(Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince—Chapter 9: The Half-Blood Prince)
Professor Snape no longer taught Potions. Verity looked dismally at the familiar door, less than thrilled for a new teacher after five years. If it turned out like the changes in Defense Against the Dark Arts over the years, she feared for the class.
She took her mind off the unknown Professor Slughorn with who else made it to N.E.W.T. Potions. The only other Slytherins were Draco, Nott, and Zabini. Pansy, thankfully, scraped an "Acceptable" and couldn't proceed. She complained, but only, Verity knew, because she wanted as many classes as possible with Draco. Her roommate's long-standing interest now bordered on obsession. Verity found it highly entertaining.
Four Ravenclaws had progressed. Three of them she recognized from the D.A., but the fourth, a girl, she couldn't put a name to. Only one Hufflepuff was in the corridor (hardly unexpected; it was Hufflepuff), MacMortimer or something, another Dumbledore's Army member. Representing Gryffindor House, she saw as they hurried up, were Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. She was shocked; Harry and Ron never paid attention to Professor Snape. Professor Slughorn must be more lax about who he let into his N.E.W.T. class.
As her thoughts turned to Professor Slughorn, the man himself opened the dungeon door. He was one of the fattest men she had ever seen (though, she reminded herself, growing up with a family as thin as the Malfoys made some difference), and he had a huge silver mustache that gave him the appearance of a large, friendly walrus.
"Welcome, welcome," he boomed. "Come along inside!"
As they filed into the dungeon, Verity breathed in the steam from the potions already bubbling in cauldrons at each of the front tables. The one nearest the door attracted her attention at once. It was a pearly color, and smelled all at once of gunpowder, roast beef, and a sticky-sweet smell that might be Puking Pastille. Amortentia, she realized. Love potion. She caught herself smiling lazily.
Through the haze, she saw Draco, Nott, and Zabini already at the far table, and she tore herself from the alluring scent of the Amortentia and hurried over.
"Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn began. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making—"
"Sir?" Harry said loudly, his hand up. Neither he nor Ron were prepared. She was right; Professor Snape wouldn't have accepted them. Carefully, she took out her battered potion kit and scales, the same she'd found in a trunk in her attic five years ago.
"Now then," Slughorn said again, with the air the most important person in the room, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?" He pointed to the cauldron nearest Verity and the other Slytherins.
She didn't bother raising her hand—Granger's was in the air before Professor Slughorn finished his sentence, but she knew the clear, hissing potion immediately. Professor Snape had promised before school let out she could help him make it when lessons resumed.
"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," Hermione recited.
Verity noticed her classmate's gratification at having a new professor to impress. Professor Snape was never any too pleased with her, either in Potions or in the morning's Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Predictably, Hermione also identified the Polyjuice Potion by the Ravenclaw table and the Amortentia at hers without any trouble. Slughorn looked like he'd been given an early Christmas present.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" he asked, barely suppressing his excitement.
"Hermione Granger, sir."
"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."
Draco leaned over to Nott and muttered, "Wait till that self-important Mudblood learns brains aren't everything with Slughorn." Both of them snickered, and he sat back, waiting for Slughorn to turn cold to Hermione.
He gave Gryffindor twenty points.
Professor Slughorn explained the effects of Amortentia, and Verity noticed how differently he referred to it than Snape had when they discussed it. Though Slughorn stressed the dangers of obsessive love, Snape scoffed at the idea there could be anything else.
"Love is Dumbledore's favorite solution to the world's problems," he had said with a sneer. "But I have lived my share as well, and fools who cannot control their emotions are always the ones taken advantage of." He nearly suggested the attraction Amortentia created was more useful, more convenient, and better than real love.
"And now, it is time for us to start work," Slughorn said.
"Sir," said Ernie (MacMillan, she remembered, not MacMortimer), "you haven't told us what's in this one." He pointed to the tiny cauldron on Slughorn's desk, which popped cheerfully, sending golden splashes arcing through the air.
Slughorn told the class, with much dramatic flair, the potion was called Felix Felicis, and Hermione told them that meant liquid luck, and Draco got interested. For the first time today, he sat straight, with the eager expression usually on his face in Potions. She hadn't realized it was gone until it came back.
He wasn't the only one interested. The others badgered Professor Slughorn with questions, which he answered happily.
Then he announced, "And that is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."
If Draco had been interested before, Verity wondered what that made him now. Engrossed. She watched his pointed face, alight with purpose. Whatever he hoped would happen once he used the Felix Felicis, it'd be nothing good.
"So how are you to win my fabulous prize?" Slughorn said, businesslike. "Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making." Verity's eyes widened. "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."
Now as excited as Draco, Verity threw open her book to a page already creased and picked the valerian roots out of her potion kit. If there was a better way to impress a new teacher than making a potion she already knew, she didn't know what. Professor Snape taught her about Draught of Living Death in February, and had given her a few tricks she bet no one else in class knew.
She finished cutting her valerian roots long before any of the Slytherin boys, and in around ten minutes turned on the heat under her cauldron. This took longer than she knew it would take the others, but Draught of Living Death was worthless if it got too hot. You couldn't turn the heat to any old temperature and go from there; it had to be precise.
Several people tried to cut their sopophorous beans, often in danger of cutting their fingers too. The shriveled bean was hard as a rock, and a good deal slipperier. While Draco and the others were focused on their own potions, she turned her knife and crushed the bean with the flat of the blade. A bubble of pride rose in her chest as the juice turned her potion palest lilac.
Professor Slughorn walked by their table. He examined the four cauldrons and gave Verity a paternal smile. Draco adopted the greasy manner used for sucking up to Professor Snape and other persons of importance.
"Sir," he said, "I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?"
Slughorn wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. "Yes. I was sorry to hear he had died," he said uncomfortably, "although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age..." His sentence died and he left for the Ravenclaws.
This exchange did nothing but improve Verity's buoyant mood. Draco didn't have Slughorn's bias; another factor out of her way. He wasn't doing as well as usual; his potion remained stubbornly purple. Nott and Zabini were no better. No doubt the Ravenclaws would do a decent job, as would Hermione Granger, but had any of them made the potion before, much less under Professor Snape's eye? Not likely. She was going to win the Felix Felicis. She was actually going to win it.
Stir seven times counterclockwise, once clockwise (after making sure no one saw her following different instructions), and repeat until the potion was transparent. Five minutes were left to eliminate the last hints of pink.
She heard Draco let out his breath quickly. His eyes were fixed on her potion. His hair stuck up from the steam, and his face was flushed. The effect might have been comical, but a poisonous thought glimmered in his eyes.
"Oh no, you don't," he hissed under his breath, and he reached over and turned the flames all the way up under her cauldron.
Verity gasped and scrambled to turn them off, but the damage was done. Her potion, which had been almost clear, spit blood red fumes.
"And time's...up!" Professor Slughorn called from the front of the room. "Stop stirring, please!" Verity rested her elbows on the table, covered her face with her hands, and tried not to cry.
"Professor Slughorn mentioned you yesterday," said Professor Snape that Thursday night, in a flat tone. "Only in passing. The primary topic of his conversation was Potter's outstanding performance in the first Potions lesson of the year."
She developed an intense interest in the cracks in the stone floor.
"He seems to believe Potter has 'inherited his mother's talent,' and is by far the best potioneer in the class," Snape said. "Enlighten me. How did a boy whose only Potions talent lies in copying off his more intelligent friends create a better draught on his first attempt than the student who has done so twice?"
Verity cleared her throat. She suspected Professor Snape wouldn't appreciate her accusing his other favorite of sabotage.
"I made a mistake," she said lamely.
"Obviously," he retorted. "To prove you haven't lost your touch, make it again. Without mistakes."
"Yes, Professor."
Gone was the bubbling confidence, but gone also were the distractions and checking to make sure no one watched her complete certain steps. Though faced with as much pressure as Tuesday, at least she wasn't creating a first impression. She took savage pleasure in keeping the heat exactly right all the way through, and she presented Professor Snape with a transparent potion at the end of the hour, feeling at least partially vindicated.
He said nothing as he inspected her work, which meant she had done well. In keeping with their strange relationship, she didn't speak either. If potionmaking in the classroom changed for the worse, she wanted everything else to remain exactly as it should be.