"I remember it as if it was yesterday - oh, how I felt when I was your age ..."

Professor Slughorn merrily smiles at the class from behind his little cauldron, and I almost regret that not even the icy cold of the dungeons stain his chirpy mood in any way.

"Of course, you won't have to put your hands up," he quips, "but surely one or two of you are already in love for the first time?" He chuckles, while most of us look at him bleakly, giggle, or cringe in feigned disgust. "Well, Oscar Wilde, one of my favorite Muggle authors, once said, and I quote: It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love."

I suppose a cynic could argue that said quote was more about ridiculous idolization than romance. Whereby it probably makes no difference in the end.
For a moment there, I do look at Harper, though, and with such pitiful longing at that. It makes me want to curse myself, but she's in my every thought ...

Just as literature. I had found plenty of books by Wilde in the orphanage.
Blessed are those who have nothing to say and still keep their mouths shut. That's a quote of him, as well, yet Slughorn doesn't seem to remember that one in particular.

"Perhaps," he goes on after quite the pause, "from these words you can already guess what today's lesson will be about? Mr McBurney, can you?"

"Sir, Veritaserum?"

"Oh, young friend, no," Slughorn says with an anxious frown. "Have you, in your short years, already been so tricked that all you can think of on the subject of love is a truth serum?"

"Honesty can't hurt, can it?" McBurney retorts, shrugging his shoulders as Slughorn chuckles.

"Why, yes, certainly not," the Professor confirms, "however, let's devote ourselves to something else today. Ms Greene, do you have any ideas you'd like to share?"

Leonora shakes her head hastily. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're getting at, Professor."

Slughorn's glance, from her to Elliott and back, is telling me that he has long suspected more than sympathy in the two of them. Next, however, he begins to smile at Harper.

"What about you, Ms Sullivan? What's your guess?"

"Maybe you're alluding to Amortentia?"

"Excellent!" Slughorn beams. "What do you know about it, my dear?"

"Well, it is, as far as I'm informed, the most powerful known love potion." Slughorn nods for her to continue. "It must be administered regularly. Drinking it will not cause true love, much more an unhealthy form of obsession that has nothing to do with one's own free will."

"Wonderful, ten points to Ravenclaw!" Slughorn says, looking around eagerly. "Does anyone else know anything about this?"

Elliott raises his hand, but he's already talking. "The smell of the liquid is supposed to be irresistible to each individual. At least that's what I've once read ..."

"Correct!" Slughorn nods. "For me, that would be lavender. What would it be for you, Mr Bryant?"

Elliott does some soul-searching for a moment, then it seems to dawn on him. "Probably bacon," he asserts.

That makes even me grin ...

"Mr Riddle!" Slughorn turns around. "What scent could you not resist?"

I will not mention Harper. Yet she truly reminds me of cinnamon, something that calms me quite frequently these days.

"Rain," I say nevertheless. "The smell of purification ..."

"Interesting," Slughorn murmurs before he proceeds to nod. Then, abruptly, he asks, "What ingredients could you imagine in an Amortentia potion, then, Mr Riddle?"

"Eggs of a snake, though not just any snake, it has to be an Ashwinder, rose thorns, peppermint, powdered moonstone as well as pearl dust and rose petals. These should be the main ingredients."

"Excellent, Tom, ten points to Slytherin! Let's get right to it then!"

As Slughorn turns to face the fire under his cauldron, Elliott suddenly pokes me in amusement.

"Come on, what is it with you - when do you study all this?"

I shrug. "I usually only have to read things once."

He whispers, "See? That's exactly why they're already thinking you're going to be the next Minister for Magic, model student."

I give him an irritated glance. "What the hell?"

"Yes!" he whispers. "Believe me, I've heard Dippet say it the other day. They think you're a rare talent and obviously highly gifted. A natural, so to speak."

I raise my eyebrows, shaking my head. "I'm not a desk person …"

Meanwhile Slughorn has digged out a book, and when he turns back to the class he smiles as though we were about to plan a conspiracy.

"If it's just between us," he almost whispers in excitement, "all of you may also take a look at our original recipe for today. It's from a very special book that is not freely available to students." He lifts the tome with its dingy brown cover and winks.

So does Harper as she meets my glance. Moste Potente Potions - the book we have long found quite far to the left and high up on the shelves of the Restricted Section ...

"This shows recipes for very powerful potions," Slughorn explains, "however, it also includes illustrations that are not for the faint of heart."

The book also mentions a recipe for Polyjuice Potion, though it's so tedious to brew that I was tempted to not even try. Harper wanted to, however, so we've been secretly gathering ingredients for some months now.

"Please do find a partner," Slughorn insists. "Shoo, shoo, maybe even a future couple can be found that way?"

"I'll be with Leo then," Elliott says with his cauldron already under his arm – but that's just fine with me as Harper is already looking back in my direction as well.

"Us?" she lip-forms, and I simply wink in response before helping her bring her cauldron and some ingredients to my desk.

In the meantime, Slughorn has the recipe written on the blackboard by an enchanted chalk as he shows the forbidden book around with due caution. He is in good spirits indeed. Until he reaches Harper and me. Because now, he's literally bursting with joy.

"Oh, Ms Sullivan, so you work with Tom?"

Harper nods. "I'm picking up a few tricks from your model student today."

"Quite a wonderful idea," Slughorn says. "Would you like to take a peek at Moste Potente Potions, too?"

"I'd love to, after all I love premieres!" she promises. "Don't you as well, Tom?"

She doesn't make a face, but I hear her thoughts. That it is downright bizarre how we have already read everything from this book …

"Of course I do," I finally say, already looking at the old cover. "Professor, which of the illustrations do you think are not for - what did you say? The faint of heart?"

"Oh, Tom, you really do ask eerie questions sometimes," he remarks almost nervously, even when he really meant to rebuke me.

"And you're always dismayed by my curiosity," I reply. "Though it is never my intention to worry you."

"Of course, sure, Tom." Slughorn waves it off with what's to appear as nonchalance. "Well," he says, beginning to flip through the yellowed pages, "to be honest, I find this drawing quite upsetting."

He hands us the open book, tapping to the bottom half of the left page.

On display is a portrait of a woman, sketched only in black brushstrokes. She looks completely worn out - and her weary gaze is indeed blank - there are no irides or pupils to be seen. Pure white as an absence of color, soon to be worse than dreary gray.

"The potion you're about to brew is very powerful," Slughorn finally explains, sighing. "It's a pity, you know. What could be such a happy little water ends up bringing misery to everyone involved. You see ..." He struggles with his wording, obviously not wanting to say anything that might scare Harper. "Tom, I bet you are already familiar with the Unforgivable Curses."

"I am, Professor."

"And you, Ms Sullivan?"

She smiles like a saint. "I've heard of them."

Slughorn nods almost fatherly. "I almost thought so, my dear. Well ..." He's drawing in a deep breath, then he takes heart in formulating his thought as mindfully as possible. "Amortenia does indeed, as Ms Sullivan mentioned earlier, make you will-less. It's basically akin to an Imperius curse in that respect, although the term 'love potion' may imply a little more ... well, kindness ... by the euphemistic wording."

"And yet, any thought of romance notwithstanding," I continue to think aloud, "there's nothing kind about it."

"Indeed, Tom, that is true. Every touch, every kiss - nothing but forced ... Unthinkable where such a spell might end, especially since it develops a truly gruesome aftertaste."

"Thank you for showing us the book, Professor." Harper nods thoughtfully. "As you know, Tom and I share a high enthusiasm for broad, academic topics. And a book like this rarely finds its way into the classroom."

Slughorn sighs. "Well, I think that's a bit of a shame. I mean, only those who know about the dangers of this world can arm themselves against them."

"Your approach to teaching is refreshingly practical." She smiles. "Which is not to say, of course, that I'd ever pour any of our brew into Tom's tea."

Slughorn laughs softly. "Ms Sullivan, I don't think that is required to succeed in any of your endeavors, but speaking of which - I really must compliment you. The other day the choir sang just as beautiful as ever."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll pass your compliments on to Madam Rashlay and the others."

"Do so, do so," he insists. "And now you'll have to rap Tom's knuckles if he intends to use too many thorns, yes?"

"I will," she giggles as Slughorn moves on with his forbidden book.

"Not to let any of your aspirations go to waste," I reuse Slughorn's idea, turning to Harper with a wry smile, "I don't drink tea."

"Neither Butterbeer." She mimes great regret. "Then how am I supposed to do it?"

"You'll have to be creative," I say as I search for the Ashwinder eggs among our ingredients. "You might want to sneak into the dungeons at night and -"

"And what? Administer some of this to you while you're asleep? I don't think it'll do me much good anymore if you choke on it."

"Possibly not," I agree with her. "You have a remarkably sober view of the crucial facts."

"I do. Which is why you should stop talking and turn the pearls into dust."

"Maybe you'd like to finally fire up the cauldron?"

"You could've done that as well," she mocks, winking. "Help yourself."

"Excuse me?" I grin. "I had to philosophize about the dialectic of good and evil with Slughorn, that -"

"Tom, help," Elliott suddenly whimpers behind me, looking hurriedly at Slughorn, who is busy elsewhere with students and his book. "What do I have to do with the pearls? They won't dissolve."

I look at him in irritation. "You just ... put them in the cauldron nevertheless, didn't you?"

Elliott nods. "The whole bunch, yeah. A lot goes a long way."

I take a deep breath.

"Not good?"

"You need them dusty."

"The whole pearl doesn't do it?"

"No," I say. "Ell, the recipe is on the board, see?"

"Leo's distracting me," he purrs, equally as agonized as euphoric. "I can see us getting married and having kids."

"Oh, so you're going to make yourselves immortal?" Harper asks smugly, giving me a sideways glance.

"Why not, yes," Elliott beams. "That's a nice phrase for it, I think. Thank goodness my family isn't so fond of their blood status. That jerk Partridge, I'm sure his parents would throw him right out the door ..."

"Wait a minute," Harper says quietly, "over a connection to a muggle-born witch?"

Elliott nods and rolls his eyes. "Yes, some people still get awfully fancy about it. We have a few candidates in Slytherin in particular who think they're magical nobility. Whereas the family tree of these people is probably a circle, similar to the royal houses of the Muggles. So you probably can't even blame them for being that narrow-minded."

"So cynical?" I ask Elliott skeptically.

"I got that from you," he remarks, winking. "In return for my fine sense of humor ..."

"You'd better joke your way back to your cauldron," I say, "Slughorn sees you in about a second."

Hastily he nods and steals back to Leonora.

"So blood is really still an issue in Slytherin?" Harper looks at me in utter disbelief.

"Yes, it is," I answer her. "Why?"

She begins to smile, pretty vaguely so.

"What, ask the question you want to ask, Harper."

"Well – what do you think about it?"

"Me? What am I supposed to think about it? I can hardly develop a proper sense of arrogance in this regard if I don't know my parents, wouldn't you agree. I have no idea what I'm made of myself."

She hesitates, but still let's me know, "My parents are No-Majs."

"Isn't that what they call it in the United States?"

She nods. "Yes, but most of my family is from the US. They live in Maryland. My old great uncle and a distant cousin also have magic in their blood, so the family has known that there are two worlds for generations. Still, that makes me a mudblood."

I would have bet everything on the assumption of Harper being a pure blood. This is more than interesting ...

"Why do you use that pejorative yourself?" I wonder.

"So it doesn't hurt that much when others do it." Her look is strangely challenging. "A nihilist like you probably wouldn't understand."

"Ow." Playfully hurt, I clasp my hand to my heart. "Didn't you claim I was empathetic the other day?"

"I never claimed that," she says, "I only said you weren't cold-blooded."

Her tense features give way to a wave of emotion. "You know," she sighs, "that's kind of … a sore point. I never talk about it, hardly anyone knows."

"Why?"

"Are you serious?" She's staring at me for a few heartbeats. "What's not to understand about that? My parents are the kindest people from here to Baltimore, fascinated by magic and infinitely proud of me – and yet in our world there are lunatics who look down on them as though they were animals."

"Well, you can't deny the world of magic holds the advantage."

"Obviously," she retorts indignantly, "but does that increase it's worth? No sorcerer had ever thought as deep as Einstein! And without Edison, we'd still all be in the dark, despite our wands!"

"Or we'd be saying Lumos Maxima." Before she can get completely mad, I hastily follow up, "Excuse me, I know what you're getting at. And I owe your parents some gratitude after all."

She screws up her face, looking at me. "Why?"

"Because of you," I say, turning back to the thorns. "If it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be here."

"Oh." She nods. "Then I guess I'm grateful to your parents, too."

I look up bleakly. "Well, that makes at least one soul on this side of hell then."

"Tom, you didn't know them. Why do you hate them so much?"

"I don't."

She hesitates. Because what could she possibly return? Eventually, though, she asks, "Do you see me in a different light now? As a mudblood?"

"Don't say that again," I admonish her somewhat absently as I measure boiling water. "And don't be ashamed of it. The blood in your veins has made you a talented witch. Obviously." I look up from my measuring cup for a moment. "Now, on the other hand, look at Partridge. Ell's right, his family tree is a circle. On good days, at most, he's holding his wand the right way up. His pure blood seems to be of quite limited use."

She looks at me with relief, then she sighs wistfully. "Haven't you ever tried to find out more about your roots?"

"No," I casually say.

"Shall we do some research together sometime?"

"No. Not about that."

With a fair amount of disappointment, she stirs the liquid in our cauldron, then looks at me with wide eyes again, as if that might convince me.

"No," I firmly repeat. "Let sleeping dogs lie."

"All right, well ... Less thorns, model student."

"Huh?"

"Slughorn predicted you'd overdo it." She points to the pile of thorns I was about to push off the wooden board into the cauldron.

"I guess Slughorn chose Divination as an elective, too."

She grimaces and laughs to herself. "You must always have the last word ..."

"Must is such a stretchy term …"

"See? That's exactly what I mean."