/
"That was brilliant, Harry!" chortled Ron, once they were safely on their way to break a short while later.
"Not as brilliant as Hermione jinxing Malfoy," Harry smiled, bumping into her side playfully.
"Thank you, but you really shouldn't have said it, Harry," she said, frowning. "What made you?"
"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" fumed Harry. "I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change?"
"He wasn't so kind to Malfoy today, didn't you notice?"
"He's not so kind to anyone on any given day, Hermione," Ron said dryly.
"It was strange for him to give you house points though…" Harry agreed. "Even though you really deserved at least fifty."
Hermione couldn't hep but smile. "Something seemed off though— it was almost like Snape was actively trying to get under Malfoy's skin, like he does with you, Harry. And Malfoy was failing to hide how angry he was with Snape."
"Suppose that was a bit strange— they've never been shy about how much they worship each other," Ron relented.
"You don't think…" Harry started, meeting Hermione's gaze.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know."
"You don't know what, Hermione?" Ron asked, his expression one of confusion.
"Maybe Snape's got something to do with Malfoy's visit to Borgin's— maybe he knows about whatever Malfoy was trying to get Borgin to fix," Harry whispered.
"But that would mean—"
"Snape's knows Malfoy is a Death Eater," Harry explained. "And he's helping him. He's still a traitor."
"No, Harry— we can't just jump to conclusions like that, not without evidence. It's dangerous. Plus, we know that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and we trust Dumbledore, so—"
"Do we?" Harry asked, his green eyes fierce as they met hers again.
"What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting Snape teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff—"
"Well," said Hermione, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."
"Like me?"
"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts— well, wasn't that exactly what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"
Hermione saw Harry's cheeks redden, and she blushed herself, realizing she'd been unabashed with her praise. Neither of them noticed Ron roll his eyes.
She was conscious that something seemed to be shifting between the three of them, but whatever it was, she could admit she was not entirely bothered by it, and, recalling Harry's embrace from the night before, she realized she might even be rather glad of it.
"Harry! Hey, Harry!"
Hermione looked around, thankful for the interruption; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward Harry holding a roll of parchment.
"For you," panted Sloper. "Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"
"I'm not sure yet," said Harry, "I'll let you know."
"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend—"
Harry was clearly not listening; Hermione peered over his shoulder and saw thin, slanting writing on the parchment, and Dumbledore's signature.
The trio left Sloper in mid-sentence.
"He enjoys Acid Pops?" said Ron, who had read the message over Harry's other shoulder and was looking perplexed.
"It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study," said Harry in a low voice. "Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased... I won't be able to do his detention!"
Malfoy momentarily forgotten, 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 knew such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic.
After break, she left Harry and Ron to head to Arithmancy. Thankfully, Malfoy either hadn't earned the grade to take N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy, or he had just chosen not to continue the subject, as Nott was the only Slytherin in attendance. Glancing at Nott working diligently at a desk across the classroom, Hermione was thankful there'd be no chance of being required to pair up with anyone in Arithmancy.
She joined Harry and Ron for lunch, and they had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions. While Harry and Ron hadn't earned the grade to continue Potions with Snape, now that Slughorn was teaching, McGonagall had told them both they were qualified to continue— much to Harry's joy and Ron's annoyance.
Together, they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.
When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Hermione scowled to see that four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy and Nott.
Lovely, Hermione thought to herself, thinking she'd be spending more time than she'd ever imagined with Nott and Malfoy this year.
She noted that four Ravenclaws were also in the class, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom she found rather pompous.
"Harry," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as they 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 Hermione noted the professor greeted Harry, Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.
Noting the same, Harry shot her a comically exasperated look, and Hermione smiled.
Across the room, Draco witnessed their exchange, and felt as though he could vomit.
"At least you're not taking Arithmancy with her too," Theo mumbled.
Draco merely nodded in silence, thinking Granger alone was a reasonable irritant when compared to Potter and Granger as a pair.
"How the hell did Weasley make it?" Theo asked quietly as they took their seats at a table with Zabini and Davis.
"Granger, of course— how else do you think that git's made it to sixth year at all?"
But Draco saw Theo wasn't listening; his friend was eyeing a cauldron filled with a colorless liquid as though it might jump out and attack him at any moment.
Draco recognized the potion as Veritaserum, and wondered what possible preexisting objection Theo could possibly have to it.
The dungeon was full of other various potions and vapors as well, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as she passed large, bubbling cauldrons.
She joined Harry, Ron, and Ernie at a table nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents she had ever inhaled; she recognized the potion right away, and found that she was breathing very slowly and deeply, and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling her up like drink. A great contentment stole over her; she grinned across at Harry, who grinned back dreamily.
"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 them, even if you haven't made them yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"
He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Trying not to catch Malfoy's eye, Hermione raised herself slightly in her seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.
She recognized it right away, and raised her hand; Slughorn pointed at her.
"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."
Ironic, seeing as it's at Malfoy's table.
"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—?"
She'd noticed it immediately on their way to their table, and had grimaced at the memory of her hours of labor, its taste, and her embarrassing transformation into Millicent Bulstrode's cat.
Draco too had noticed it upon entering the room, as he'd spent a good amount of his summer brewing it. He now had a hefty store of it in his trunk lying in wait at the foot of his bed.
Hermione's hand was fastest once more.
"lt's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said.
"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one... yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as she couldn't resist raising her hand 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?"
She could practically feel the judgmental eyes of the other students upon her, a pair of gray ones in particular, but she didn't care.
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world," she explained simply.
"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"
"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," she continued 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—"
She halted mid-sentence, recognizing the third aroma; the painfully familiar masculine scent that was simultaneously warm and cool, something deeply woody yet clear and refined. She felt herself turning pink in horror at the recognition, and did not complete the sentence.
It's just a chemical reaction, Hermione reasoned, her mind racing to objectively rationalize her attraction to the scent she recognized as Malfoy's. Ridiculous hormones.
Across the room, Draco had paused mid eye-roll out of an impulsive curiosity, unknowingly leaning forward in his chair, as if inching closer would somehow allow him to read Hermione's mind.
Beside him, Theo watched his friend's reaction to Hermione's response with deep interest… and concern.
What was Granger about to say? Draco wondered. What else did she smell?
He started to wonder what he would detect, if the Amortentia had been in range. Draco admitted freshly mown grass didn't sound so bad, and was reminded of the Manor's garden in the summer. Impulsively, he remembered Granger's subtly floral, yet warm cardamom-like scent.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn to Hermione, interrupting his thoughts.
Across the room, Hermione was thankful Slughorn ignored her 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."
"Better be prepared to see Granger at all of Slughorn's little gatherings," Nott whispered. Draco rolled his eyes, but he couldn't say he was surprised; unlike Theo, Hermione had never been one to conceal her knowledge and skill.
Draco and Theo's exchange went unnoticed as 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 proudly.
Malfoy looked—and felt— rather as he had done earlier that day when Hermione had jinxed him.
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.
Hermione felt a warmth surge inside her chest as she turned to Harry 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—anyone would've told him so!"
At the Slytherin table, perturbed, Draco was unwittingly gripping the table's edge. Theo warily scrutinized his friend's reaction.
"Jealous of Granger, are we? Or maybe it's Potter you're jealous of?" Theo whispered quietly so none of the other Slytherins at their table could hear. "Want me to nick a bit of that Amortentia for you?"
"Watch it, Nott. We're not in Defense anymore. No non-verbal nonsense required."
Theo smirked and gestured to Draco's death grip on the table's edge, "I think I'm safe… seems you prefer to take your anger out on inanimate objects these days."
Draco looked to his hands, saw his knuckles glowing white, and hastily retreated them to his sides, turning his attention back to Slughorn, who was again addressing the rest of the class.
"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—"
Draco again unwittingly wondered what he would smell if he neared the potion.
"Or maybe you nipped a bit on your way in? Big plans this term, Draco?" Theo whispered, smirking.
"Oh yes," Slughorn continued, misinterpreting Theo's smirk and whispered comment to Draco as one of skepticism. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love…"
The Professor looked away, his eyes glazed over.
"Can't imagine who in their right mind would obsess over him, even with the Amortentia," Theo coughed purposefully, stifling a laugh. Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"And now," said Slughorn, coming to at the sound of Theo's cough. "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 particle had spilled.
"Oho," said Slughorn again.
Hermione got the feeling 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 her, "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, but her eyes darted to the Slytherin table, where Hermione could see Draco was giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.
Interesting, Hermione thought.
"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, thought Hermione, 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."
"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!"
Hermione felt as though she were vibrating from the inside out— she was determined to win that potion. She glanced at Harry and her mind raced with all the possibilities for its use— all the good she could do with it, and, knowing of the dangers of war that likely lay ahead, she considered it could be life-saving.
She again looked across the room at the Slytherin table. By the frenzied expression now gracing Malfoy's typically polished features, she knew for certain he was as desperate as she was to win. She noted Nott too seemed unusually motivated, rifling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.
Hermione shook her head to re-center herself and set to work instantly. Harry and Ron and the rest of the classroom faded away as she focused intently on the task at hand.
About half an hour passed, and despite her perfect execution of the textbook's directions, her potion was not progressing as she had hoped. She frowned in frustration at its resolute purple coloring.
Hermione could feel a bead of sweat drip down her brow as she toiled over her cauldron, looking up only when Harry asked to borrow her knife.
She obliged, and glanced over to find his borrowed textbook covered in messy notes, no doubt from a previous owner. She frowned at the clear disrespect of a textbook. A few moments later, she was shocked to see Harry's potion had transformed into the desired shade of lilac.
"How are you doing that?" she asked desperately, feeling her hair growing bushier and bushier in the humid fumes from her hopeless cauldron.
"My book— the notes say to add a clockwise stir—" Harry said.
"But— the book says counterclockwise," she explained, looking back to her own book to check she hadn't been mistaken.
Across the table, she could hear Ron cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Hermione glanced around, and as far as she could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as Harry's.
Through her despair, she was pleased to see Malfoy wiping sweat from his brow, his hair looking as relatively as disheveled as her own. Hermione smiled to herself at the sight. Nott looked as though he might chuck his cauldron, complete with its purple potion, across the room at any moment.
"And time's... up!" Called Slughorn. Hermione sighed in defeat. "Stop stirring, please!"
At least it's Harry who won, Hermione considered, he needs it the most.
Although…
Hermione considered Harry had had his fair share of luck in the past, even without Felix Feicis, and the flash of desperation and fear she'd seen in Malfoy's eyes on the train along with his uncharacteristic behavior in Knockturn Alley continued to nag at her.
Maybe Harry doesn't need Felix Felicis most after all.
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 Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tar-like substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.
"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon.
"How do you think he managed it?" Theo asked Draco quietly, vanishing his failed potion with a swift wave of his wand.
"Granger, probably." Draco frowned as he began to pack up his things. He didn't feel like talking about Granger and Potter for a second longer. The hope of winning a bit of luck had been small, but it had been the most hopeful he'd felt in ages— a chance at success.
Nothing's changed, he thought defeatedly. Still royally screwed.
"Can't be, didn't you see hers? It wasn't as light as Potter's."
"I don't know, Theo, maybe she was so focused on helping Potter she screwed herself over. Wouldn't be the first time, would it? I— don't— care," he whispered with finality.
"Excellent, excellent, Harry!" Slughorn continued across the room. "Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! And Miss Granger, too, what skill, you're nearly there. Here you are, then, here you are— one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"
"Are you sure about that?" Theo whispered to Draco, "You seem to care an awful lot about Gra—"
"Don't—" Draco interrupted, his voice darkly serious. "Look, Theo, I know you wanted to win. Don't you think I had a very good reason to want to win too?"
"And what reason might that be exactly—"
"No," Draco said with finality as he headed toward the door, turning abruptly, leaving Theo behind.
Hermione watched Harry slip the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, beaming in her direction. She managed an exhausted smile in return. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.
Although suspicious of his means, Hermione was glad Harry had won.
He'll need all the luck he can get with Dumbledore this year, she reasoned.
But something else nagged at her, something greater than the disappointment of her failed ambition, something that felt an awful lot like fear…
How could she ignore a chance at liquid luck? Harry had some now, sure, but ultimately he would be the one to decide how to use it.
And his choices, she thought grimly, don't always end well… even when luck seems to be on his side.
In the time it took for Harry and Ron to pack their things, Hermione had formulated a plan.
"I'll catch up," she told them as they headed for the door. They looked to her questioningly, so she managed another small smile and urged them ahead. "I just have a question for Slughorn."
Harry and Ron disappeared into the hall, and when it appeared all the other students had left, Hermione meandered her way up to Slughorn's desk, behind which he sat, busy humming to himself while sorting various ingredients into a small chest filled with drawers.
"Miss Granger! What a lesson, wouldn't you say? You and Mr. Potter make quite the set, but surely you know this already. What can I do for you?"
"Professor, it was a great lesson… the best we've ever had, I think," Hermione said, not untruthfully. She'd never seen Ron work so diligently in Potions— or in any class, now that she considered it.
"Made better by your input, I'd say," Slughorn winked merrily.
"Thank you, sir… but I— I feel rather cheated."
"Cheated? Surely you don't accuse Harry—"
"No, no—" Hermione said hurriedly, "Nothing like that. I only mean that I feel we ought to have tried to brew Felix Felicis ourselves."
Slughorn smiled broadly, "Oho, Miss Granger! You are full of surprises, and ambition to boot… my dear, are you sure you were sorted into the correct house? I detect Slytherin in you."
Hermione tried to keep her face neutral as she resisted the urge to vomit.
"I know I'm going to learn so much in your class this year, but I would love the opportunity to learn more— Professor Snape never offered us any extra curricular—"
"My dear Miss Granger," Slughorn interjected, "I do not doubt your talents, but I did not exaggerate earlier when I described Felix Felicis as desperately tricky to make… not to mention the dangers if done wrong…"
"You could oversee my progress, sir, for safety."
Slughorn smiled and looked away dreamily for a moment, as if remembering something from long ago, "I dare say you remind me of Lily Evans more than her own son— but if you're looking for an extra curricular, why not attempt Draught of Living Death again, or, if you insist on an absolute challenge, try Polyjuice—"
"But I already successfully brewed Polyjuice Potion, professor," Hermione explained plainly, knowing she had to admit her forbidden activity if she was to have any hope at convincing Slughorn, "during my second year."
"Polyjuice— your second year? My word… in secret no doubt, hm?"
Hermione produced her sweetest innocent smile in response; just as she'd expected, it was clear Slughorn was both amused and intrigued.
"The Slytherin in me is in awe of your ambition and cunning, and again, I do not doubt your skill— Polyjuice! Second year… but attempting Felix Felicis on your own, even under my supervision, and managing all of your N.E.W.T. levels, of which I'm sure you have many, would be a fool's endeavor."
"I could help."
Hermione jumped at the sound of Nott's voice emanating from the back of the room. Slughorn looked up in surprise.
Hermione turned to see Nott's face emerge from behind an enormous book. Neither she nor Slughorn had noticed his silent presence in the shadows of the classroom.
"Speaking of Slytherin— Mister Nott, you have an interest in Miss Granger's proposition?"
Hermione frowned as Nott closed his book, rose from his seat, and joined her at Slughorn's desk, wearing his most charming grin.
Malfoy's wearing off on him.
"Yes, sir, a particular interest in something as challenging— and of course potentially as rewarding— as Felix Felicis. You'll remember my grandfather had quite a passion for Potions… I believe he passed it down to me."
"That's right," Slughorn nodded approvingly, addressing Hermione again, "Mister Nott's grandfather, Nehemiah, had the largest collection of— well, never mind what exactly, but I can assure you, it was immense, and immensely useful for a potioneer. A group project… now that is something I may be more inclined to support. Dumbledore did mention the importance of unity, and in this particular case I quite agree."
If I have to hear one more thing about unity this year, I'll— Hermione thought.
"I tend to work best alone," Hermione said quickly, knowing her protest was feeble, but the thought of spending any more time with Nott this year— she was almost certain they had every class together, except maybe Transfiguration— was most unpleasant.
"So do I, but I think Professor Slughorn is right, don't you?" Said Theo, laying it on thick.
Hermione scowled. It was clear he wanted Felix Felicis as badly as she did.
But why? She wondered if it had anything to do with Malfoy.
Not everything's about Malfoy, another voice in her head chimed.
"And the need for—" Hermione could tell Nott had to force the words out,
"—house unity— is great. Logically speaking we're more likely to succeed together, wouldn't you agree?"
She most certainly did not agree.
"Well said, m'boy, well said. It's decided then, you two will impart on the project together, under my supervision! I will supply the ingredients of course, glad to contribute. And no need to bother Dumbledore or your Heads of House… no, no— no need," Slughorn explained, as if convincing himself it was a good idea.
"I trust I do not need to tell you both that I will intervene should your performance in this classroom becomes less than satisfactory, or if I get word you are struggling in your other classes—"
Hermione could see any further attempt at arguing would surely fail. She enjoyed Nott as much as she enjoyed the sight of a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but the chance to make Felix Felicis was just too tempting.
"Of course," Hermione agreed quickly.
"We'll arrange the details after our next Potions lesson?" Nott asked.
"And to think I had hesitations about coming out of retirement! The first week of term has been nothing short of thrilling. Now, be off you two, until our next meeting!"
Theo and Hermione exited the classroom together. When they were sure they were out of Slughorn's earshot, Theo turned to face her.
"What're you up to, Granger?"
"You heard me tell Slughorn— an extra-curricular."
"Right. And I'm sure the little second-year Polyjuice experiment you mentioned was purely extra-curricular, too. Isn't it enough Potter's already won Felix? Need some for yourself? Or is he not exactly the sharing type?"
She stopped abruptly and turned to face Nott head-on, her hair, and her gaze, as wild as ever. She was exhausted— it had been a day of challenges and failures, and more prevalently, she felt she'd already had more than enough of Malfoy and Nott this term.
"It seems to me that a certain friend of yours might be in dire need of some luck this year. Your sudden interest in extra-curricular potion-making wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?"
She was pleased to see she had broken through Nott's typically cool demeanor.
Theo gaped at her in surprise as she turned on her heel, in much the same way Draco had done earlier, and disappeared down the hall.
/
A/N: I loved writing a Dramione take on this chapter! I hope you enjoyed reading it :)