Potions class with Professor Slughorn was, as usual, a challenge. The professor had decided after Christmas to create a special points system in which the relative perfection of a student's potion could earn that student an invitation to Slughorn's weekly Friday evening soiree and a chance to rub elbows with some of his more illustrious acquaintances. Even as a student, Remus could see that this was precisely the wrong way to teach Potions. Those who were desperate to earn Slughorn's personal favor rushed through desperately, making stupid mistakes; Remus glanced over at Peter and found his friend hastily chopping his sopophorous beans in an amount that appeared more excessive than the recipe required, leaving bits of pod mixed in with the juice. However, more than a few students wanted as little to do with the slimy Slughorn as possible. Remus's solution was to deliberately throw a dash of corn starch into every potion to ruin it at the last moment as Slughorn approached the table. But it's hardly necessary, Remus reminded himself, fingering the bag of powder in his pocket. Your potions aren't that good, and Slughorn wouldn't invite you anyway. Your family's not important enough.

Slughorn often tried to invite Sirius to his Friday events, even when his potions failed. But Sirius, skilled in the art of small talk from years of hobnobbing alongside his wealthy and influential relatives, always managed, politely enough, to decline. Remus wasn't certain if Slughorn knew that Sirius had left home in a rage the previous summer, sick of his family's obsession with the purity of wizard blood. If the professor knew about Sirius's departure, Sirius wasn't about to place himself in a situation in which Slughorn would try to convince him to return to the Black family fold. And if Slughorn wasn't aware of the falling-out, Sirius refused to be a pawn in the man's attempts to get closer to the prominent Black family.

There were two in the class who seemed unfazed by the new reward system: Severus and Lily. Strangely enough, they always worked together at the same table, hardly ever speaking, rarely making eye contact. Remus didn't think the two were friends; in fact, Severus had insulted Lily deeply once, when she had come to Severus's defense during one of James's fits of misbehavior last spring. But they continued to work across from one another, their ingredients lined up just so, spread across the table in some sort of organized pattern recognizable only to them. Lily always stared solemnly at the ingredients before she began to work, her body hunched over, feet planted wide, hands gripping the sides of the table as if it were a Muggle pinball machine, her eyes darting from place to place, as if visualizing the preparation itself before the first component was touched. After several moments of this she would burst into work quickly, like a cat pouncing on a rat, with confidence and utter concentration. Severus, in contrast, moved slowly and continuously, as if some unseen dance partner were in his hands rather than mere elements of a potion. Remus was often surprised by the tenderness and agility of Severus's fingers when he was working like this.

Today, though, Remus had no time to watch the goings on in the room, as this potion, the Draught of the Living Death, was complex and would require all his attention. He wasn't the best at Potions, although he tried very hard. He felt the other students around him disappear as his vision became solely focused on the task in front of him. He was having particular trouble cutting the sopophorous beans, and the juice was somehow being re-absorbed into the flesh of the pod. He salvaged as much of the liquid as he could and continued. By the end of the class, his potion was a miserable shade of green instead of blackcurrant. No need for corn starch today, he thought dryly. Glancing around, he noticed that no one appeared to have succeeded, though at least Lily's potion was lilac. She was frowning at her cauldron as if something inside it had betrayed her.

"Brilliant," Lily muttered, biting her lip.

Impressively, Severus's potion was a darker lilac, but his, too, had failed. He, however, was not looking at his potion; instead, he gazed curiously at his knife lying on the table. He put down the marble pestle he held and reached for his silver dagger. He then began smashing the remainder of the sopophorous beans with the flat of the blade and watched with satisfaction as the juice poured out easily into the flat metal pan holding the beans. With a smirk that was almost a smile, he tossed the dagger down and stood back, as if the potion were perfect now. Then he grabbed his quill and scribbled some notes into his well-worn Advanced Potion-Making book, his hooked nose nearly touching the page.

"Ah, Mister Snape," Slughorn wheezed, sidling up to the table. "So close. I would have wagered that, if anyone in this class could have done it, it would have been you. No offense, Miss Evans," he smiled obsequiously as Lily lowered her eyes.

"Still," he continued, "I would like to invite you to tomorrow's dinner in my rooms. It looks as if you made a rather qualifying discovery here at the end." The professor indicated the bean juice in the steel pan.

"Thank you, Professor, but no," Severus hissed softly, his black eyes glinting. Severus, as usual, offered no explanation as to why he declined Slughorn's invitations.

"No?" Slughorn raised his eyebrows; he always acted surprised when someone refused to attend one of his gatherings. Wasting no time, he turned his watery gaze to Lily. "Ah, well, then, Miss Evans – it appears we have an extra spot at the table. As your potion was nearly there, would you care to join us?"

"Sir, I'm honored … but I have plans already," she offered quickly.

"Oh, dear. We've been without your sparkling company for quite a while now. Whatever shall we do to win you back?" Slughorn smiled broadly.

Lily returned the smile politely, then busied herself with cleaning up her side of the table. As the class finished packing up and filing out of the room, Remus suddenly had a thought. Why hadn't he thought of asking Professor Slughorn about this before? He told James, Sirius, and Peter he would catch up with them at lunch.

"Er, Professor Slughorn?" Remus placed his potions book back into his bag as the last student left the classroom.

"Yes, Mister Lupin?" Slughorn glanced over his shoulder as he continued to magically replace vials and jars of ingredients back onto the shelves.

"I wondered if I could ask you a question about, er, research," Remus said, moving closer to the professor as he continued to work.

At once, Slughorn's eyes gleamed brightly and he turned to face Remus. "Ah, a student interested in the noble branch of scholarship! How refreshing! I had no idea that you harbored such a curiosity, young man. Of course, I knew you were highly intelligent; your other teachers have raved about your excellence in all your studies." Slughorn lowered his voice and leaned toward Remus. "I could connect you to all the right people, you know. The field of research is sorely lacking in dedicated experts right now, and I have friends who would happily take you on as an apprentice after your seventh year."

Remus hadn't expected this reaction – he had merely wished to ask Slughorn if he knew anything about the latest research on antidotes for werewolf bites.

"May I ask what your field of interest might be?" Slughorn gushed.

Remus swallowed. He could see the wheels turning in Slughorn's greedy mind even now, and he decided to take advantage of the professor's enthusiasm. "Well, we've been reading in History of Magic about the werewolf problem" – using the book's term made his stomach turn – "and I was reminded of the Greyback attack. I've heard that the Greybacks hired several potions masters in an attempt to find a cure for their son. I'm just interested in how far the research had gotten before the family gave up. I can't seem to find that much information about it."

"Ah, yes. You mean Fenrir Greyback, of course." Slughorn's eyes narrowed and he studied Remus's face for a moment. The Greybacks were a prominent wizarding family, and the infection of their son had caused quite a stir at the time. "Hmm, very interesting. Very interesting, indeed. It's a tragic tale, just tragic," he whispered conspiratorially.

Remus knew that Dumbledore had only told a select few professors about his lycanthropy, and he was thankful that the indiscreet Slughorn was not one of that handful. He nodded, eager to keep the conversation going.

"Research is undeniably a very ambitious calling, Mister Lupin," he winked. Slughorn began to pace the classroom. "You shall have to work harder in my class, I'm afraid. But " – here he paused dramatically – "I think you have potential. Your potions are sometimes quite acceptable, but you're inconsistent. We need to refine your skill. With perseverance, you could improve nicely before you graduate."

"Thank you, sir," Remus muttered, feeling his cheeks growing hot. "But I'm not certain that I want to be –"

"Nonsense!" Slughorn interrupted. "Young man, you should attend this Friday's dinner in my rooms. By pure coincidence, one of my guests will be none other than Adelaide Honeyduke. Were you aware that she is Madam Greyback's cousin? Madam Honeyduke is quite elderly now, but she still manages her sweets shop with an iron fist, I can tell you that. Sharp as a tack, that one. And I don't need to tell you her chocolates are heavenly," Slughorn chuckled, slapping his large belly.

Remus was reeling with this new knowledge. Before he knew what he was saying, he blurted, "Thank you, sir. I'll be there."

"Seven-thirty sharp," Slughorn winked. Eyeing Remus's second-hand Prefect's robes, he added, "Oh, and you may want to wear your dress robes."