—— ϟ ——
The next morning after having a talk with Professor Flitwick who sat at his chair while Noel complained about how horrible he is to her he gave a small laugh and guided her to the Great Hall. Used to Noel and her tangent rants he let her talk until and passed her the times table.
"I don't know how many of my students who will be taking this many N.E.W.T.s this year but no matter you know my classroom is open for free rage rooms."
Noel puffed out her cheeks and stalked away, ignoring his laugh. She bumped into Lucy along the way who's hair was a mess, "Lucy, your hair, lovely." She said, giving the girl a sympathetic smile.
"My roommates said I was late! I freaked out." Lucy said, trying to flatten her hair. Noel laughed quietly, "I could plait it for you, I have time." Noel said, checking her watch. She sat Lucy down, and while she ate, Noel braided her hair into two dutch braids. Once finished, Noel patted her head and went to sit down with Harry who had just entered.
While they ate the two boys told them a conversation they had with Hagrid the previous night regarding his class. Apparently neither Ron, Harry nor Hermione were taking his class this year.
"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures!" she said, looking distressed. "I mean, when have any of us expressed... you know... any enthusiasm?"
"That's it, though, innit?" said Ron, 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 stupid subject. D'you reckon anyone's going to go on to N.E.W.T.?"
Noel choked on her tea and gasped as Harry rubbed her back. He looked at her worriedly, Noel gasped for a breath. "What happened?" He frowned.
"Nothing," she said hastily, "I'm taking N.E.W.T. Care of Magical Creatures."
Hermione and Harry looked at her in disbelief. "You! You've always complained about his teaching!" Hermione cried out.
"I know! But Flitwick said I needed it. I– I was kind of hoping for Hagrid to not teach it this year... I feel like I'm setting myself up to be honest but it's too late to drop it now."
"What career did you choose?" Hermione asked.
"I didn't. That's why I'm taking all my N.E.W.T.s. Options and all that." Noel gestured vaguely, taking Harry's strawberries.
"You didn't– how could you not choose!" Hermione said, she looked like an exasperated mother.
"I'm joining the Order and if I even live I don't want to immediately jump into anything. C'mon Hermione I'll be eighteen. I wanna explore, see what the world has to offer. You know, visit Spain, Greece, Italy, Brazil, Mexico..." Noel smiled.
"I heard that New Zealand is beautiful." Harry said, giving her an encouraging smile.
Hermione looked between the two and the smile she was trying to fight, broke its way through her face. "Maybe we could visit the Philippines while we're at it."
Noel beamed and clapped her hands excitedly. "My grandpa loved traveling, he told me he went to the Netherlands and Switzerland when he was working for the Ministry."
Hermione looked like she wanted to ask more but Professor Mcgonagall had stopped behind them to hand them their times table, it took a bit more time because she had to regard their O.W.L. results.
"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." She looked at Ron and gave him his rundown on subjects as well. When she caught Noel's eyes McGongall gave her a curt nod, "Congratulations on Head Girl Miss Lupin, I expect your father to be proud."
"Yeah, although he was hoping I would cause just a little bit of mischief."
"Yes, well, Professor Flitwick and I hoped that you would turn out like your mother in that regard." Professor McGonagall moved on to her next student. Noel blinked in surprise, her mouth falling a little. Shaking the comment off, she stood up, bid the two good-bye and left for her first lesson.
After an uneventful charms class, Noel made her ways towards Defense Against the Darks Arts. Peering inside the classroom she looked around confused to see some sixth years. Looking down at her times table she notices that it would be a class with sixth and seventh years, (probably because Umbride was inadequate and didn't teach anything valuable last year.)
Walking in and taking a seat, Noel peered around the room and noticed that 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 they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.
"I've missed having a class together, who else am I supposed to gossip with?" Theo whispered, having sat next to her. Noel laughed through her nose, she gave him a small smile, "I know, last year was dreadful without having you mutter to me how annoying Vincint is."
The two snickered, immediately falling silent when Snape walked in. "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."I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."
His eyes lingered on someone behind Noel and very discreetly she turned to look who it was. Coincidentally, Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione. He briefly caught her eye, sending her a wink.
"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. 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 much more advanced." Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "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."
"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 the ground.
"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil 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, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. "... you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"
Noel and Hermione both raised their hands, but because Noel was Noel he chose Hermione, although very reluctantly.
"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 to 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.
"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."
Noel and Theo partnered up of course and the two set off. "You've been practicing?" Theo asked her.
"Of course I have. Have you?"
"We'll see how well I do."
A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, 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, Snape however had ignored her.
Just a few seconds later, Noel disarmed Theo and his wand went flying towards her.
Looking at his ivory wand in surprise she gave a small hum of acknowledgment and handed it back to him.
Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.
"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here — let me show you —"
He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; 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 practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"
"Yes," said Harry stiffly.
"Yes, sir."
"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor."
The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying.
Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively. Noel bit her lip and prayed that her face wasn't as hot as she felt it was. Harry noticed of course and felt satisfaction swimming in him knowing that he was the one that got that reaction out of her.
His thoughts were quickly interrupted however when Snape sneered at him. "Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter...not even 'the Chosen One.' "
After a quick make out session in a broom closet, Harry joined Ron and Hermione down to potions.
When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Nott and three other Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.
"Harry," Ernie said portentously, 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 they could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.
The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons.
The four Slytherins took a table together, (Theo very reluctantly,) as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and hibiscus flowers.
"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 Ron 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 indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.
Hermione's well-practiced 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 con- tinued, 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 —" But she turned slightly pink and did not complete 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 Muggle-born, you see."
"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?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You are the best in the year — I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"
Hermione smiled but made a "shhing" gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.
"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 Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; 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. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "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!"
"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 Terry Boot eagerly.
"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. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.
"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 sur- rounding 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 them 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 competitions...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!
"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win my 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.
After a while of cutting, stirring and a bit of exasperation Slughorn called the time. "And time's... up!" he called. "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, and Ernie 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.
"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, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.
"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.
"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.
Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.
"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, 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," said a voice close by Harry's left ear and he looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"
She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.
"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, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor.
Nobody else was looking. Harry bent low to retrieve the book, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs.
This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.