Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four - Amortentia
Harry awoke to the sound of screaming. His hand reached for the wand he kept stashed under his pillow instinctively, though in his panic, he had no need of it. The green curtains which hung around his four-poster bed flew open as if of their own volition. The lamps in the dormitory flared to life, and in the bright light Harry saw what had caused the commotion.
Draco was sitting up in his bed, desperately swiping at his arms and chest. A myriad of many-legged things crawled up his torso, seemingly intent on reaching Draco's face. Harry watched in dumbfounded horror as Draco whipped his blanked away from his body, only to reveal a great, writhing mass of insects, ranging from long centipedes to large, hairy spiders. He thought he even spotted a scorpion in the mix, but it was hard to follow the path of one creature amidst the swarm of shiny black and jewel-toned bodies.
Convinced he was dreaming, Harry was slow to react. But Draco's screams had roused not just Harry, but Blaise as well. Disgusted, but with a calm determination, Blaise directed his own wand at Draco's bed and pronounced, "Deletrius."
In an instant, the small insects climbing desperately over Draco's body disintegrated, becoming nothing more than a fine, glittering gray dust. Crabbe and Goyle, quiet until now, began roaring with laughter.
"That was a pretty childish prank," Blaise said in a dangerously calm voice. If there was one thing he despised more than Crabbe and Goyle, it was losing a minute of his beauty sleep.
Harry watched the tip of Blaise's wand, wondering if Crabbe and Goyle knew how much danger they were in. But Blaise merely flicked his wand in Draco's direction once more, muttering a charm under his breath that dispelled the fine dust on Draco's bedclothes with a light gust of wind.
"What's the matter? Didn't like the Weasley's Creepy Crawlies?" Goyle said mockingly, "I thought you'd be a fan, Malfoy, seeing as you're such good friends with them, now."
"Funny," Harry retorted before Draco could speak, "I'd've figured you had picked those up in Knockturn Alley."
He intended to insinuate that he knew of Goyle's secret trip to Borgin and Burkes, but he had not accounted for Goyle's stupidity. He merely narrowed his eyes, knowing he was being mocked, but unsure of Harry's meaning. Crabbe, the reference equally lost on him, was nevertheless quick to snap, "Back off, Potter. Blood traitors deserve what's coming to them. If I were you, I'd worry less about Malfoy and watch my own back."
Surprisingly, it was Goyle who shook his head. As he finished pulling on his school robes, he said in a sneering voice, "Potter's off limits, remember? We wouldn't want to spoil what the Dark Lord has planned for the Chosen One, now would we?"
With a dark chuckle and final smirk at Draco, Goyle led Crabbe from the room. Harry considered firing a retaliatory curse at their backs, but thought better of it. A more serious confrontation on their first day of class would only result in detention for them all.
He checked the clock on his bedside table and sighed. There was no sense in going back to sleep now. He rolled out of bed and slowly began to dress, while Blaise asked Draco, "You alright?"
"I think I swallowed one," replied Draco, sounding nauseous as he massaged his throat. "You don't think Fred and George would have charmed them to like, multiply or something? I really don't like the idea of vomiting beetles into a cauldron later…"
"You should ask Snape for a room transfer," Harry advised, "They'll leave me alone so long as they're saving me for Voldemort, but I'm sure this isn't the worst they've got planned for you."
"Harry's right," said Blaise, "They're just getting started. You could seriously get hurt."
Draco shrugged, "I'll be alright. Goyle seems to be keeping Crabbe in check, these days. Besides, neither of them is very bright. I'm sure this was the best they could think of. I just can't believe Fred and George would sell to one of them! I'll have a chat with Ron about it later…"
Harry didn't agree with him. It seemed that in the absence of Draco's leadership, Goyle had emerged the new captain of their little posse. He was sure his inflated sense of self importance was related to his trip to Borgin and Burkes, and whatever item he wanted fixed there. But he kept these thoughts to himself as they made their way to the common room, where they met up with Millie before heading to breakfast.
"Well, see you…" Draco said as they reached the Great Hall. Harry watched as he made his way toward the Gryffindor table, where Ron and Theo were already seated. No doubt Draco wanted their help planning his revenge on his former friends.
Harry was relieved when he turned toward the Slytherin table to see Hermione and Neville waiting for them. The term had gotten off to a rocky start with Hermione. Though she said she had understood his feelings, he knew she still harbored a resentment due to his neglect over the summer. He took it as a very good sign that she wasn't ignoring him this morning. He approached the table with every intention of making himself as pleasant as possible, but those plans fell apart as soon as their conversation turned to course schedules.
"What do you mean you're not taking Care of Magical Creatures?" Harry asked with dismay.
"It's not that I… You know I like Hagrid, Harry, it's just… The subject is a little…"
"So you like Hagrid, just not his teaching?"
"I didn't say that! It's just that we have to start thinking about our futures, and I don't see how Care of Magical Creatures fits with my career aims…"
This response might have appeased Harry, had not Neville added, "And, well… Didn't his classes seem a little dangerous sometimes? I mean, the thestrals weren't too bad, but remember the Blast-Ended Skrewts? Or the hippogriffs?"
"That was Draco's fault!" Harry exclaimed, referring to Draco's run-in with Buckbeak during their third year, "He'll tell you so himself! Hagrid's a great teacher!"
"No one is saying he isn't!" Hermione insisted. "But really, Harry, do you know anyone in our year who's continuing on to the NEWT level?"
"I am!" said Harry. "And Blaise and Millie!"
Blaise let out a slight cough. Harry froze, then turned slowly toward him.
"No… Don't tell me…"
Blaise offered him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Harry. I assumed you'd… Well, it's not like I was ever particularly enthusiastic about the subject."
Harry turned to Millie, his eyes wide and helpless. She stabbed her fork into her plate of scrambled eggs and said, "Don't look at me like that, Harry. I'm not dropping the class."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He could only imagine the look of disappointment on Hagrid's face if no one but Harry showed up for his afternoon class. It was going to be bad enough trying to explain Blaise's absence.
He might have pursued the subject with Hermione further, hoping to convince her to change her mind, but at that moment, Professor McGonagall descended upon their table, looking exasperated.
"There you are Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom," she said. "Here, your course schedules."
Harry could guess why she sounded irritated. The process of distributing their schedules was a little more complicated that year. The heads of house needed to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary OWL scores to continue with their chosen NEWTs. Professor McGonagall was likely annoyed at finding two of her students hidden among the Slytherins after running up and down the Gryffindor table, seeking the sixth years.
Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration. As far as he could tell, Care of Magical Creatures was the only class she had dropped. Eager to avoid another spat with Harry, she shot off to an early morning Ancient Runes lesson without further conversation. Neville, on the other hand, remained behind to review his options with Professor McGonagall.
"You're cleared for Herbology," she advised him, "Professor Sprout will be delighted to have 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' just isn't… well, acceptable for N.E.W.T. level. I don't think you'd be able to cope with the coursework."
"Why'd you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway?" asked Blaise as Neville hung his head dejectedly.
"It's not me, it's gran!" Neville complained, "She said dad was brilliant at Transfiguration. I've tried to tell her it's just not for me, but she says…"
"Hmph," snorted Professor McGonagall before Neville could go on, "What nonsense! It's time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have. You've got plenty of other talents, Longbottom. You even got 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms. You ought to go that route."
Blaise looked delighted. "Do it Neville! We could be in the same class!"
Neville blushed, looking both embarrassed and pleased by their encouragement, though he muttered, "My gran thinks Charms is a soft subject…"
Blaise looked deeply offended, but Professor McGonagall replied with a smile, "Take Charms, Longbottom. As for your grandmother, I shall drop a line to Augusta and remind her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not worthless."
Blaise gave a whoop of laughter as Professor McGonagall used her wand to tap the parchment in her hand. She then passed the revised course schedule to Neville, who was looking deeply amused.
Before Professor McGonagall could move away from their table, Blaise asked, "What about Divination? Will Firenze continue teaching this year?"
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow and observed, "I wasn't aware you were enrolled in Divination, Mr. Zabini?"
"Yeah, well… It's never too late to pick up a new hobby, is it?"
Harry and Millie glanced at one another before rolling their eyes. They both knew perfectly well that Blaise's only interest in the subject was the handsome male centaur who began teaching it last year. Professor McGonagall, however, simply consulted another piece of parchment in her hand and advised, "Professor Trelawney and Professor Firenze are dividing the subject between them this year. I believe Professor Trelawney will be instructing the sixth years. If you want to change electives, you'll have to speak to your Head of House."
Blaise, looking crestfallen, muttered, "Suppose I'll just stick with Muggle Studies, shall I?"
Moments after Professor McGonagall took her leave, Snape arrived, a stack of parchment in his hand to indicate that he, too, was in the process of dispensing their course schedules.
"Bulstrode: approved for Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration," he said, passing the schedule to Millie without a word of greeting.
Harry couldn't help but notice that Millie did not have to run off to her first period Ancient Runes. It proved that Hermione was merely trying to avoid another confrontation with Harry. He felt the sting, but remained calm as Snape reviewed his classes next.
"Potter… Ah, it seems you wish to continue with Potions? Very well, your 'Exceeds Expectations' is… somewhat surprising, I'll admit. But it would not have been sufficient to progress to the N.E.W.T. level if I were still instructing. However, I am sure it will satisfy Professor Slughorn…"
Harry was bristling to pick another fight with Snape over his new teaching position, but with Neville still seated at their table, he kept himself in check, and merely observed with a bright smile, "That's alright, sir! I got an 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so you'll still see me there!"
Snape's lip curled at the reminder, though it was difficult to tell if it was a grimace, or a poorly concealed smile. He passed the course schedule to Harry without comment, adding a second slip of paper as he did.
"I already have a list of hopefuls for Quidditch try-outs this year," he explained, "Try not to disappoint me, Potter."
He left, and Millie followed soon after. Blaise and Harry remained behind, pleased that they had the same free period that morning. They enjoyed second helpings of a very leisurely breakfast, before heading back down to their common room, where Harry was immediately confronted by Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard.
"When's try-outs?" Pritchard demanded, talking over Baddock, who had asked, "My spot's guaranteed, right?"
Despite the fact that Harry had just been talking over the list of prospective teammates with Blaise, he was ill-prepared for this conversation. Unwilling to commit himself one way or another, he stammered, "Er… I'm not… I mean, nothing's been decided yet. There are a lot of open spots on the team this year and… I have to… I'm considering all of the candidates…"
The beaters seemed displeased by this response and stalked away from him, grumbling mutinously. Harry sighed. It wasn't the best start to his captaincy, but Baddock and Pritchard had only joined the Quidditch team last year. They were good, but he didn't want to promise them a spot on the team till he'd had a chance to compare them with the newcomers.
Draco, who had entered the common room just as Pritchard and Baddock began their assault, overheard at least part of Harry's answer. He waited until the third-years had moved away before sidling up to Harry and saying, "I suppose the same applies to me?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry replied. "You've played for Slytherin at least as long as I have. And I've seen you play. You'll be a shoe-in for Chaser this year, as well."
Draco was clearly pleased with the compliment, though he cautioned, "That's not a good way to get on. You shouldn't play favorites."
"Draco, you and I both know that you have never been one of my favorites."
There was a pause, then the two of them shared a laugh. Draco turned to Blaise, still grinning, and asked, "What about you? Trying out for a spot on the team this year?"
"Actually, I was thinking of asking McGonagall about that commentator role," said Blaise.
They spent the better part of the next hour chatting about Quidditch, reviewing the list of applicants and discussing Ron and Ginny's chances of getting on the Gryffindor team again. By the time the three of them made their way from the dungeons to Snape's new classroom on the fourth floor, they found Millie, Hermione, and Neville already waiting in the queue outside the doors.
"We got so much homework for Runes!" Hermione said the moment Harry appeared, "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and we've got to read these by Wednesday!"
She indicated a stack of heavy books in her arms.
"Shame," Blaise said, yawning.
Harry, on the other hand, felt slightly mollified. If Hermione was really that busy with her other classes, he could forgive her for dropping Care of Magical Creatures. Trying to make amends for his previous behavior, he immediately took the books from Hermione's hands and offered to carry them between their shared classes. Hermione looked immensely pleased by the gentlemanly gesture, and took the seat by Harry's side as the class began.
Snape had imposed his personality on the new classroom already. Despite not being in the dungeons, the room appeared gloomier than usual. Curtains had been drawn over the tall windows, and the only light came from a few scant candles. New pictures adorned the walls, most showing people who appeared to be in excruciating pain, sporting horrid injuries or contorted into strange shapes. The usual hum of conversation that preceded the start of class subsided on its own, with no need for Snape to call for quiet as he marched to the front of the classroom.
"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, directing his comment principally at Hermione, who had withdrawn her copy of Confronting the Faceless, "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."
His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering fraction of a second longer on Harry before moving on.
"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."
Harry swallowed the bitter laugher that threatened to escape his mouth. Snape was acting as though he wasn't perfectly aware that this position was cursed. His heart pulsed with anger as he glared at the professor, waiting for him to continue.
"Naturally, these teachers have had their own methods and priorities. Given this… Irregular instruction… I am surprised so many of you managed to scrape an O.W.L. in the subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will, of course, be more advanced…"
He began to stalk in a slow circle around the edge of the classroom, so that Harry had to turn in his chair, craning his neck to keep his black-clad form in view.
"The Dark Arts are many, varied, and ever-changing. Fighting them is like fighting the many-headed Hydra. Each time a neck is severed, two more take its place, each more fearsome and clever than the last. In this subject, you are learning to fight that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible… Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo."
He paused beneath some of the more grotesque pictures. "For instance, these give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer the Cruciatus Curse, the Dementor's Kiss, or provoke the aggression of an Inferius…"
A few of the braver students risked whispers between them. Some were openly wondering if Inferi had really been spotted, while others warned that You-Know-Who had used them in the past. The commentary ceased abruptly as Snape returned to the front of the classroom, turning toward them all with a billowing sweep of his black robes as he asked, "Who can tell me the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Though she was the only one to raise her hand, Snape took his time before languidly calling her name.
"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform. It can give you a split-second advantage, which is all you need to win a duel."
"Correct," Snape acknowledged briefly, whilst awarding Hermione no points for her perfect answer, "Those who use magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course. It takes a certain level of concentration and mind power… Not unlike the focus needed to cast wandless magic."
His eyes fell once more on Harry and remained there. Harry clenched his fists under the table. He hadn't spoken to Snape about his practice of wandless magic, but he was certain Dumbledore must have mentioned it to him. Meanwhile, another round of whispers passed through the class.
"Did he say wandless?"
"Oh, no… We're not learning wandless magic, are we?"
"... barely mastered wand movements for the OWLs…"
Snape raised his own wand, effectively silencing the students. To the great relief of those who were concerned about his comments about wandless magic, he announced, "Divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Begin."
Unbeknownst to Snape, Millie had taught at least half the class how to perform a Shield Charm during their Marauder's meetings the previous year. Wordless magic, however, was a new concept for all of them. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued, with many people simply muttering the incantation under their breath rather than speaking aloud. To counter this, Snape paced the classroom, reprimanding anyone who was caught whispering their spells.
Typically, it was Hermione who first successfully countered Harry's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without even moving her lips. While she celebrated her success with Neville, offering him tips for defending himself from Blaise's attacks, Harry continued to glare at Snape. In anyone else's class, Hermione's performance would have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor. Predictably, Snape ignored them both.
That is, until Harry and Hermione switched roles. Harry braced himself for the attack, but Hermione merely flicked her wand ineffectually through the air.
"Oh no," she said, looking disgruntled, "I'm sorry, Harry. It was easier to focus when I just wanted to defend myself. Casting a jinx is much harder…"
"Your concern for Potter is your weakness," Snape interrupted, descending upon them so suddenly he caused Hermione to flinch, "You do not truly wish to cause him harm, and so you find it difficult to focus your magic. It would be better to detach yourself from such pointless emotions. Here, let me demonstrate…"
He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted on instinct. Forgetting both his wand and the instruction to remain silent, Harry crossed his arms in front of him and shouted "Protego!"
Even without the proper use of his wand, the Shield Charm was so effective, it knocked Snape off-balance. He stumbled backward into a desk, and the sudden commotion caused the whole class to turn around and stare.
Snape's expression remained impassive as he righted himself and readjusted his robes. Turning his dark eyes to Harry once more, he observed in a cool, calm voice, "I believe I stated that we would be practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"
Harry didn't bother to point out that he had successfully performed a wandless spell, a feat Snape himself said required the same amount of concentration. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Snape defiantly.
"Yes."
"Yes, sir."
"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Snivellus."
Several people gasped, including Neville. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, horrified that Harry had not only spoken back to a professor, but called him by a cruel nickname. Harry knew what he was about, however. As he watched Snape's eye twitch, breaking his careful mask, he knew he had won.
"Detention, Potter," Snape said stiffly, "Saturday night, my office… I will not take cheek from anyone. Not even the Chosen One…"
Blaise and Millie managed to keep their silence until class ended, but once they were in the hall and free again, Blaise burst into laughter.
"That. Was. Brilliant!" he said through tears of mirth, "Did you see the look on his face? Snivellus!"
"You shouldn't have called him that, Harry," Hermione scolded, "That was taking things too far!"
"He was trying to jinx me, in case you didn't notice," Harry seethed. This was not the real reason he was angry with Snape, but he didn't think he could fully explain his feelings to Hermione right now. Instead, he complained, "What was Dumbledore was thinking, letting a man like that teach Defense? Didn't you hear the way he was talking about the Dark Arts? He sounded like he was in love! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff…"
"Well, if you ask me, he sounded a bit like you," Hermione interrupted pertly.
"Excuse me?"
"I mean the way you and Millie used to talk during our Marauders meetings."
"Do not drag me into this," Millie drawled.
"But it makes sense!" persisted Hermione, careful to avoid Harry's stare, "It's not about memorizing a bunch of spells, is it? You have to be clever and brave and… and able to react quickly no matter what you…"
It was Harry's turn to interrupt. "If you think that sounds like me, then you're taking these Chosen One rumors a little too seriously."
"You're the one who told us that those rumors were true!" Hermione countered, dropping her voice to avoid being overheard by the other students milling about the halls. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord… He will have power the Dark Lord knows not… That's you, isn't it?"
"So, what? You think I'm some Dark Arts obsessed freak like Snape? That I'll kill Voldemort and then what? Replace him as the next Dark Lord?"
"Why are you being like this?" Hermione exploded. "You're always twisting my words around!"
Harry was keenly aware of the stares their argument had drawn as Hermione stormed away, grabbing Neville by the arm and pulling him after her. Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself, immediately regretting his words.
Blaise uttered a long, slow whistle before he observed, "Hardly the behavior of a loving couple, wouldn't you say?"
Millie nodded her head in agreement. "One would think they hated each other."
Harry couldn't be mad at them. They were absolutely right. And Hermione was right, as usual. He had known what she was trying to say, but he was too angry to listen. Angry at Snape for taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Angry at Dumbledore for pronouncing Harry to be the Chosen One. Angry at Trelawney for making the stupid prophecy about him in the first place. And in the moments where he was completely honest with himself, he was angry at Sirius most of all. He had left Harry behind when he needed him most…
Of course, he knew none of it was Hermione's fault. She was only trying to help him. He was preparing to chase after her and beg her forgiveness, when his path was blocked by the massive form of Malcolm Baddock.
"Not now!" Harry said, trying to sidle past the beater, "I'll let you know when try-outs will be!"
"Not here for that," grunted Baddock, "Got a message for you."
He handed Harry a small roll of parchment. At first Harry's mind flitted to Slughorn, but the scroll contained no superfluous ribbon. It was simply sealed with the Hogwarts school crest.
"Who's it from?" asked Blaise, waving away Baddock.
"Dumbledore," said Harry after perusing the short note, "He wants me to meet him for a private lesson on Saturday."
"Well, that's good luck, isn't it? You won't have to go to detention with Snape, now."
Harry stifled his disappointment as he folded the note and placed it in the pocket of his robes. Although he was curious and eager to begin the mysterious lessons with Dumbledore, he had been looking forward to using his detention to take some of his unresolved anger out on Snape.
The rest of the day passed as dismally as it had begun. Hagrid was understandably upset to see so few returning students for his N.E.W.T. level course. Harry and Millie exhausted themselves trying to make up for the lack of Blaise, Hermione, and Neville by showing far-more enthusiasm for the glumbumbles Hagrid introduced than they really felt.
They made their way slowly and silently to the dungeons for their final class of the day. Only a dozen students had progressed to the N.E.W.T. level in Potions. Crabbe and Goyle were blissfully absent. Only Harry, Blaise, Millie, and Draco were there to represent the Slytherins. Harry spotted Hermione amongst the other students, but at the sight of Harry, she began talking animatedly to Ron and Theo, the only other Gryffindors present.
Before Harry could approach her and attempt to make his apologies, the dungeon door swung open, and Slughorn's belly preceded him out the door. His great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth as he greeted Harry and Blaise with particular enthusiasm.
The classroom was already full of vapors and odd smells as they filed inside. Harry found himself separated from Hermione, who placed herself at the same worktable as Ron, Theo, and Draco. Feeling remorseful, Harry took an open seat next to Nell Willoughby, who had selected the table closest to an inoffensive cauldron that appeared to be boiling nothing more than plain water.
"Now then, everyone!" called Slughorn in a jovial tone, "Scales out, and potion kits ready! You'll want to have your copies of Advanced Potion Making open to…"
Harry's hand shot into the air. "Professor! I haven't got my books or anything…"
He had assumed Snape would never let him into his advanced potions class, but Slughorn was another story. Harry figured any excuse to demand his attention was a good thing.
"Ah, yes… Professor Snape did mention… Very well, m'boy. You and Mr. Zabini can use the ingredients in the store cupboard today. For books, let me see… Yes, I have a small stock of old books here. You can borrow one until you can send for a new copy."
He strode toward one of the shelves along the wall and returned with two very battered copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, setting them in front of Blaise and Harry with an indulgent smile.
"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class, "I have prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You may even have heard of them already! Can anyone tell me, for example, what this cauldron contains?"
He pointed to the cauldron sitting closest to Harry's table. He seemed to expect Harry to have an answer ready, but it was Hermione's hand that shot into the air.
"It's Veritaserum," she stated, "A colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."
"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. He then pointed to the cauldron closest to a group of Ravenclaws, "This one here is pretty well-known. Who can…?"
Before he could finish his question, Hermione's hand was in the air again.
"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she reported.
"Correct again! And lastly, this one here… Yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, amused as Hermione's hand once more pierced the air.
"Amortentia!"
"It is indeed!" Slughorn stated, looking mightily impressed. "It seems almost foolish to ask, but I suppose you know what it does?"
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world."
"Quite right! I suppose you recognized it by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"
"And the steam, which rises in characteristic spirals," Hermione recited, "There's also the smell, which is different depending on what each person is attracted to. For example, I smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and…"
He stopped abruptly, glanced at Harry, and looked away again in embarrassment. Harry could feel his face turn hot as he wondered what exactly he smelled like.
"Marvelously done!" Slughorn declared at the end of Hermione's speech, "May I ask your name, my dear?"
"It's Granger, sir," Hermione replied, recovering quickly from her embarrassment, "Hermione Granger."
"Granger? Granger… Could 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."
"Well, take fifteen well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger! I can tell we can expect great things from you… As for Amortentia, it does not create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture love. But it does create a rather powerful infatuation, and is therefore the most dangerous potion in the room. Oh, yes…" Slughorn added, seeing Millie's look of skepticism, "You will understand once you have yourself experienced the power of obsessive love…"
"Go on then," Blaise whispered, leaning closer to Millie, "What do you smell from that cauldron?"
Millie scented the air experimentally and frowned, "I smell… Garlic bread? That doesn't seem right… What about you?"
"I smell everything," Blaise replied, wrinkling his nose, "Quite nauseating, actually. What about you, Willoughby?"
Nell's face turned scarlet, and she quickly replied, "I'm congested."
Harry was quite certain she could smell the potion's aroma perfectly well. He smirked at her, and earned a swift kick to his shin from under the table.
"What about that cauldron, sir?" asked Ernie Macmillan, the only Hufflepuff to progress to their level. He pointed to a small black cauldron sitting on Slughorn's desk. It contained a potion the color of molten gold, its droplets splashing about merrily, leaping like goldfish high above the surface, though not a drop had spilled.
"Oho," replied Slughorn, "That one is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis, otherwise known as Liquid Luck."
The whole class straightened up with interest. Slughorn commanded their full attention.
"Yes, this potion is desperately tricky to make, and disastrous when it goes wrong. However, when brewed correctly, as this has been, the drinker will find that all of their endeavors tend to succeed. At least until the potion wears off."
"Why don't people drink it all the time?" asked Terry Boot, one of the Ravenclaw students.
"Because when taken in large doses, it is highly toxic," Slughorn warned, "Users may experience giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence, even when the effects of the potion have worn away. Take in small quantities, however, and very sparingly…"
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.
"Only twice," Slughorn said, a reminiscent smile on his face, "Two tablespoons taken with breakfast. Two perfect days… And today, I am giving one lucky student the opportunity to experience Felix Felicis themselves!"
From an inner pocket of his waistcoat, Slughorn withdrew a miniscule bottle of the golden potion. The class held their breath as Slughorn explained, "Today I will have you practice the Draught of Living Death. This will be more complicated than anything you have attempted before, so I do not expect perfection. The person who does the best, however, will win little Felix here. You will find the instructions on page twelve of your textbooks. Begin!"
The entire class fell to the task with avid enthusiasm, each student bent on winning the tantalizing prize. Slughorn moved about the room, offering words of encouragement here and there, but little in the way of instruction, stating that he wanted things to remain fair, and that exercise was meant to show him exactly where they were in their knowledge of potion making.
Harry found himself wishing he had sat next to Hermione and Draco. Both were highly adept at potions, and he knew he needed all the help he could get. With a sinking feeling, he opened his borrowed textbook only to see that every page was filled with the previous owner's scribbled notes. He had to bend low over the list of ingredients, for even here, the previous owner had made annotations and even crossed things out. He was still trying to decipher one cryptic message written under the first instruction when he realized that the handwriting was… familiar.
Curious, but unwilling to fall behind, Harry rushed toward the storage cabinet, seizing the ingredients from the list and setting to work. After carefully chopping up his valerian root, carefully copying the style he had seen Draco use moments before, he turned to consult the textbook again. The previous owner had objected to the instruction to cut up the sopophorous bean. A line had been drawn through the words, and underneath in sloping handwriting was an alternative suggestion:
Crush with flat side of silver dagger,
Releases juice better than cutting.
"Can I borrow your silver knife?" Harry asked Nell.
When she nodded her head distractedly, intent on her own potion, Harry seized the knife, crushing the shriveled bean and depositing its contents into his cauldron. To his amazement, the potion immediately shifted from dark purple to the exact shade of lilac described by the textbook.
"How did you do that?" Millie asked, stirring her own indigo potion frantically.
"You have to crush it…" Harry whispered, turning his textbook to face her.
"But the instructions say to cut it," Nell remarked, overhearing their conversation.
Harry merely shrugged. His annoyance with the notes had vanished. He continued to brew the potion, carefully attending to the suggestions written in the margins, and all but ignoring the official text.
By the end of class, Harry had not only brewed a perfect example of the Draught of Living Death, but he had succeeded in winning both the Felix Felicis, and Slughorn's favor.
"I can see that you've inherited your mother's talents!" Slughorn declared, "She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are then, one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. And an extra thirty points to Slytherin, as well!"
The rest of the class gave only half-hearted applause at Harry's success, Hermione included. Her hair had become rather frizzy from all the vapor lingering in the air, and she seemed rather irritable. Harry pocketed his winnings and hung while the rest of the class filtered out of the classroom, unsure if this was the correct time to try to make amends with Hermione.
Instead, he lingered close to the Amortentia. Trying not to draw anyone's attention, he took a long, slow inhale. He smelled wood, like that of a broomstick handle or a newly crafted wand… And there was treacle tart, and… Something else he couldn't quite define…
He was waiting for a moment of clarity. A clear scent that would prove he was meant to be with Hermione. But it never came. That undefined aroma, although intoxicating, did not remind him of Hermione.
Feeling disappointed, Harry sauntered after Blaise and Millie, wondering if his relationship was worth fighting for, after all.
