Chapter 166: Amortentia

Harry and I met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning. Harry lost no time in telling Hermione what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" I interjected quickly, before Hermione could say anything.

"Well," she said uncertainly, "I don't know. It would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is ... but that's a big lie to tell... "

"Exactly," said Harry, but he could not press the point, because so many people were trying to listen in to his conversation, not to mention staring at him and whispering behind their hands.

"It's rude to point," I snapped at a particularly tiny first-year boy as we joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm.

I couldn't help but laugh. "I love being a sixth year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" said Hermione, as we set off down the corridor.

"Yeah, but not today," I said, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Today's going to be a real loss, I reckon."

"Hold it!" said Hermione,knocking my arm away, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand.

"Fanged Frisbees banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. I waited for him to vanish, then snatched the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.

"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these."I said, looking it over.

Hermione's remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender had apparently found my remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed us, glancing back at me over her shoulder. I couldn't help but grin. So she really found me funny? That was pretty wicked.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and I told Hermione about our embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures!" she said, looking distressed. "I mean, when has any of us expressed... you know... any enthusiasm?"

"That's it, though, innit?" I said, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. "We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the bloody subject. D'ya reckon anyone's going to go on to N.E.W.T.?"

Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. We knew perfectly well that nobody in our year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. We avoided Hagrid's eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

After we had eaten, we remained in our places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

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 Professor 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, 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 disappointed that she wouldn't be drooling over a centaur this year.

"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, I was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of us left the table together.

"Look," I said cheerfully as I looked over my schedule, "we've got a free period now and a free period after break... and after lunch. Brilliant."

We returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell.

"I thought you'd get that, well done," she called over, pointing at the Captain's badge on Harry's chest. "Tell me when you call trials!"

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, "you don't need to try out, I watched you play for five years..."

"You mustn't start off like that," she said warningly. "For all you know, there's someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends."

I couldn't help but feel like that was a jab at me. I began to play with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks's yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

After it almost took a chunk out of Harry's hair, we decided to just sit around and talk.

"Did you see Cho earlier?" I asked Harry.

He looked at me and scoffed. "No. I mean I did, but I didn't really notice her like I would have last year."

"So you're really over her, eh?"

"What's to be under? She only dated me to try to replace another bloke that she constantly wanted to talk about."

"Yeah, rotten luck. Welp, you'll have it all this year, I'd wager. With you being 'The Chosen One' and all. Witches will be throwing their lacy knickers at you."

Harry laughed. "I doubt any witch here has lacy knickers."

I smirked. "Bet you the bints over there in Slytherin do. Could you imagine Daphne Greengrass in some lacy pink knickers?"

"Oh yeah. She's a right looker there." laughed Harry. "Wouldn't gather you fancying her though."

I scrunched up my nose. "Just because she's hot doesn't mean I fancy her. Daphne is a snobby bitch."

An hour later, we reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking tired already.

"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously when Harry and I joined her. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"

"Shame," I yawned, only mildly interested.

"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.

I looked around as we entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it 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 we 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."

'Like you haven't been here the past five year, you greasy git.' I thought.

"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 Dark Arts 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."

It seemed barmy. The way he spoke, one would gather he was in love with the Dark Arts.

"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 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, we 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 for some reason, "lack."

"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 us 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. Of course to no one's surprise, 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. He swept between us as we practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and I struggling with the task.

I was supposed to be jinxing Harry, and had gone purple in the face with concentration, my lips tightly compressed to save myself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. I was truly determined not to say a word. However, it seemed like it just wasn't going to happen.

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here-let me show you-"

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry seemed to react instinctively; all thought of non-verbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The rest of the class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling. I tried desperately to hold in my laughter. Served him right.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing non-verbal spells, Potter?" said Snape in his monotone voice.

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." said Harry nonchalantly.

Hermione gasped at his words, words that even he looked surprised that he said. Dean, Seamus, and I however, were ecstatic, and it took everything in us not to jump around in the room whooping and then hoisting Harry onto our shoulders and carting him off like royalty.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," sneered Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter... not even the Chosen One."

"That was brilliant, Harry!" I laughed, once we were safely on our way to break a short while later.

"You really shouldn't have said it," said Hermione, frowning at me. "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? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him 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 what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"

Both Harry and I were stunned. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I couldn't help but know that she was exactly right.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward us 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, as I said a quick prayer that Harry would find someone else. "I'll let you know."

"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend-"

But Harry wasn't paying attention. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, we hurried away. Harry unrolled the parchment as he went.

Dear Harry,

I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday.

Kindly come along to my office at eight p.m.

I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

"He enjoys Acid Pops?" I questioned as I read the message from over Harry's shoulder.

"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!"

The three of us spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. I thought it most likely to be brilliant 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 I returned to the common room where we grudgingly started Snape's homework. This turned out to be so fucking complicated that we still had not finished when Hermione joined us for our after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process). We had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions.

When we arrived in the corridor we saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom was a pretty okay bloke, despite his Percylike mannerisms.

"Harry," Ernie said in an annoyingly pretentious voice, 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 we could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn greeted us, his round belly shaking when he chuckled at certain students. As we filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

I could understand him fawning over Harry. Most people did. But Zabini? And I heard it was only because of his hot killer mum. That really didn't make Zabini too special, unless Slughorn wanted to be next on his mum's chopping block.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. The three of us sniffed interestedly as we passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left the three of us to share a table with Ernie. We chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting the best smells i have ever smelt in my whole life. It reminded me simultaneously of rain, like the rainy days spent with Bill playing chess and listening to him tell me stories of Hogwarts and other things, the first time I smelled keeper gloves, with the leather and rubber smell, especially when I'm catching a particularly roughly thrown quaffle, and then for some reason I smelled ink. That kind of threw me off, however, it was a smell that deep inside I felt I needed to be surrounded by forever. The fumes consumed me, made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I looked over at Harry, and obviously the fumes did the same to him, because he was giving off a stupid grin like I felt I was giving as well.

"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 I 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 pointed to the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. I looked over and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

Hermione's 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.

Harry and I looked at each other and chuckled. Of course we knew what that one was, having had the lovely experience of drinking it second year.

"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 very much impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world." said Hermione.

Love potion?

"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-"

She stopped, and I can tell she was blushing by the fact that she suddenly looked bashful, and pushed some of her hair back behind her ear. That made me very curious. I wanted to know what the last smell was.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn.

"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 on the other side 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?" I whispered, feeling very 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 we could hear what Slughorn was saying. I couldn't help but feel irritated. I've told Hermione many times how brilliant and smart I felt she was, and never did she swoon like that. So how come when Harry said it, she seemed all like her heart was a flutter?

"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 Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love...

"And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about as if it was alive and cheerful; 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. "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. Slughorn now had my interest. Liquid luck. I could only imagine the possibilities.

"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 the git Terry Boot.

"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. He looked as if the memories were the most sacred things to him in the world.

"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 us 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!"

My elation fell. Quidditch would have been the one thing I would have used it on.

"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. I opened my book and a couple of the pages fell out. I put them back in and went to get the ingredients listed.

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.

Having finished chopping my roots as neatly as I could, I began trying to cut my bean, which wasn't easy. It wouldn't stay still at all.

"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?" I overheard Malfoy as he was kissing ass to Slughorn.

"Yes," said Slughorn, without looking at Malfoy, "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age... "

And he walked away. Harry looked over at me, smirking. I could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape.

The sopophorous bean kept jumping from my hand, twice almost hitting me in the face. In finally managed to get some of the juice from it, and put it in my caldron, which made my potion turn into a pale sick looking purple, unlike Hermione's and Harry's.

Next came the stirring, which was complicated in itself, and made my potion look like that muggle medicine that Hermione has shown me. Meanwhile, Harry's looked exactly like the book had said, something that greatly annoyed Hermione.

"How are you doing that?" she demanded , whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still purple.

"Add a clockwise stir-"

"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing.

I looked mine and seen that it had went from pink to a sludgy looking black. I started cursing fluently under my breath as I tried to discover what I had done wrong. Maybe I had stirred too many times.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

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 the three of us and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tar like shit in my 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. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are-one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, looking completely satisfied. I was shocked. Harry was never that good in Potions, and the fact that hr had outdid Hermione, who looked disappointed, was barmy to me.

"How did you do that?" I whispered to Harry as we left the dungeon.

"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry with a noncommittal shrug.

Once we were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, Harry began to tell us about the book, and the little notes that were telling him to do other things. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.

"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, looking aggravated at her.

"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly.

"He only followed different instructions to ours," I defended, "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off." I 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, as she had joined us. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"

She looked alarmed and angry, and I immediately knew why. Harry figured it out quickly too.

"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?"

"I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny-"

"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. Hermione shook her head and then stretched her arm out near my face, and I ended up catching a whiff of that ink smell from the Amortentia potion from class. I ended up grabbing her hand and looking at it.

"You've got ink on your fingertips." I said, sounding like someone mental, and by the look on Hermione's face, probably looking like someone mental too.

"Yes I do..." she said slowly. "I was about to wipe them off before I ate."

I found myself just looking at her inked fingertips. I took my own finger and ran it gently over her index finger, not really knowing why.

Hermione drew her hand back from me and began to wipe the ink off. The smell has disappeared, and I found myself feeling a bit sad.