Before breakfast the next morning, Harry and Ron met Hermione and me, hoping for some moral support on their theory about Draco. Harry told Hermione and me what he'd overheard Draco say on the Hogwarts Express.
"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" interjected Ron 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—"
"You guys were right," I muttered sadly.
None of them were able to answer as people were trying to listen into our conversation, not to mention staring at Harry and whispering behind their hands.
"Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners?" I snapped, yelling at no one in particular. People around us scurried off to their own corners or out the portrait hole.
"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," Ron chuckled.
"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" said Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.
"Yeah, but not today," said Ron. "Today's going to be a real doss, I reckon."
"Come on," I mumbled.
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 we tucked into oatmeal and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron told Hermione and me about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening about us not taking Cares this term.
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 our 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.
I was cleared to continue Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, but had to verify my other classes. Professor McGonagall allowed me to continue taking Charms and Transfiguration because my written exam was perfect and I showed "great promise" in the practicals. Like Hermione, I went off to Ancient Runes.
An hour later, I waited with Hermione for Harry and Ron outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When they arrived, Hermione complained about a load of homework and readings we had to do by Wednesday. Ron didn't even pretend to care, earning a glare from Hermione.
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.
"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 mine than anyone else's– even Harry's.
"I'd like to start off the class by addressing something I have heard being floated around the castle," Snape began.
Oh no.
"It has come to my attention that there is a rumour claiming—" his eyes snapped to me "—that Miss Charlotte Harring is my daughter."
The room instantly felt heavier than it did before. Although I didn't feel the eyes of my classmates watching me, I knew they wanted to look at me. Everyone kept their attention on Snape as he spoke, acknowledging me.
"Although that is true," Snape admitted. "I will hear no more of this. And to not worry anyone of favouritism, I will be especially hard on Miss Harring nonetheless. Any questions?"
No one raised their hands or even moved.
"Good. Now, onto the class. . ." he began. "—one partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."
A reasonable amount of cheating happened; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel my 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.
Huffing in annoyance, I switched partners with Ron. Harry had his wand raised, waiting to repel a jinx from me that never came. No matter how hard I tried, nothing would come out unless I mumbled. No amount of frustration or anger helped my situation. And Snape certainly did not help when he called me out.
"Pathetic, Charlotte. I expect better," said Snape, after a while. "Here— let me show you—"
He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; seemed as though all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"
His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.
"Do you remember me telling you we are practising nonverbal spells, Potter?"
"Yes," said Harry stiffly.
"Yes, sir."
"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor."
Several people gasped, including me; behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.
"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter... not even 'the Chosen One.' "
An hour and a half later, Snape dismissed us; but told me to stay put. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione gave me sympathetic looks, they got to leave while I was stuck with Snape.
"Yes?" I asked once the last person left.
"How did people find out you're my daughter?" Snape said hastily.
"Professor, I don't know why people think I'm your daughter, or why you said I was to the class," I tried to keep my composure.
"You are my daughter no matter how much you want to deny it."
"Genetically, but you're not my father!" I said, not caring if it hurt or was rude. "If I'm not mistaken, you are the one who gave me away—"
"To protect you! Now, I'm trying to—"
"I know things," I narrowed my eyes at him, cutting him off.
"Like?" Snape walked towards me, daring me to tell him.
My eyes flickered to his arm quickly and I looked back up to his face.
"You know exactly what I'm referring to and for you to think otherwise is stupid—"
"Regardless of you not accepting me as your father, I am your teacher, you will show me respect or I will take away House—"
"You think I care about House points or detention?" I scoffed. "I care about finding out why you feel the need to claim me as your daughter now, despite the fact that I already have a dad– and it's not you."
"If I'm not mistaken, your dad is fathering a three-year-old right now while you sit there rejecting me, trying to claim to be an orphan," he raised his voice as he neared me.
I stood up from my chair and glared at him, "well, for your information the most I'm here the more I forget my past life— including my actual father."
He stayed silent and I scoffed, "so what is your end game, Dad?"
My eyes must have been playing a trick on me; Snape's face flickered between sadness and anger, before returning to its cold repose.
"Charlotte, I simply just want to protect you. That is my start, during, and end game," his voice was rid of all anger and was soft, not matching his poker face. "Hiding you from this world was the only way I thought I could protect you. And now, I will protect you from other students and people who want to hurt you, even if that means everyone knows I'm your father!"
"I can protect myself thank you very much," I snapped, not accepting his explanation.
"Yes, you showed great promise in today's lesson," his voice cold again.
The bell rang, signalling, the next period had begun.
"Go to your next class and try to not disappoint your Professor."
Grabbing my bag, I gave Snape a sarcastic bow and said, "Sorry to disappoint, Dad."
As I made my way to the common room for a break, people stared at me as I walked past; whether it be the angry look on my face or Snape's proclamation, people didn't hesitate to stare.
"Dilligrout!" I shouted at the poor Fat Lady Portrait. I stomped into the common room, earning confused looks from onlookers.
"What did Snape call you back for?" Hermione asked softly.
"To basically tell me I'm a disappointment of a daughter and yell at me for thinking otherwise," I huffed throwing myself onto the chair.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione give me a puzzled look. Seeing as I didn't want to talk with others around, Hermione and Ron took it upon themselves to yell for the underclassmen to either leave or go to their rooms. Afraid of another outburst, they quickly obliged.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Hermione asked again.
"Basically he said he's reclaiming me as his daughter to protect me against students and others– most likely Death Eaters– and when I said I was capable of protecting myself, he told me that today's lesson showed otherwise and said to not disappoint my other Professors as well," I rambled.
"That was rude," she huffed.
Harry decided to change the subject once he saw how eager I was to talk about Snape. Soon enough, Hermione and I left to go to our Arithmancy class. Then when Hermione and I joined them for our after-lunch free period, I saw how little homework Harry and Ron had done. We had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.
The dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As we filed into the room, his great walrus moustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry, Zabini, and me with particular enthusiasm.
The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapours and odd smells. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me to share a table with Ernie. We chose the one nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents I had ever inhaled: somehow it reminded me simultaneously of Apple Danishes, burning lumber, and the soft forest scent of pine trees. I found myself breathing very slowly and deeply, smelling the potion's wonderful fumes.
"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapours. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making!
"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 indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. I looked up to see a cauldron with, what looked like, boiling water.
Hermione's well-practised hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her.
"It's Veritaserum, a colourless, odourless 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.
"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said.
"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here... 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 mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.
"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 us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and... spearmint."
But she turned slightly pink as she completed the sentence.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.
"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 Muggleborn, you see."
I saw Draco lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered. I narrowed my eyes at Draco who no longer looked in our direction.
"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?" Professor Slughorn said, referring to what Harry had said about Hermione during our lunch invite.
"Yes, sir," said Harry.
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.
As the class progressed, Slughorn continued to explain what every potion meant. Once he got to the cauldron next to our table, he started to explain Amortentia.
"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. The fragrance you smell of the potion is what attracts you the most. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Draco and Nott, both of whom were smirking sceptically. "You, with the white hair..."
"Draco Malfoy," Draco sat higher in his chair.
"Alright," Slughorn nodded. "Draco, what is the fragrance you smell from the Amortentia Potion?"
Draco sniffed around a bit, looking much like a dog, and smiled softly, "It smells like rain, apples, and lilies."
"How beautiful," Slughorn gushed.
Slughorn then instructed up to begin brewing our potion of the day: Drought of Living Death. A complex potion, it was difficult to do. We were given an hour and a half to complete our potions. With only ten minutes left, my potion had turned from a dark pink to pale pink, slowly becoming clearer and clearer.
"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, who was redfaced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.
"I added a clockwise stir to—"
"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped.
"Oh," I frowned, looking down at my cauldron, "I must have misread." Looking over to my potions book, the words swirled on the page and I read 'counterclockwise' instead of clockwise as I had previously seen.
Hermione groaned and continued stirring her mixture faster, trying to beat the time. Harry's cauldron looked similar to mind while Ron's potion looked like tar.
"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 Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ernie, and I were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's 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.
"Beautiful!" he cried to the dungeon. Quickly looking at mine, he squealed like a little girl. "We have a tie! Excellent, excellent, Harry and Charlotte! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent, Harry' She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! And you—" he turned to me "—just as your father, our previous Potion's master! Great joy, great joy! Good thing I had an extra vial! Here you are, both of you, one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"
Slughorn handed both of us a tiny little bottle of golden liquid luck. Harry quickly slipped it into his pocket when I held it still in shock over his comment.
"How did you do that?" Ron whispered to Harry as we left the dungeon.
"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry loudly as Draco passed us.
"Lottie?"
"She seemed to have been lucky," Hermione huffed.
Once we were secured at the Gryffindor table for dinner, Hermione looked as if she were about to explode.
"Everything okay, Hermione?" I asked timidly.
"No! Harry, he– Why did you not listen to the instructions in the book?" she huffed.
"I s'pose you think I cheated?" said Harry, aggravated by her expression.
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly.
"He only followed different instructions to ours," said Ron. "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off."
He 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," Ginny said as she joined us. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"
She looked alarmed and angry.
"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?"
"Hermione you're being so ridiculous about—"
Hermione pulled Harry's 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. Charlotte, any ideas?"
I racked my brain to think of anything but the only thing in my mind was Death Eaters, "no, sorry. . ."
"Good. Then I'll have it back," said Harry, snatching it off the table, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor.
I bent over and picked up to book and read the small script phrase on the cover that had been opened:
This Book is Property of the Half-Blood Prince.