Book: Courage
Chapter 83
Word Count: 7583
When they arrived at the castle and hurried to take their places at the Gryffindor table, Layla looked for Harry. But Harry was not there.
"Hermione," she said, turning to her best friend, "where's Harry?"
"I don't know," Hermione said anxiously. "He didn't make our carriage. I thought maybe he was with you or Professor Slughorn, but..."
Layla followed Hermione's gaze to the staff table, where Slughorn was chatting animatedly with Professor Dumbledore. It suddenly seemed very odd that an Auror had been waiting at Hogsmeade Station, wondering where Harry was. She and Hermione shared an anxious look.
"Parvati has asked me to sit with her, Lavender, Dean, and Seamus," Ginny told Layla. "Are you going to sit with us, Lay?"
"Not tonight, I don't think," said Layla. "Probably tomorrow morning."
"Okay," Ginny then went and sat beside Seamus while Layla sat with Ron and Hermione.
The first years entered, the Sorting Hat sang it's song, the first years were sorted, and the feast began, but throughout it all, Layla and Hermione simply stared at the main entrance to the Great Hall, willing Harry to enter.
Dinner had almost ended and Harry had yet to appear; Hermione was almost standing at the table, anxiously scanning the hall. Ron grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back into her seat.
"He'll be here soon," he said, and returned to eating his chicken. Hermione picked up her copy of Advanced Potion Making and smacked him on the arm. "Ow! What was that for?" demanded Ron.
"Will you stop eating?" Hermione nearly shouted. "Your best friend is missing!"
Layla found she had to agree with Hermione, but Ron simply nodded towards the main doors to the Great Hall and said, "Turn around, you lunatic!"
Harry had arrived, and he was approaching the Gryffindor table, looking perturbed and with congealed blood all over his nose.
"He's covered in blood again," said Layla. "Why is it he's always covered in blood?"
"Well, it looks like it's his own this time," Ron offered helpfully. Hermione smacked him again as Harry sat down at the table beside Layla, opposite Ron and Hermione.
"Where've you — blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron, goggling at Harry along with everyone else in the vicinity.
"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.
"You're covered in blood!" said Hermione.
"Here—" Layla raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood.
"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose looking?"
"Normal," Layla chuckled.
"Why shouldn't it?" said Hermione anxiously. "Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"
"I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly.
"But—" said Hermione.
"Not now, Hermione," said Harry, in a darkly significant voice as dinner disappeared from the table to be replaced with pudding.
"You missed the Sorting," said Layla, as Ron dived for a large chocolate gateau.
"Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.
"More of the same, really," Layla shrugged, "advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know."
"Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?"
"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast doesn't he? It can't be long now."
"Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast—"
"You've seen Snape? How come?" said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.
"Bumped into him," said Harry evasively.
"Hagrid was only a few minutes late," said Hermione. "Look, he's waving at you, Harry."
Harry looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed waving at him.
"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Layla asked.
"To know what really happened at the Ministry." said Harry.
"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione. "People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?"
"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen One'."
"Zacharias Smith was asking Ginny about it," said Layla. "Good thing she hexed him. He's very annoying."
"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head toward Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"
"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed.
"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air and glided back toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.
"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.
"What happened to his hand?"whispered Layla.
She was not the only one who had noticed.
Dumbledore's right hand was blackened and dead-looking. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.
"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..."
"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry whispered to Layla. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."
"It looks as if it's died," said Layla.
"...and Mr Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise. We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn" — Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table into shadow — "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."
"Potions?"
"Potions?"
The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.
"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare Harry. "But you said—"
"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction.
"But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.
"I thought he was!" said Harry.
Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up his mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table.
"Well, there's one good thing," Harry said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."
"What do you mean?" asked Layla.
"That job's jinxed. No ones lasted more than a year... Quirrell actually died doing it," said Harry.
"I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death..." Layla commented.
"Layla!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.
"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," said Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Layla, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.
"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength." The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. "I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."
Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.
"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"
With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Harry had bent down to tie his shoelaces. Ron and Hermione darted ahead to fulfill their prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Layla remained with Harry.
"What really happened to your nose?" she asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else.
"Malfoy. I tried to spy on him in the train using my invisibility cloak but he caught me. Kicked my nose in for good measure, I suppose," said Harry quietly.
"I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose," Layla said darkly.
"Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry. "Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there..."
So, Harry explained to Layla every last detail about what Draco had said about a mission he apparently had to fulfill and how important it was.
"Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson," said Layla. "What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him? He's sixteen."
"How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be the first—"
"I wish yeh'd stop sayin' tha' name, Harry," said a reproachful voice behind them. Layla and Harry both turned to see Hagrid shaking his head.
"Dumbledore uses that name," said Harry stubbornly
"Yeah, well, tha's Dumbledore, innit?" said Hagrid mysteriously. "So how come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried."
"Got held up on the train," said Harry. "Why were you late?"
"I was with Grawp," said Hagrid happily. "Los' track o' the time. He's got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin' a good chat."
"Really?" said Layla, surprised. The last time she had met Hagrid's half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up trees by the roots, his vocabulary had comprised five words, two of which he was unable to pronounce properly.
"Oh yeah, he's really come on," said Hagrid proudly. "Yeh'll be amazed. I'm thinkin' o' trainin' him up as me assistant. Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!"
Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the doors into the darkness.
Layla and Harry looked at each other. Layla could tell that Harry was experiencing the same sinking feeling as her.
"You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?"
Harry shook his head.
"And you're not either, are you?"
Layla shook her head too.
"Neither is Ron and Hermione," said Layla.
Exactly what Hagrid would say when he realized his four favorite students had given up his subject, she did not like to think.
Layla and Hermione met Harry and Ron in the common room before breakfast next morning. Harry told Ron and Hermione the same thing he had told Layla the night before about Draco.
"He was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" said Ron.
"Exactly," said Layla. "That's what I said."
"Well," Hermione said uncertainly, "I don't know. It would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is... but that's a big lie to tell..."
"Exactly," said Harry.
"It's rude to point," Layla snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm. Layla sniggered. "I love being a sixth year."
"And we're going to be getting free time this year," added Ron enthusiastically. "Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax."
"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 loss, I reckon."
"Hold it!" said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. "Fanged Frisbees banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.
"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these."
Hermione's remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron's remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.
The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Layla and Harry told Ron and Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.
"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures!" Hermione said, looking distressed. "I mean, when has 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'ya reckon anyone's going to go on to N.E.W.T.?"
The others didn't answer; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. They avoided Hagrid's eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.
After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.
Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L results.
"Herbology, fine," she said. "Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an 'Outstanding' O.W.L. And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with 'Exceeds Expectations'. But the problem is Transfiguration. I'm sorry, Longbottom, but an 'Acceptable' really isn't good enough to continue to N.E.W.T. level. Just don't think you'd be able to cope with the coursework."
Neville hung his head. Professor McGonagall peered at him through her square spectacles.
"Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I've never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it."
Neville looked miserable and muttered something about "my grandmother wants."
"Hmph," snorted Professor McGonagall. "It's high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have — particularly after what happened at the Ministry."
Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.
"I'm sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms however — why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?"
"My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option," mumbled Neville.
"Take Charms," said Professor McGonagall, "and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless."
Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.
Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.
"He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year," said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. "The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney."
Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.
"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."
Professor McGonagall then turned to Layla, looking over her timetable.
"Yes, yes, yes... very good grades, Miss Lupin. I was pleasantly surprised with your 'Exceeds Expectations' grade in Transfiguration. I know that you struggled in my class in earlier years, but I am pleased to see that you are getting the hang of it. You are cleared for all of your chosen classes. Keep up the good work, Miss Lupin," Professor Mcgonagall then handed the schedule back to a grinning Layla.
A few minutes later, Ron was cleared of his subjects, and he left the table with Layla and Harry.
"Look," said Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, "we've got a free period now... and a free period after break... and after lunch... excellent."
They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell.
"I thought you'd get that, well done," she called over, pointing at the Captains badge on Harry's chest. "Tell me when you call trials!"
"Don't be stupid," said Harry, "you don't need to try out, I watched you play for five years..."
"You mustn't start off like that," she said warningly. "For all you know, there's someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends..."
Layla and Ron both looked a little uncomfortable. Layla wasn't too offended or worried, knowing that she was a genuinely good player and had been on the team since third year. Ron, however, had began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry.
An hour later, they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.
"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously when Harry, Layla, and Ron joined her. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"
"I'm sure you'll be fine," said Layla. "It's you, 'Mione. You'll get all of it done in no time."
"You wait," Hermione said. "I bet Snape gives us loads."
The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.
"Inside," he said.
Layla looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.
"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention. 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 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."
Layla stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?
"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" — he indicated a few of them as he swept past — "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" — he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony — "feel the Dementor's Kiss" — a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall — "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" — a bloody mass upon ground.
"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Layla couldn't help but ask. "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?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well — Miss Granger?"
"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," said Hermione, "which gives you a split-second advantage."
"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Draco sniggered), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spellcasting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some lack. You will now divide 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."
Layla and Hermione had partnered up and, of course, the two girls had been the first to both cast jinxes and shields wordlessly after only ten minutes. A feat that would surely have earned them twenty points for Gryffindor each from any reasonable teacher, but which Snape ignored.
"Protego!" someone suddenly yelled, causing Layla to spin around.
There, she saw Harry with his wand raised. Snape, who'd had his wand raised right at Harry, was knocked off-balance and hit a desk from the force of Harry's shielding charm. 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."
Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively. Layla had to ball her hand into a fist and bite down on her knuckles to stop herself from bursting out in a fit of laughter.
"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter... not even 'the Chosen One.'"
"That was brilliant, Harry!" grinned Layla, once they were safely on their way to break a short while later.
"You really shouldn't have said it," said Hermione. "What made you?"
"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" fumed Harry. "I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff—"
"Well," said Hermione, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."
"Like me?"
"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts — well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"
"Harry! Hey, Harry!"
Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward the four of them, holding a roll of parchment.
"For you," panted Sloper. "Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"
"I'm not sure yet," said Harry. "I'll let you know."
"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend—"
But the four friends were already walking away. As Harry unravelled the roll of parchment, Layla couldn't help but read the words over Harry's shoulder.
Dear Harry,
I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.
"He enjoys Acid Pops?" said Layla.
"It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study," said Harry in a low voice. "Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased... I won't be able to do his detention!"
Layla left her friends at break to go and hang out with Dean, where they mainly made out. Once break was over, Dean left to go to Arithmancy, whereas Layla had a free period again. She stayed on the sofa — where she and Dean had just been locking lips moments before — and started Snape's homework, eventually joined by Harry and Ron, who also begrudgingly began the homework. Hermione soon joined them for their after-lunch free period. They had only just finished their homework when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.
When they arrived in the corridor, they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Draco. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan.
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, Layla, and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.
The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Layla, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws, so Harry, Layla, Ron, and Hermione were able to find a table together, too. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Layla had ever inhaled. Somehow it reminded her simultaneously of pine, broomstick wax, and that comforting dusty smell that she always smelt when she was at the Burrow. She found that she was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling her up like a drink.
"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. Layla raised herself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it. Realizing what it was, she raised her hand. Slughorn pointed at her.
"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," said Layla.
"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 then raised her hand.
"lt'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, "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 person 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."
Layla saw Draco lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.
"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry.
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially. "Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Draco and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."
"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie 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. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"
"It's liquid luck," said Hermione excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"
The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Layla could see of Draco was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.
"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 Layla.
"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. "And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."
There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.
"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to 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 this fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"
There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Layla saw Draco rifling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Draco really wanted that lucky day. Layla bent swiftly over her book.
Bending low to decipher the ingredients, Layla hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what she needed. As she dashed back to her cauldron, she saw Draco cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.
Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the 'smooth, black currant-colored liquid' mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.
Layla finished chopping her roots and next tried to cut up the sopophorous bean.
"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?"
Layla looked up; Slughorn was just passing the Slytherin table.
"Yes," said Slughorn, without looking at Draco, "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age."
And he walked away.
Layla bent back over her cauldron, failing to suppress her amused smile. She could tell that Draco had expected to be treated like Harry, Layla, or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Draco would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.
The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. The bean kept moving and rolling around in front of her, and Layla had trouble keeping it still. She quickly looked around to see if anybody else had managed to cut the bean and noticed that Harry had pressed the flat side of his knife to the bean and had crushed it. It seemed to be effective as Harry's sopophorous bean exuded the juice immediately.
"I don't think you're meant to crush it," Layla told Harry, causing him to glance at her. "The instructions tell you to cut it."
"Not in my book," Harry grinned proudly. Layla glanced helplessly down at her own bean, frowning in thought. "Here, I can help," Harry offered, walking closer to Layla until their arms brushed against each other's, sending a shiver through Layla's entire body. Harry then grabbed Layla's knife from her hand, their fingers also brushing against one another's, and proceeded to crush her sopophorous bean. As the juice immediately spilled out of it, Harry scooped it up and dumped it into Layla's cauldron, causing the potion to turn into the lilac colour that it was supposed to.
"Oh," said Layla, surprised. She turned to smile gratefully at Harry. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Harry replied happily, returning to his own cauldron.
Layla turned back to her potions book and glanced at the next instruction. She had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. So, she began to stir it counterclockwise, though it didn't turn clear. Instead, the potion had dimmed to a pale pink.
"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione. Layla glanced at her. Hermione was red-faced, her hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron, and she was staring at Harry's potion with envy, which was going clearer and clearer with every stir.
"Add a clockwise stir—"
"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped.
Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing.
"Nice work," Layla praised Harry, "though I swear you're just making up your own instructions."
"You're just jealous," Harry teased playfully, continuing to stir his potion until it was crystal clear.
"You wish," Layla shot back, a smile appearing on her face as she stirred her potion counterclockwise. It still had not turned clear yet.
Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Layla glanced around. As far as she could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as Harry's had. She wanted to know how he was so good at the very complicated potion.
"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, Layla, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Layla's pale pink concoction and gave it a little stir, nodding at the work. Hermione's potion, he also 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!"
Hermione looked disappointed, Ron looked simply dumbfounded, and Layla was simply staring at Harry with a smile of complete awe. It was the first time Harry had beaten her in potions and she was thoroughly impressed.
"How did you do that?" Ron whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.
"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry.
Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, Harry's response changed.
"The book that Slughorn gave me from the cupboard," Harry began, "it has all writing in the margins. The last owner of the book must've experimented a lot, I suppose. He added instructions of his own, and they actually work."
Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.
"I s'pose you think I cheated?" said Harry.
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" Hermione said stiffly.
"He only followed different instructions to ours," said Layla. "They could've been wrong. He took a risk. You should be proud of him, 'Mione. I know I am."
"Thanks," Harry grinned at Layla.
"Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on," Ron heaved a sigh. "Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but—"
"Hang on," said a voice close by. Layla looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them, sliding into the available seat beside Layla. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"
"It's nothing," Harry said, lowering his voice.
"It's just a book, Gin," Layla added. Ginny rounded on her.
"You of all people should be against it, Lay. You were the one in possession of Tom Riddle's diary."
"I doubt Harry's book is like Riddle's," Layla muttered, looking down and fidgeting with her fingers as the traumatic memories from her second year sent a shiver down her spine at the thought.
"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.
As Harry went to pick it back up, Layla turned to Ginny.
"Was there any need to bring up Riddle's diary? Like, really? I don't need to be reminded of it, Ginny."
"I'm sorry, it's just—"
"I'm going to go sit with Dean and Seamus," Layla announced, interrupting Ginny and rising to her feet. "They might be a little less judgmental."
And with that, she walked off, leaving a guilt-ridden Ginny behind.