted to know what really happened at the Ministry." said Harry.
"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione. "People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?"
"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen One' -"
"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head toward Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"
"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed.
"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air and glided back toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.
"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.
"What happened to his hand?" Hermione gasped, showing that she hadn't been paying attention.
She was not the only one who had not noticed until it was completely obvious. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.
"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now ... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you... "
"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry whispered to Hermione. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though ... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."
"It looks as if it's died," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses... and there are poisons without antidotes..."
"... and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." Bree grinned.
"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise"
"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn." Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table into shadow, "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."
"Potions?"
"Potions?"
The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.
"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare Harry. "But you said -"
"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction.
"But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.
"I thought he was!" said Harry.
Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up his mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table.
"Well, there's one good thing," he said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."
"What do you mean?" asked Ron.
"That job's jinxed. No one's lasted more than a year... Quirrell actually died doing it... Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death... "
"Harry!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.
"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," said Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.
"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."
The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke.
"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them-in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."
Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.
"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"
With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories.
"What did he mean about the castle's defenses being strengthened over the summer?" Neville asked Bree as they walked to the common room. "I didn't feel anything, did you?"
Bree frowned at poked at the wards. "There are a few new wards, but they're pretty weak in comparison to the old wards. It's kind of like they taped a knife to a battleship. He might have noticed that the old wards are active, or he thinks that the new ones are good enough." She explained.
"What about Malfoy? It feels like he has a piece of dark magic stuck to him." Neville said.
"Yeah, we're going have to keep an eye on that." Bree replied.
Ben Grimsley was having difficulty sleeping. He was going to resume teaching Bree in the morning. He had a very specific set of instructions. Get her to master her animagus form as soon as possible. Teach her how to fight, how to kill monsters and people that act like monsters, whether they be Death Eaters or muggle psychopaths, to run only when absolutely necessary. He was expected to turn Bree into something like Lisa. A leader, a murderer, and sometimes, on very, very bad days a monster capable of striking fear into the most ruthless of gangsters, in short, Lisa's heir.
It was very different from what he had been told to teach Alice during the brief time she had been his student. He had been told to teach her illusions, something she had been learning in America, but hadn't been taught at Hogwarts for a very long time. He had been expected to teach her how to hide, how to run away, and to fight only when absolutely necessary.
Quite the contrast, it came into being because of Lisa. She had seen the potential in her niece and had wanted to nurse it, but she felt guilty about taking an innocent little girl and turning her into something so much darker.
Alice had given Lisa an opportunity, an opportunity to keep a part of Bree innocent. Alice was the "what if" that everyone wonders about. Alice had been "born" a fully formed fourteen-year-old girl. She had been a fourteen-year-old Bree and even though she was slowly becoming she own person people who knew of her beginning had trouble seeing past the part of her that was Bree.
Lisa wanted Alice to be a more innocent version of Bree so that she could ease her own guilt, but Alice wasn't destined to become a more innocent Bree, and Ben knew it. Deep down Lisa knew it too. There could not be an innocent Bree, because Bree had never been innocent.
Way back when she had been a little girl exploring the amazing new world that was her backyard she had been infected by the psychic worm and it had started feeding her memories, making her think they were works of fiction. But they still showed her that monsters were real and that some of the biggest monsters in the world were human. When you grow up knowing that how can you possibly be innocent?
There would be no "innocent version of Bree." There would be Alice and there would be Bree and together they would be the stuff legends are made out of.
The next morning sixth year students were expected to turn in an application for N.E.W.T level classes with the heads of their houses.
Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L. results.
"Herbology, fine," she said. "Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an 'Outstanding' O.W.L. And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with 'Exceeds Expectations.' But the problem is Transfiguration. I'm sorry, Longbottom, but an 'Acceptable' really isn't good enough to continue to N.E.W.T. level. Just don't think you'd be able to cope with the coursework."
Neville hung his head. Professor McGonagall peered at him through her square spectacles.
"Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I've never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it."
Neville looked miserable and muttered something about "my grandmother wants."
"Hmph," snorted Professot McGonagall. "It's high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have-particularly after what happened at the Ministry."
Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.
"I'm sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charm however-why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?"
"My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option," mumbled Neville.
"Take Charms," said Professor McGonagall, "and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless." Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.
Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.
"He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year," said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. "The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney."
Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.
"So, Potter, Potter..." said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry. "Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration ... all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven't you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?"
"It was, but you told me I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., Professor."
"And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with 'Exceeds Expectations' at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?"
"Yes," said Harry, "but I didn't buy the books or any ingredients or anything-"
"I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some," said Professor McGonagall. "Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way-twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure."
A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together. Bree was cleared for same classes. She checked her schedule. She there where three free periods marked on it, which really meant that she had three periods with Ben. Joy.
The first lesson with Ben hadn't been as bad as Bree had expected. She had spent the whole period studying feline anatomy because she needed to understand it if she wanted to become an animagus. The nose had to be flat, ears pointed and positioned on top of the head. The tail was an extension of the spine and required extra vertebrae.
Bree needed to know all of this in order to safely transition from Human to cat, even if it was a Cheshire Cat.
Bree met up with Harry and Ron on the way down to the the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.
"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously when they joined her. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"
"Shame," yawned Ron.
"You wait," she said resentfully. "I bet Snape gives us loads."
The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.
"Inside," he said.
The room 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; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."
His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's than anyone else's.
"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 am 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 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."
"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "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 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 non-verbal spells. What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"
Hermione'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 (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in 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 Harry, "lack."
Harry refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape 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."
Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, but which Snape ignored.
Bree hit Draco with a silent jelly-legs-jinx after spending a little bit of time playing her magic reserves like she would do when practicing bush magic. Wizards didn't really need wands or words; they were just crutches that made magic easier. In ancient times they had been introduced as learning tools, like training wheels on a bike, something meant to be removed once the old magic had been learned. Old magic was rooted in bush magic. Bush magic was defined by the connection to nature and the natural energy of the planet. Old magic was more about manipulating the energy in one's own reserves and was somewhat difficult to master, hence the learning tools that made it easier. The weak, the lazy, and the untalented clung to the easy way of doing magic, the weak way. Over time the ways of old magic got pushed aside as the easy way, the wands and words, took over.
And Bree had just taken off one of the training wheels managed to tap into the old ways of magic that made Merlin and the founders so powerful. The effect was immediate. Draco's legs weren't just wobbly, they were completely boneless. He had to be sent to the hospital wing to regrow his bones.
After Snape had ordered two Slytherins to take Draco the hospital wing, he just stared at Bree, so was everyone else in the classroom.
"Guess I have to pull it back a bit." Bree said sheepishly. Snape pulled out his flask and took a big gulp. He forgot to assign homework.
Harry was going to taking lessons from Dumbledore. He had gotten a note telling him that the first lesson would be on Saturday. Bree wasn't happy about this, but she could use it. Dumbledore thought he had Harry in his pocket and Bree had an advantage as long as he thought that.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic. After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room while Bree went off to see Ben in the Room of requirement where she stayed though lunch, the house elves having delivered sandwiches, and left when it was time for potions.
When she arrived in the corridor she saw that there were only a about dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but three Slytherins had made it through. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan.
"Harry," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against The Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags... And how are you, Ron-Hermione?"
Before they could say more than "fine," 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 Harry, Bree, and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.
The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, Bree, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The three Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Ernie on his own.
The Gryffindors chose the table nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting a vapor that smelled like gunpowder, smoke, and something like leather.
"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 Harry, 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 the 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 Harry and Ron 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 thing 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. It seemed to have plain water boiling away inside it.
Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her.
"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," said Hermione.
"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-?"
Hermione's hand was fastest once more.
"lt's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said.
It was a slow-bubbling, mudlike substance.
"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one her... yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again.
"It's Amortentia!"
"It is indeed. It seems almost 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 the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of 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.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione'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."
Slughorn beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, 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 whom you spoke, Harry?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry.
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.
Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"
"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You are the best in the year-I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"
Hermione smiled but made a "shushing" gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.
"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 at Nott, both who was smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love..."
"Like obsessive stalkers who kill the object of their attention in the mindset of "if I can't have it, no one can?" Bree asked.
"Yes, and some⦠other instances." Slughorn replied. Nott looked a bit pale.
"And now," Slughorn said, "it is time for us to start work."
"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, 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 drop had spilled.
"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "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 Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"
"It's liquid luck," said Hermione excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"
The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter.
"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?" said Terry Boot eagerly.
"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 Michael Corner with great interest.
"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, 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 competition... 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 this 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 the 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.
Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage, as did Bree's. Bree didn't looked as stressed as any of the other students, in fact, she didn't looked stressed at all.
"And time's... up!" called Slughorn after some time had passesd. "Stop stirring, please!"
Bree frowned, her potion was just as pale as Harry's, but did not have the desired clarity of water. Bree had seen the success that Harry had been having and had copied him.
Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Bree were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face. He glanced quickly at Bree's potion, before doing a double take, his jaw dropping in shock.
"It seems we have a tie." He said, stunned by this new development.
"Give it to Harry." Bree said.
"Are you sure?" Slughorn asked uncertainly.
"I make my own luck." Bree replied. She had only stuck around because she had wanted the Draught of living Death.
At dinner Harry explained that his potion book had notes with alternate instructions and that's why his potion had been the best.
Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.
"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, aggravated by her expression.
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly. "Bree didn't have that book and got the same result. She should have won."
"I copied what Harry was doing." Bree interjected.
"See! They only followed different instructions to ours," said Ron, "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off." He heaved a sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but-"
"Hang on," said Ginny who had just joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"
She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.
"It's nothing," he said reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."
"But you're doing what it says?"
"A lot of old books have notes in the margins." Bree stated.
"Ginny's got a point," said Hermione, perking up at once. "We ought to check that there's nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"
"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand.
"Specialis Revelio!" she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover. Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.
"Finished?" said Harry irritably. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"
"It seems all right," said Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. "I mean, it really does seem to be ... just a textbook."
"Good. Then I'll have it back," said Harry, snatching it off the table, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor. Nobody else was looking. Harry bent low to retrieve the book.
Perception filters were great, just absolutely amazing. Bree has turned hers on as soon as she was sure everyone in the castle had gone to bed. She had two stops to make, first to the Dungeons for a little Veritaserum and a little Felix Felicis. Not enough for anyone to notice they were gone, but they were still effective amounts.
Her second stop was to the hospital wing where Draco was tossing and turning and groaning in pain. Bree made a few suspicious and creepy noises and Draco went still.
"Imagine you were afraid." Bree said softly. "Imagine you were a long way from home and in terrible pain. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, you looked up and saw the face of the Devil herself."
Bree pulled open the curtains around the Malfoy heir's bed. "Hello Draco!"
The last scene is based on the "Hello Dalek" scene from Doctor Who. You can look it up on Youtube.
