⚡︎
┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟖 *•. ┄┄

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 (𝒚𝒂𝒚, 𝒏𝒐𝒕!)

────── *•. ⚡︎ .•*──────

Breakfast the next morning, Hermione was immediately cleared by professor McGonagall to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Potions (even if she had only gotten an 'E'), Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures. And looking bored she set off to the first period, Ancient Runes, with Blaise.

"Theo told me what you said to him," Blaise whispered to her when the Professor had his back turned.

Hermione looked up from her notebook and gave Blaise a small smile. "You would have done the same."

"I would, but mother doesn't let me," Blaise grumbled under his breath. "She said not to affiliate with 'Death Eaters'."

"What?" Hermione frowned.

"She said that she didn't want anything to do with the Dark Lord," Blaise explained not looking at her but rather at the blackboard in the classroom. "It would only get us in trouble. Mother says we'll be out of England if everything goes to shit."

"So you'll go back to Italy?" said Hermione, now giving her full attention to Blaise. "Is that what you want?"

"Nah," he whispered shaking his head. "I want to stay here. Fight. Lookout after Theo, and Daph, and you. I want to be useful."

After saying this, Blaise went back to his parchment, not giving Hermione a chance to answer.

By the end of the class though, their tense aura had been replaced by despair. And Blaise listened in amusement as Hermione rambled on about the fifteen-inch essay and the two translations they had to do for Runes.

"I mean, it's the first bloody day!" Hermione huffed as they joined the queue to Defense Against the Dark Arts. She spotted Harry and Ron and smiled at Blaise. "See you later, BZ."

"See you, Mione."

With that, she left Blaise and went to join Harry and Ron. And just as she was about to greet them with her complaints about the amount of homework, the classroom door opened, 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.

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. "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 Harrys and Hermione's than anyone else's."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."

"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?"

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. . . .Black?"

"When you have a sore throat and can't speak, they really come in handy," Hermione said with a sweet smile, and people around her snorted as Snape sneered at her.

"I will choose to ignore Miss Black's answer—"

"—even though it is right," Hermione said with the same smile.

"Nonverbal spells," Snape drawled, sneering at Hermione, "give you a split-second advantage against your adversary, as she or he will not know which spell you will use. 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"—his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry and Hermione once more—"lack."

"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."

Hermione paired up with Neville and after a moment, his wand was already on the other side of the room. Snape ignored it. Not that Hermione cared much. She changed partners and was now with Seamus. Again, his wand was on the other side of the room. Then she paired up with Dean. Again, his wand was on the other side of the room. And then she heard it and with a giddy smile she turned to see the interaction, pulling Dean along with her.

Snape was turning 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. Dean and Hermione exchanged grins.

"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."

Hermione was laughing so hard she had to hold on to Dean, who was trying his best to not let out a sound. Hermione just couldn't contain the joy of seeing Snape, as red as a tomato, after the delivery of the best Harry Potter sass.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter. . . not even 'the Chosen One.' You too, Miss Black."

Hermione only grinned at Snape.

"That was brilliant, Harry!" chortled Ron, once they were safely on their way to break a short while later.

"Brilliant?" Hermione scoffed. "That was fucking awesome. I knew it would be great but Harry, my dear Prongslet, you just made your father proud."

Harry grinned at her and Hermione winked, turning to see James Potter dramatically wiping a tear away, Lily scowling next to him.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

The three of them looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward them holding a roll of parchment.

"For you," panted Sloper handing the roll to Harry.

"Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Harry, thinking privately that Sloper would be very lucky to get back on the team. "I'll let you know."

"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend —"

But Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.

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 Ron, who had read the message over Harry's shoulder and was looking perplexed.

"It's the password to his office," Hermione answered in a low voice and Harry nodded.

"Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased. . . .I won't be able to do his detention!"

"You son of a bitch!" Hermione shrieked and Harry winced. "I don't want to go to detention alone!"

"So, have any of you tried Acid Pops?" asked Harry steering the conversation away and Hermione gaped at him.

After break, Hermione, Harry, and Ron returned to the common room where they grudgingly startedSnape's homework. This turned out to be so complex that Harry and Ron had not finished by the time Hermione had to go to Care of Magical Creatures class (she had already finished the assignment).

Hagrid's class was definitely. . . . empty. Because, apart from Hermione, only Hannah Abbott and Anthony Goldstein had joined. Hermione had been treading carefully around Hagrid all throughout the class, his face looked crestfallen. But even so, it turned out to be fun. They were learning about Knarls, little creatures mistook for hedgehogs by muggles.

They had only just finished talking about their diet when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions (in Hermione's case at least) and she beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.

When she arrived in the corridor, joining Ron and Harry, they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing toN.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 Theo, Blaise, and Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan.

"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 ShieldCharms 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 Blaise with particular enthusiasm. Hermione hid behind Ron and was luckily not noticed right away.

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, 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 Hermione had ever inhaled: she could make out the smell of gunpowder and Fred's cologne, along with the smell of leather and chocolate. She found herself breathing very slowly and deeply and the potion's fumes seemed to be filling her up like drink. A great contentment stole over Hermione and a small smile settled on her face.

"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 things 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. Hermione raised herself slightly in her seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it. She put her hand up lazily; Slughorn pointed at her.

"Veritaserum, the truth serum," Hermione answered.

"Very good, very good, Miss Black!" 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 —?"

This time it was Theo who had his hand up."Polyjuice Potion, sir," he said.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here...yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again, sticking her tongue out in Theo's direction—the latter responded the only way he too, stuck his tongue out at her.

"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," Hermione answered.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"It was actually by the smell," said Hermione with a faint smile. "It smells differently for everyone. According to what attracts us. I can smell gunpowder, leather, chocolate, and Fred Weasley's cologne," she answered with a cheeky smile. Blaise and Theo snorted from across the room, Ron went red and Harry chuckled.

"I see, Miss Black," Slughorn said chuckling. "Your father used to give me those answers too. Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Black."

"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," Slughorn said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Theo, 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. Hermione and Harry shared a look. They were 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, that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Black?"

"It's supposed to make you lucky," Hermione said. "Basically it would turn Harry here, into a less awkward version. Or James Potter."

Harry turned red, a smile on his lips and Hermione heard James cackling in the background. The other students were looking at them amused.

"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, 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 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 for 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. Hermione smiled as she opened her book, Severus Snape's notes on the margins.

The night prior to the first day of school, she might have (or not, but it's a yes), asked Annora to get Snape's old textbook for her. And because the dead couldn't physically lift objects, Annora grabbed it and created a copy that only Hermione could receive, due to the whole bridge situation. So, she changed the covers (like Harry had done in the book) and put a spell on the textbook so no one but her could see the annotations.

Thus, by the end of the class, she and Harry were the only ones amongst their fellow classmates who were able to concoct the Draught of Living Death to perfection.

"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, 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 her a delighted smile, an incredulous look on his eye.

"Excellent! Excellent, Miss Black," he said with praise. "You've clearly taken after young Regulus!"

Then he saw Harrys, and the same look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"The clear winners!" 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! Oh and one for you, Miss Black—", he handed Hermione a bottle that he took from his robe, "—lucky I had two! Two winners! What a wonderful class!"

Hermione slipped her tiny bottle of golden liquid into the inner pocket of her leather jacket, feeling too delighted with herself for someone who had cheated (slightly).

⚡︎