To Your Health

Invitations to Slughorn's next gathering appeared in the second week of January. The small flurry of interest they were met with was very muted compared to the Christmas party. The only two members of the 'Slug Club' showing any signs of interest were Harry and Hermione, although Harry was more stressed than interested. It did mean he had ample time to think of a way to speak to Slughorn and charm information out of him. His progress in Potions earned him more and more compliments, as well as stony looks from the rest of the class. He just told himself that he'd keep up the sycophant act until the gathering on the 1st of February.

Quidditch practice ended up going far more smoothly than he expected without Ron on the team. Harry ended up taking his place, guarding the hoops. He'd never actually tried keeping before and the closest he came to playing chaser had been during the games over the summer at the Burrow. He kept to himself how sore he was after the first session, though he had a suspicion that Ginny caught his wince when he put away the practice equipment. The next match wasn't until March, yet Harry did have to admit that keeping was definitely not his forte. He needed to be moving and at a high speed, not hovering around the hoops. He made up his mind after a particularly blustery day, the week before the Slug Club meeting. He was rewarded with grateful smiles when he told them that he wanted to have a team meeting in the Common Room – where they could thaw out in front of the fire.

Later that evening, they had their team huddle in a quiet corner, though privacy was pretty impossible in the Common Room. Curious glances came quick and fast. Harry caught Hermione's eye from where she was studying with Nevillie, her knowing smile creasing the corner of her face.

"Ergh, stop mooning at your girlfriend, Harry, and get to business," Ginny said, nudging him in the ribs. "What's the plan?"

"First off, is there anyone here who wants to try playing as a Keeper? Guys, if you're fed up of being bludger targets and want to try something that leads to fewer bruises… now's the time."

Harry addressed Peakes and Coote, giving the two sheepish looks. He was happy overall with their performances as Beaters, but he knew it wasn't the most popular position to play. Not everyone was made for it like Fred and George Weasley.

Frustratingly, both were happy to remain as beaters. Harry could feel the heat of Ginny's scowl, but he ignored it, nodding thoughtfully instead.

"Look, we need a replacement. I know that and I'm not avoiding it, before you say I am, Gin-," Harry looked sharply at her, "I want to give you all a chance to change positions first-."

"I'll do it," Dean interrupted, raising his hand. Harry stared at him, surprised. Dean smiled at his reaction. "I know I'm a reserve for Katie… but I can be a reserve for the keeper as well. There were others who flew well during the tryouts. Chasing is just… more fun, but if we need a keeper and our only two options are McLaggen and Ron…"

Ginny wound her arm around Dean's waist, pulling him in. "Such a team player," she said, kissing his cheek. Harry was very glad Ron wasn't on the team then. He would have blown a blood vessel.

"Dean, I… really appreciate this, but are you sure?"

"Positive. You never know, Katie might be back before the match."

Harry let out a breath of relief, grinning at Dean. "That's the hope. Thanks, mate. You're a lifesaver."

"Wow, can I get that in writing, Chosen One?"

With one issue successfully dealt with, they decided on who would be best for Harry to approach as a new reserve chaser. As a result, Harry had the inevitable job of approaching a gaggle of girls, a group containing Romilda Vane, and made the offer to a fourth year who he'd never spoken to before. He was a little worried that she was about to faint, but she energetically accepted. He was then flushing when he left, overhearing them talking about how his backside looks in his Quidditch robes in not-so subtle tones.

Thankfully, his new chaser wasn't as giggly without her gaggle of friends. During her first practice session, Emily Yarrow flew well with Desmerta and Ginny. They were all left jubilant, pleased that they had a complete team without any potential dramas.

If only the same could be said for the rest of Harry's life.

On the morning of the first, Harry's nerves didn't need testing early at breakfast. As the post arrived and he caught the morning paper for Hermione, a rather haughty tawny owl swept over to him and dropped a little in his lap. Eyes were fixed upon him at once and not just at the Gryffindor table. Members of the staff had noticed that he received a letter, something that wasn't meant to happen. All his post was diverted and sorted after he was bombarded after the news article about the Christmas party.

He glanced down, a little grateful that the owl had dropped it somewhere out of the way from prying eyes. Hermione shifted closer, leaning in, her hair almost acting like a privacy screen. Harry didn't need to open the letter. He recognised the stationary. Set in the wax seal at the back were the three letters 'MoM'. He flipped the envelope.

Harry James Potter

The Great Hall,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Huh, the use of my middle name as well," Harry muttered to Hermione. "Oh no, I think I know what this is."

"What?"

Tensing his jaw, Harry quickly stowed the letter in his robes. If his suspicions were correct, the letter had come directly from the Minister for Magic himself. He glanced up at the staff table. His heart sank. Dumbledore was absent. Again. Hermione followed his gaze. From her sharp gasp, she worked it out as well.

"The Minister…"

"Not here," Harry said under his breath.

Their month of dating and exploring the more secluded corners of the castle granted them with extensive knowledge of places to hold a private conversation. Though more often than not, they didn't do much talking. Making the most of a free period after Charms, they didn't take their usual route to the Library or the Common Room. Instead, they secretly slid into the disused classroom near the Common Room where Hermione had launched charmed canaries at Ron's head.

Settling down on top of an old desk, they sat side-by-side as Harry extracted the letter. It was a little dog-eared from where it had been stuffed rather unceremoniously. Hermione had her arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder as he cracked open the seal.

Dear Mr Potter,

It is not customary for the Minister for Magic to pen a personal correspondence to a student studying at Hogwarts. I have made efforts to reach you through Professor Dumbledore, however such efforts have been in vain.

All I request is an opportunity for us to talk face-to-face. I am not ignorant of the injustices you experienced and I appreciate that these will have made you distrustful. I am not my predecessor. I do not believe that inaction is a solution to a problem. I have heard that we are of the same mind in this. I believe that we can come to an agreement that will strengthen our cause and our stance against the threat of tyranny that the dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, poses to our magical society.

I will await your owl.

Yours sincerely,

Rufus Scrimgeour

Minister For Magic

Harry looked up at Hermione the moment he finished reading. Her warm brown-gold eyes were wide as she met his. Her next words were very unexpected.

"Well, shit."

They both burst out laughing. Harry folded the letter, shaking his head in disbelief. Why was his life just so insane? He couldn't get through a single day feeling like he was just the same as any other student in the school. He was meant to have just Quidditch as his chief concern and his classes, not to have to deal with a personal meeting with the bloody Minister for Magic. The warnings Dumbledore left him with had fallen a little down his list of priorities. They were right back up at the top.

He soon sobered as he recalled how Dumbledore told him that the Minister wouldn't play fair to get his way. Harry and the others had been trespassing in the Ministry. In their flight from the Death Eaters, there had been a substantial amount of damage. They hadn't been held accountable, but that could change at the whim of the man in charge. Harry had experienced firsthand just what sort of lengths those in charge would go to. He carried the scars.

"I can't reply without showing this to Dumbledore, but how long can I delay a response," Harry thought aloud, causing Hermione to hum in agreement. She cuddled closer to him.

"Maybe speak to McGonagall?" She suggested. "She must have a way to contact Dumbledore while he's not at the school."

"Hmm, maybe," Harry looked away thoughtfully, wondering if McGonagall also knew where Dumbledore disappeared off to. Hermione's head then shot up and she gasped loudly. "What?"

"This is the perfect excuse to get to speak to Slughorn tonight in private," she said quickly, her words racing out of her mouth in her eagerness to share her brilliance. "You can ask for his advice."

"I could, but how does that help me find out what he knows about horcruxes?" Harry asked, feeling a bit lost. "He's already lying to Dumbledore about what he knows. If I make out that the Minister wants information about them, I can't imagine he'll change his answer."

Hermione frowned, considering his words. "You're right, but you still need to work on schmoozing up to him. I have to admit, you will benefit in gathering more people on your side. Perhaps Scrimgeour really isn't like Fudge and wants to be much more proactive against Voldemort."

"I don't know," Harry said, "it does feel a bit like I'm going behind Dumbledore's back."

"And so what?" Hermione challenged, arching a brow at him. "Harry, has it not crossed your mind that a wizard like Dumbledore could easily force the real memory out of Slughorn if he wanted? Instead, he's making you manipulate the man on his behalf. It doesn't seem very fair to me. Especially on top of all the pressure you're under. He should be easing your burdens, not adding to them."

Harry sighed, "I feel like disappointing Dumbledore isn't an option when he's the only defence I have against Voldemort. I don't trust the Ministry…"

"I know, and you have that right," Hermione said consolingly, hugging him tighter. "I just think… maybe you should make up your own mind. I don't like how much control Dumbledore has over you. It… worries me."

Laughing softly, Harry leaned into her embrace. "You always worry about me."

"I do because you don't deserve to be used and it upsets me," Hermione said honestly. Harry watched her chewing her lip, seeing the anxiety flaring to life in her eyes. He felt a powerful surge of affection despite the seriousness of her words. That she cared about him, the person underneath it all, touched him more deeply than he could ever express. He smiled sadly, dipping his head so he could kiss her forehead.

"I'm glad I have you at my side, Hermione. I'd be lost without you."

Tucking the letter from Scrimgeour in his pocket, Harry gathered Hermione's face in his hands and kissed her properly.

The rest of the day passed them by, blissfully uneventful. Harry dismissed the glowers that he received in the Gryffindor Common Room, paying little heed to one particularly murderous glare that glanced off him like water off a duck's back. For one, he wasn't receiving daggers from Ron. He wasn't even there.

Harry headed up to the dormitory while Hermione went to hers to get ready for the Slug Club gathering. He said a few words to Dean and Neville before pulling on some nicer robes over his shirt and trousers. He had a distinct feeling that jeans weren't suitable for the event. Dean had a chuckle at his expense when he made an attempt to style his own hair before lending him a hand. As ready as he could be, Harry slipped his wand and Invisibility cloak into his expanded pocket and went to meet Hermione.

She wasn't waiting alone. In fact, when Harry descended, he saw her practically pinning Cormac McLaggen against the wall with her wand pointing between his eyes. Her hair was wild around her head, her eyes fiery with hot anger. Harry hurried down before she hexed the sod into oblivion.

"Whoa, what's going on?" Harry asked, looking around the room to see the excited faces of the onlookers. Clearly he just walked in on a fight about to happen. Hermione bristled, bearing her teeth. Harry could feel the tension and, from the scared look on McLaggen's face, he had truly stepped in dragon dung.

"This git had the big idea of trying to ambush you about that sodding keeper position in the team, again . He seems to think that you owed him the place."

"Oh, for the love of…" Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He walked up to the pair, resting his hand on Hermione's wrist. He noticed her pretty red dress with matching shoes… and particularly noticed the neck line. Mouth going a little dry, he pushed her arm down, lowering her wand before she hexed off McLaggen's eyebrows… or worse.

"I tell you what, McLaggen. If Voldemort or someone else offs me before the match, you can take my position as seeker if you want to be on the fucking team so desperately. It's a bloody game!"

The excitement at the prospect of the fight swiftly changed to alarm as Harry ranted. The atmosphere plummeted in temperature, or so it felt, the moment Harry injected a bit of reality into the situation. He then inserted himself between Hermione and McLaggen. The older boy came to his senses a little late as Harry shoved him hard in the shoulder, squaring up. Even though McLaggen had more weight and height, he seemed to almost shrivel as Harry moved to intimidate.

"Until then, you back off," he hissed angrily, causing McLaggen to actually gulp. Harry wanted to laugh, but it would have ruined the effect. His point made, Harry reached backwards. Hermione knew what he wanted at once and she took his hand, moving to his side.

"If you so much as look at Harry the wrong way tonight, you will regret it," Hermione seethed at him, then she tugged on Harry's hand. "Let's go."

Leaving a shell-shocked Common Room behind, they climbed out of the portrait hole. Both of them were breathless from laughter by the time they reached the grand staircase. Hermione had to stop and clutch at her side, her face flushed from her giggles.

"His face… " She wheezed. "Oh, what a jerk."

"What was he saying before I got there?" Harry asked once Hermione got her breath back.

"He was complaining about Dean being placed as a keeper and then he badgered Emily Yarrow about being selected as a stand in for Katie. When he then got the great idea of confronting you, I stepped in. Mostly because if he did actually burst in on your unannounced, you probably would have cursed him out of sheer instinct."

"Probably," Harry agreed, "and it would have been a shame to miss out on you being incredibly hot."

Hermione looked at him, baffled for a moment. "Excuse me?"

"It was hot," Harry clarified, grinning, "I like it when you get riled up and go on the offensive. It, uh, you know…"

Harry dropped his gaze suggestively to his lower body. Hermione didn't need him to go on, a surprised flush rising to her face. She swatted his arm, but he could see that she was pleased, flattered rather than mortified.

"I do hope you aren't too distracted, Mr Potter," Hermione said teasingly once they made it to the landing. They passed the spot where Harry had impulsively pulled Hermione to one side before the Christmas party and confessed his true feelings.

"If this dinner party goes anything like the one I missed because of detention, I'm going to need a distraction."

Arriving at Slughorn's office, it appeared that they weren't alone in being punctual. Blaise Zabini wore a brief hopeful look when they first arrived, but then went back to glaring at them so they didn't get any ideas about him changing his opinion on them. Slughorn made his usual exuberant greeting, showering them in his attention as he gestured flamboyantly for Harry to take a seat at his side. Not having much choice in the matter, he went to sit as graciously as he could.

The room didn't resemble the enchanted ballroom that had been fashioned in place for the Christmas party. Rather instead, there was just a round table in the middle of the room, his desk and workbench moved against the wall to make more space. The table was laid with more resplendent cutlery and crockery than what was used in the Great Hall. There were even crystal glasses and decanters of water set up ready. Hermione took the seat on Harry's other side at once, shooting a distasteful look across the table to the haughty Slytherin.

Unsurprisingly, McLaggen was the last to arrive. He had the misfortune to have the seat next to Zabini and he avoided looking at Harry and Hermione altogether. Ginny settled in the seat on Hermione's otherside. She caught their eye and smirked, glancing over to McLaggen. Clearly, she approved of their antics in the common room.

Louisa Fairley, the Head Girl, and Oscar Stebbing, the Head Boy, arrived together. Then there was a girl that Harry briefly met on the train when Slughorn invited them to his carriage. He couldn't recall her name, but just knew that she was in Ravenclaw. The glasses in front of the seventh years filled with wine whereas the others were gifted with water.

Having never experienced a dinner party before, Harry felt horribly awkward as he tried to not make an absolute prat out of himself. Having a meal with the Weasleys and with the Order during the holidays at Grimmauld Place didn't give him much to go on as they were chaotic affairs. He definitely never ate a formal dinner with the Dursleys. Whenever he had been allowed to eat at the table, he had to stay quiet and not speak, unless Marge was over, then she needled him until he came close to tears. He didn't know how to act, just watching and listening to the others to gauge their behaviour. Hermione appeared much more comfortable having likely been out for dinners with her parents.

To his relief, Slughorn didn't pelt him with conversation starters. Instead, he politely listened to the conversations that took place. Most of the talking was between the Head Boy and Head Girl. The girl whose name he had previously forgotten, who he soon picked up was called Melinda, had a lot to say about her family's business. It was mildly interesting, but Harry was glad when the food made an appearance, keeping him busy.

His grace period soon ended however when he finished his dish before everyone else. He had to admit, it had been really good. His palate as a whole was very unadventurous so what was likely unimpressive to the others was wonderful for him. It was some sort of rice dish, but it was creamy and silky, not spicy.

"Did you like the risotto, Harry?" Slughorn asked him. Harry felt a flush blooming. He hadn't known even the name of the food he was eating. He was so ignorant.

"I, um, did, sir. Very much," he said, hating the way he mumbled. He caught a smirk across the table from Zabini. Harry quietly arranged his knife and fork the way that his aunt hammered into him. He noticed Slughorn watching his every gesture.

"Am I right in saying that you were brought up in a muggle home, Harry? Forgive the prying, I am merely curious."

Hermione tensed at his side at once. Harry could feel all the stares gravitating to him. He didn't have a way out of the question, not without coming across as rude.

"I lived with my muggle aunt and uncle since, well, my parents were killed," Harry said, hoping the grimness of his history would divert the curiosity away.

"You lived with muggles?"

The question came across the table from a shocked Louisa Fairley. Harry cleared his throat and nodded. Hermione's hand reached for his at once. She was there, ready to defend him.

"I had no idea," Louisa said breathlessly, but then she threw up her hands, "not that there's anything wrong with it. I just assumed that, well, you would have been with a magical family at the very least. For your protection, if anything."

Harry frowned, wondering if she wasn't alone in having no clue about the way he had grown up. His experiences of the magical world was that his life was everyone's business. He let out a small sigh and met her gaze.

"I had living family left on my mother's side so I was placed with them. For what I know, there was little information about my whereabouts for a reason. There were plenty of people still at large who would have sought revenge against me and my muggle relatives."

"You lived with Lily's family?" Slughorn asked. Harry really didn't want to talk about his parents in front of relative strangers. Hermione picked up on his distress and turned sharply to look at Slughorn.

"Professor, Harry is too polite to say it, so I will in his place. Harry does not like to talk about his private life. While I appreciate that everyone knows his history, there are still some things that he would like to keep private."

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Harry looked over to her. He smiled.

"Thank you, Hermione."

Louisa brought her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. That was really insensitive of me," she said, looking genuinely ashamed. Harry found himself looking over to Zabini who, for once, wasn't sneering or glaring at him. He looked thoughtful.

"Forgive me, Harry. It was not my intention to upset you," Slughorn said, appearing aghast. "Miss Granger is quite right. We all should respect your privacy far more than we do."

Harry wasn't sure if the man was genuine or not considering how he treated people as collectibles. He remained ambivalent about the potions professor, unsure if he genuinely wished to be of help or sought to use Harry for his own gain. Glumly, Harry looked down at his empty plate, willing for someone to gloss over the awkward moment. Everyone was too busy avoiding each others' eyes.

"It's alright. I'm used to it by now," Harry found himself forced to fill the void with something. "Well, it's not alright, but… it is what it is. I just have to get on with people staring at my scar before they even speak to me… or people already forming opinions without even knowing me. The cost of fame, I guess."

Harry then gestured over the table at Zabini.

"Take you, for example. You clearly don't like me, Zabini. It's pretty obvious to everyone that you have a problem with Hermione as well as Ginny. You look down on Hermione because she's muggleborn, Ginny because you think she's a blood traitor. Me… I don't even know what I've done to you. Probably just the crime of existing or getting in the way of Voldemort creating a perfect pure society."

He could see the mouths dropping as he vented. Likely none of them had heard him say more than a sentence before.

Zabini's eyes narrowed at once. "I could say the same for you, Potter. You clearly have a problem with me."

"I have a bloody good reason. You insult my friends!" Harry exclaimed, causing a scene now. "You likely think you have a right to go around calling people 'mudbloods' and 'blood traitors'. You don't. As far as I'm concerned, people like you who think they are better than everyone else because of your pureblood are just as bad as the Death Eaters."

Silence.

Harry took a deep breath, noticing that everyone was staring at him in total shock. Even Slughorn appeared thunderstruck. Then, Melinda Bobbin, someone who Harry barely said a single word to before in his life started to clap her hands. She recovered from her shock first, laughing out loud as she applauded Harry for his outburst.

"That was bloody brilliant. Well said!"

Ginny then reached around Hermione and thumped his arm like he was one of her brothers, grinning. Hermione beamed at him, her eyes shining with pride. Zabini, however, scowled down at his half-eaten meal. He then pushed his chair back, throwing his napkin down on the table dramatically.

"I challenge you, Potter. I will not have my name slandered-"

Louisa burst out laughing. "Sit down, you pillock. Are you mad? Challenging Harry Potter to a duel? He'd destroy you."

"I would prefer we tone down the threats at the table," Slughorn said heavily, looking stern for once. "Harry, your opinion is valid, but please be civil or I will ask you to leave."

Harry cleared his throat, realising that he was in jeopardy of damaging the rapport he built with the professor. He gave a respectful bow of his head.

"I'm sorry, professor. My temper is a bit of a loose cannon."

Zabini straightened, levelling Harry with a hateful glare.

"Very well. I will take my leave if I am so reviled," he spat angrily, looking at them all in turn, even Professor Slughorn. "I am finicky with the company you keep, professor."

With that arrogant remark, he stalked out of the room. The moment he slammed the door, Louisa whistled, shaking her head. Slughorn just sighed tiredly while Melinda clapped in joy again, clearly entertained with the show. A pair of soft lips kissed Harry's cheek as Hermione expressed her thoughts on his display. Her hand squeezed his thigh.

"That was hot, Harry," she whispered in his ear.

"A pity we cannot all get along," Slughorn remarked sadly, "but alas, opinions are so divisive."

"That's putting it mildly," Ginny chipped in wryly, earning a few laughs around the table. "Nothing is ever boring with you around, Harry."

Slughorn gave Harry an amicable smile, flashing a bemused look around the table. He patted his large stomach and sighed.

"Now that drama has resolved itself, shall we have dessert?"

Losing his temper had effectively broken the ice. Harry felt a lot more comfortable now that Zabini had stormed off. Perhaps it was because dessert was his favourite part of a meal. He soon busied himself with a large pile of profiteroles. Conscious about the amount of chocolate sauce, he stressed over keeping himself clean and safe from mishaps. To make things even better, McLaggen excused himself, complaining of a stomach ache. Ginny didn't hesitate to inform the group of the real reason he scurried away. There were more laughs at McLaggen's expense when they were told how he'd been at the receiving end of Harry and Hermione's ire before showing up to dinner.

As the evening started to draw towards a natural close, Harry realised with some surprise that he had enjoyed himself. The others in the group with the exception of Zabini and McLaggen were actually genuinely decent people. He became conscious that the time for him to ask for a private chat was upon him. He communicated that he was ready with Hermione, resting his hand on her bare thigh momentarily. She let out a small gasp and coughed to hide it.

Slughorn appeared worryingly sleepy from the food and the wine. Harry had to get in fast.

"Professor, I wondered if I could have some of your time before we go," Harry said smoothly, surprised at how easily it came to him since he overcame his awkwardness. "There's something important I need help with… some advice."

Slughorn brightened at once, the tiredness seemingly melting away. He eagerly nodded, clapping Harry on the back.

"Of course, my boy, of course. Why don't you and Miss Granger stay behind? Maybe have a drink while we talk, yes?"

Harry pumped his fist under the table to celebrate his success privately. The others were leaving, making their farewells. Harry wished them all good nights, feeling far more confident now that he had Slughorn right where he wanted him. Once alone with the rotund professor, he and Hermione remained sitting as Slughorn went to fetch a bottle of something. A small voice in the back of Harry's head told him that it wasn't appropriate for Slughorn to have a private drink with two of his students. Hermione had been right earlier. Dumbledore was asking a lot of him.

Slughorn returned with a bottle, sheepishly chuckling to himself. He set the bottle down, removing wrapping paper that covered it.

"I had intended to gift this to Albus at Christmas, but with so much going on, it slipped my mind. No matter, he cannot miss what he didn't have, can he?"

Harry recognised the drink, brightening up himself. It was a bottle of Madame Rosmerta's oak-smoked mead.

"Oh, I tried this over Christmas with Hermione's parents," Harry said at once. Slughorn smiled as he pulled the cork. He drew their glasses over, filling them with the honey-coloured drink.

"It may surprise you to know that Albus has quite the sweet tooth. It likely isn't a surprise to you, Harry. His obsession over confectionery is no secret… anyway, my boy, what is it that you'd like help with."

Harry didn't go for his drink just yet, opting to stay as level-headed as possible. Slughorn stared at him animatedly as he brought his glass up to his lips, his moustache twitching as he sipped, savouring the flavour.

"It's this…" Harry reached in his robes for the letter that he received that morning.

As he did, Slughorn's face appeared to leach of colour. Instantly, Harry knew something was very wrong. A second later, the crystal glass slid from his fingers, clanking on the table before dropping to the floor. The smash had Harry on his feet, his heart hammering as Slughorn then made an awful choking sound. His hands clutched at his throat as he desperately tried to move and breathe. With a heavy thump, he fell from his seat. It was then when froth began to spill out his lips.

"Poison, Harry!" Hermione screamed, pushing him to the side as she kicked Slughorn's side away. "Do something, quickly! He's dying!"

She dropped down onto the floor with their ailing professor, ripping the front of his robes open to free his neck. His throat was bulging, veins popping and the skin violently darkening. His eyes had already rolled back.

Where anyone else would freeze in shock in a crisis, Harry's mind came to life. His thoughts fired rapidly in his head, running through everything he knew about poisons. He could hear Snape's voice in his head.

"Unless you wish to poison Potter – and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did – I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling."

He didn't have time to search for an antidote. He needed something fast.

Harry tore across the room to Slughorn's personal potions supplies. His heart raced, battling against time. Behind him, he could hear Hermione's panicked sobs and attempts at a resuscitation.

"Harry, Harry… I'm losing him! What are you doing? We need help!"

"A bezoar, Hermione! It can save him!"

She gasped at once, leaping to her feet. Her wand zipped into her hand and she clearly incanted.

"Accio bezoar!"

Harry watched a small drawer in Slughorn's case popped open. The stone shot across the room towards Hermione. Harry followed, pulling out his own wand. Hermione's words rattled in his head. They needed help… quickly. The answer came to him as quickly as the bezoar.

"Kreacher!"

With a loud crack, the disgruntled elderly House Elf appeared at his command. Harry didn't waste time, not giving the house elf a chance to rattle off insults and grumble. He grabbed the elf by his thin shoulders, crouching over him.

"Listen to me, Kreacher. You will do as I say. Go to Professor Snape. Tell him Professor Slughorn has been poisoned and we are in his office. Go now! Do not delay."

He couldn't make his order any clearer. Exerting his will over the elf, the hateful creature glared at him before he vanished, leaving to do as requested. Harry then hurried over to Hermione, dropping to his knees. She was openly crying as she pushed her fingers into Slughorn's mouth. His frothing drool was slick on her hand.

"H-he's not breathing," she said weakly.

"Did you give him the bezoar?"

"Y-yes."

"Alright, come away. T-there's nothing more we can do." Harry said to her calmly. He reached up for his napkin. Gently pulling Hermione away by her shoulders, he gathered her wet hands and cleaned them off carefully. She was shaking violently with shock. Harry's adrenaline kept him focused.

Harry braced himself for the worst and went to Slughorn. He settled next to his head, forcing himself to look at his bloated face with his blued lips. His mouth was hanging open where Hermione had inserted the bezoar. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot, pupils dilated. He knew what he was looking at.

Another crack sounded. He looked up and never felt more relieved in his life to see Snape. Kreacher hung back, appearing sullen. Harry ignored him. Snape swept over, his robes flaring as he joined Harry.

"We've given him a bezoar," Harry told him, surprised at how calm he felt and how focused. "The… mead. It was poisoned. I don't know what with, but we weren't the targets. The bottle… it was meant as a gift to Dumbledore."

Snape's dark eyes darted as he took in the scene quickly. Just like Harry, he was calm and collected despite the severity of the situation. He nodded, clearly thinking very quickly.

"You are both very lucky to be alive," Snape said simply, then he regarded Harry pensively. "Tend to Granger, Potter. She is in shock. You will both need to stay here. There will be questions."

Harry nodded, understanding. He gathered himself up from the floor, trying to not look at Slughorn's visage. There was nothing he could do. He joined Hermione, wrapping his arms around her trembling body. Her hands clutched at him as she sobbed into his shoulder. He held onto her, watching Snape, his own shock starting to make his thoughts drain out of his head.

"I-is he… dead?" Hermione asked, her question muffled against him. Harry closed his eyes.

"I don't know," he said quietly, "but I think so."

"Oh my God," she moaned against him, sobbing again. He rubbed at her back, but there was nothing he could do or say to make anything better. They both just witnessed a horrific murder… and had they both drank from the same bottle…

They would have died too.

Never in her life had Hermione felt so useless. Crumpled in Harry's strong arms, the horror had completely incapacitated her. Shock sapped at her energy and at her ability to even think. Lost in a fog within her own mind, she just disappeared, diminished into a trembling wreck. Her thoughts were trapped in an endless cycle, playing it over and over again. She couldn't stop thinking about it. She desperately wanted to believe that it had been a horrible nightmare, but she could feel and smell the visceral truth. Her hands were still slightly sticky from where she had desperately shoved the bezoar in Slughorn's gasping mouth. She could smell the stark odours of human waste. All the while, Harry held her close, muttering in her ear that she was okay.

She wasn't okay.

He wasn't okay.

And Slughorn… who had been so animated and alive moments ago was now dead.

She heard low voices, one coming from a distance and one so close, it thrummed through her. Harry's hands came up under her and he helped her stand.

"Hey," he whispered to her, "we're going to the hospital wing, okay? Snape's sent a patronus ahead."

Panicked, Hermione clutched at Harry's waist. Her breathing shallowed. Harry sighed sadly against her, rubbing her back. She didn't understand what was wrong with her.

"I need to take you out of here. Snape's got this now and you need to lie down. We're not any help like this."

She nodded though she didn't understand much of what was going on. She slumped against him, her legs feeling rubbery.

"She is not in any fit state to walk herself, Potter."

"Yeah… I'm going to carry you, okay? Put your around my neck."

It was easy to follow instructions. She hung her arms around his neck as he dipped low, bringing his arms under her. Hermione leaned against him as he held her in his arms, strong and supportive.

Lost in a haze of movement and confusion, she clutched onto Harry like a lifeline. There was a brief moment of vertigo, similar to a portkey, before she was jostling in Harry's arms, tucked tightly against his chest. Her eyes were closed, listening to Harry's heartbeat against her head, pumping fast like a piston.

"She's in shock," Harry said, though he wasn't talking to her. He was talking about her.

"I'm not surprised. Settle her down here, Potter. I'll need to take a look at you as well."

Hermione moaned as her head parted from Harry's warm chest. His arms gently laid her down on something soft and pillowy. A bed. She opened her eyes, soft light spilling inwards. She looked up as a shadow moved over her. Harry. His hands gently cupped her cheeks. Peering past him, her blurred vision began to sharpen, making out the shape of Madame Pomfrey bustling past him. Her face was very drawn and pale.

"I'm fine," Harry said, sounding a little surprised by the fact. He turned, seizing the chair behind him. Hermione blinked, rolling over as she discovered that they were in the Hospital Wing. Harry removed his hands, his brow furrowed, his eyes wide with concern.

How was he so strong?

And why was she so weak?

"Wh-what happened?" She asked, intensely confused.

"You witnessed something very traumatic, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey said sadly, as she helped her to sit up against the pillows. Hermione brought her hands to her face as the image burned in his mind, so vivid, so visceral…

"Oh… oh my God. He's dead… and we nearly died…"

"Sit with her, Potter. I'll fetch a Calming Draught."

Harry nodded, moving to perch on the bed at once. The mattress dipped under his added weight. She could feel her tears against her palms. Harry's hand rubbed her arm.

"H-how are you so calm?" Hermione stuttered out, lowering her hands and looking at him in disbelief.

"I have to be," he said seriously, "and you were amazing, Hermione. It's my fault, dithering when I should have used a summoning charm."

"No, no, don't blame yourself. Your idea was genius, Harry."

He frowned, looking away, a cloud of shame settling over his features. She reached for his hand, grasping it tightly. His jaw clenched, a tell that he was much more shaken up than he was letting on. He was being strong for her sake.

Madame Pomfrey returned with a vial of Calming Draught. Hermione accepted her dose, then witnessed Harry's display of stubbornness as he refused the potion. Madame Pomfrey never took no for an answer and he lost the battle of wills, sipping the potion after some firm bossing around.

The doors to the hospital wing suddenly flew open. Hermione's head snapped around at the same time as Harry's. She let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Professor McGonagall, still in her robes. Her face, ashen with shock, was a further reminder of the seriousness of what had just transpired.

"Minerva… thank Goodness," Madame Pomfrey breathed out in relief herself. "Have you heard…?"

"I have. Severus is handling matters with Saint Mungo's. I sent word to the Ministry. There will be no dusting this under the rug, not when the lives of my students are being threatened."

McGonagall made a beeline for Harry, making him startle a little when she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"I have not had the chance to speak with Severus, but you and Miss Granger were with Horace, yes?"

Harry nodded, glancing back to Hermione.

"There was a get together in his office and we stayed behind. I… needed to ask him for some advice so he opened a bottle of mead. He said that the bottle was meant as a gift to Dumbledore, but he forgot to give it to him. He poured out drinks and he had his first. If… we had drank as well…"

Madame Pomfrey gasped in horror, her hands covering her mouth. Hermione admired Harry even further when he was undeterred, understanding full well that he had to tell McGonagall as much as possible.

"It worked really quickly. He was choking and then… he collapsed and his mouth started to… froth. Hermione tried to help him and I remembered about a bezoar being good for poisons. Hermione summoned one and got it in his mouth."

McGonagall and Pomfrey shared looks, appearing astonished.

"My word, Potter, that was some quick thinking," McGonagall said, clearly impressed.

"I called for Kreacher, you know… the elf that used to serve the Blacks, and asked him to get Snape. I figured he would be best because it was poison."

Harry looked over to Hermione again, his eyes bright with concern. "When he arrived, he took over and I sat with Hermione, but her shock was getting really bad so Snape told me to bring her here."

"And what of Horace?" Professor McGonagall asked, her eyes wide as Harry recounted as much as he could. Harry swallowed then, looking away.

"I don't think it's good, professor. He wasn't breathing and I couldn't feel a pulse. Snape might have done something, but I can't say," he said honestly.

"If he does survive, he will owe the both of you his life," Pomfrey said breathlessly.

"Indeed, their actions were heroic…" McGonagall straightened, her expression stricken. "First the incident at Hogsmeade with Miss Bell, now this. Both cases, Albus appears to be the target. We have a murderer in our midst."

Madame Pomfrey shook her head, horrified. "But how could poison have made it pass all the security checks? All parcels and deliveries are being searched."

"Searched for curses," Harry answered, looking up at them both, "but not poison. Someone… tried to slip me a love potion so it's not the first time something like this has happened. Thankfully, Hermione tipped me off."

McGonagall's shock was swiftly replaced with fury.

"What?" She snapped angrily. "Potter, you should have reported this right away."

"I handled it," he said, suddenly nervous.

"We will discuss this later," she said firmly, causing Harry to gulp, "but it does appear that you are right. There is a glaring hole in our security arrangements and poor Horace paid the price. You both came far too close to being victims as well. This simply cannot go on."

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet, startling all present. A thunderous look entered his gaze as he took a step from the bed and turned around. He was breathing heavily, his jaw tensed as clenched his teeth together. His hands were balled into fists. His furious gaze moved over to McGonagall.

"Finally, does this mean that someone is going to take me seriously now? I told you my suspicions, Professor. It's obvious that Malfoy is up to something fishy. I don't know how he managed to get the necklace to Katie when he wasn't in Hogsmeade, but he could easily have an accomplice. His family's pretty well connected after all. But you can't dismiss this. Dumbledore was the target of both attempts and who do we know who wants him dead. Voldemort."

Madame Pomfrey flinched, but McGonagall didn't even wince as the name punched out of Harry with angered venom. Hermione wanted to defuse Harry before he exploded again, but she started to realise with some surprise that Harry could be onto something.

"Motive, means and opportunity," Hermione murmured under her breath, causing all pairs of eyes to move to her where she was propped up on the bed. "Three things you need to solve a crime. Malfoy has the motive. If he is following in his father's footsteps, he could be doing Voldemort's bidding. We know that he has the means. We saw him in Borgin and Burkes and that's where the necklace was from. Having the bottle of mead poisoned is more complicated, but as Harry said, he could have accomplices. Voldemort has spies everywhere."

"I know how serious it is to make an accusation like this, but what if I'm right, Professor? How many more people are going to get hurt before one of his attempts actually works? All you have to do is check his left bloody arm." Harry pointed dramatically at his own arm. "If he has the Dark Mark, then we know the truth."

"And if you are wrong?"

Harry shrugged, "it doesn't hurt to check. He can have a free shot at me if so."

McGonagall took a deep breath, but she didn't shoot him down as she did before. She glanced between him and Hermione, her brows furrowing.

"We will leave this conversation between us for the time being, Potter. Only because we do not want your suspicions to warn Malfoy if he is indeed responsible. When the Aurors arrive to question you both, do not mention your suspicions either."

Harry sighed with relief, giving McGonagall a tired and rueful smile. He deposited himself in the chair next to Hermione.

"If you plan to stay, Potter, you'll be getting into bed yourself," Madame Pomfrey said to Harry, crossing her arms as she marched up to him. "Up you get."

Harry grumbled something and pushed himself up. "I'm fine."

"That is for me to determine, not you," she said sternly. McGonagall watched the display, her eyes softening as she watched her colleague bully Harry into taking the next bed over. She then looked over to Hermione, sighing.

"Try to get some rest, Miss Granger. While you can. This will be a long night, I fear."