Imagine my surprise logging onto the website to discover my story won an award! To whoever voted this story the November 2019 Dumbledore' Silver Trinket Award for Best Romance, thank you! All my writing before this story has been more focused on angst/drama/action/whatever, but to try my hand at writing romance and be awarded for it makes me feel ridiculously warm and fuzzy inside. Again, thank you!
This chapter borrows pretty heavily from HBP chapter 9 "The Half-Blood Prince". Like with earlier chapters, I have done my level best to adapt familiar things with the changes that have occurred as a result of the first story. I've gotten some queries as to the fate of Snape's potions book — you'll get your answer here. It was inspired by an article I read once about book misprints and bookbinding errors; if anyone's going to have awful luck with book errors, it's going to be Harry, after all. Enjoy!
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Path Diverged II | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Sirius Black Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Romance Warnings: Disturbing Imagery, Mental Abuse, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 220 Summary: The Wizarding world finally knows that Lord Voldemort has returned, and the Second War has begun. As Harry prepares to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts, he is forced to deal with the trauma from his last encounter with Voldemort, the upcoming trial of Dolores Umbridge, Sirius's uncomfortable questions about his childhood, his budding relationship with Ginny Weasley, and the unknown shadow of what lies ahead as the "Chosen One" who must defeat Voldemort once and for all. This is an AU take of Half-Blood Prince following my previous story, Path Diverged. Hitcount: Story Total: 92562; Chapter Total: 3251 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Harry was exhausted, not having slept much after his nightmare and Dean’s adverse reaction to being awoken in the middle of the night. He stumbled out of bed as he heard Dean begin to stir and quickly showered and dressed before heading down to the common room to wait for Ginny. Harry seated himself in an armchair and tried not to notice as various students stared at him as they passed for the portrait hole, some of them whispering behind their hands, eyes wide and curious. Romilda Vane came down with a couple of the girls Harry had seen her with on the train, and she smiled boldly at Harry, starting to head his way. “There you are, Harry!” called Ginny loudly as she reached the landing, and Harry quickly jumped to his feet, rushing past Romilda to catch Ginny in a tight hug. “Are you all right?” she whispered when he drew back. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?” Dean came down the stairs next to them and strode past, face stiff with anger. “What fickle friends you have, Harry,” whispered Voldemort’s voice, and Harry flinched before he could stop himself from reacting. “What did Dean say to you?” muttered Ginny angrily as she seized Harry’s hands in her own and pressed closer to him, clearly understanding what Harry hadn’t been able to put into words. “I have half a mind to hex him on principle.” “Only if I can join in,” said Ron, having just come down into the common room himself. “Thinks he can just go off at Harry for no good reason.” “I did wake everyone up,” said Harry quietly. “Rubbish,” said Ron flatly. “I was the one talking up a storm for a solid five minutes.” “Why were you… oh,” said Ginny. “Panic attack?” she asked in a whisper. Harry flushed and nodded as Hermione approached. “Must’ve been a bad one,” said Ron. “In your sleep, you were muttering… well, ‘please don’t be dead.’” Harry recognized the words at once. He had dreamt about the Chamber of Secrets, only with Voldemort’s colorful commentary added to it, and it hadn’t been pleasant to relive the experience like that. “What does that mean?” asked Hermione. “Nightmare?” Harry recalled ‘Hermione’s Rule’ at that moment. Don’t hide the truth. “I – I said that when I found you in the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said quietly to Ginny. “That’s… what I was dreaming about.” Hermione and Ron both paled as Ginny pulled Harry into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry you relived that,” she whispered. Harry nodded wordlessly against her shoulder. “Oi!” said Ron loudly without warning. “It’s rude to point!” Harry pulled away from Ginny to see a tiny first-year boy go scarlet in the face as his eyes darted between Harry and Ron. He muttered to his friend and quickly joined the queue heading out the portrait hole. “We should get down to breakfast,” sighed Hermione. “We also ought to remember that this place isn’t exactly free of eavesdroppers, either.” They joined the queue to leave the common room. There were more students glancing at Harry and whispering to themselves. Harry gripped Ginny’s hand and did his best to ignore it all as they stepped into the corridor. “Hold it!” said Hermione abruptly, 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 are 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 out by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron’s remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed the four of them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron smiled in confusion before shaking his head. “Anyway,” he said as they headed toward the Great Hall, “being a sixth year is going to be fantastic! We’re going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit in the common room and relax.” “We’re going to need that time for studying, Ron!” said Hermione sternly. “Yeah, but not today,” said Ron. “Today’s going to be a real doss, I reckon.” “Not for me,” grimaced Ginny. “It’s O.W.L.s for me this year.” “Yeah, they started loading on the homework right away,” said Harry with a nod. “Those first few weeks are pretty awful.” “You did have those detentions taking up homework time, though,” said Ginny sadly, pulling Harry’s left hand away from his right with practiced ease. “I know I’ll manage all right.” 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. Settling down next to Neville, he, Ginny, 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!” said Hermione, looking distressed. “I mean, when has any of us expressed… you know… any actual 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 in our year’s going to go on to N.E.W.T.?” “I don’t think so,” said Neville quietly. It was a subdued group that avoided Hagrid’s eye and returned his cheery wave only halfheartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later. Professor McGonagall was striding up and down the house table, passing out schedules to the younger years. When Ginny received hers, she sighed. “Double History of Magic first thing this morning?” she groused. “I’m so sick of that subject!” “It’s very important to know our history, Ginny,” said Hermione between bites of porridge as she perused the Daily Prophet. “I don’t see you continuing to N.E.W.T. level for that class,” said Ron as he snagged more bacon. “I seriously considered it, though,” said Hermione primly, lowering the newspaper to look over at Ginny. “I can pass on my notes for you to revise with if you want.” “Thanks,” said Ginny with a grin. “I appreciate it.” “Hey Ginny, Harry!” It was Colin Creevy. He grinned widely at the pair of them. “It’s great to be back isn’t it?” Harry smiled and nodded. “Ready to face our doom in Binns’s class, Ginny?” “Not really,” Ginny sighed to him before turning back to Harry. “I’ll see you at morning break, yeah?” Harry nodded and leaned over to kiss her. “I love you,” he whispered to her, and she smiled at him. “I love you, Harry,” she replied, kissing him again before setting off with Colin, Harry breathing in the faint traces of floral shampoo she left in the air. He and all the other sixth-years waited as McGonagall began to focus on their year since the distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual; she 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.” Neville met Harry’s eyes and Harry sent him a grin. None of them had been surprised to see that Neville had aced Herbology; it was easily his best subject. “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 with N.E.W.T. level. I just don’t think you’d be able to cope with the coursework.” Neville hung his head. “Professor,” said Harry, recalling some of the discussions they’d had during summer break, “Neville told me this summer that his grandmother’s the one insisting he take it, not him.” McGonagall glanced at Harry and let out a quiet ‘hmph’. “It’s high time your grandmother learned to appreciate the grandson she’s got,” she said to Neville, “rather than the one she thinks she ought to have – particularly after your testimony in the trial last month.” 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 you have ‘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. Harry chatted idly with Ron about Quidditch tryouts while waiting for his turn, paying only half an ear to the conversation Professor McGonagall was having with Parvati Patil about the Divination teachers, Sybill Trelawny and the centaur Firenze. Then she turned to Harry. “So, Potter, Potter…” she said, consulting her notes. “Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions… all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased.” Harry grinned up at her, recalling his meeting with her to discuss his career, and her determination that he succeed in his ambitions to become an Auror. “And I see you already know that Professor Slughorn accepts students with ‘Exceeds Expecations’ in Potions, good…” She tapped a blank schedule. “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 that list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure.” A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together. “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, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year. She was pleased to see he had been appointed Captain and insisted on trying out for the Chaser spot like everyone else. “Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends…” Ron looked a little uncomfortable and 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. Crookshanks’s yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close. An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already waiting outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon. “We got so much homework for Runes,” she said anxiously, when Harry and Ron joined her. “A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I’ve got to read these by Wednesday!” “Shame,” yawned Ron. “You wait,” she said resentfully. “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,” was all he said. Harry uneasily passed Snape, keeping his gaze averted and wondering if Madam Pomfrey had already spoken to him about the flashbacks and panic attacks. Thankfully, Snape said nothing as he entered, and he was able to turn his attention to the room to see that Snape had imposed his personality upon it 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. Harry recognized one of a witch suffering from the Cruciatus Curse and quickly looked away, gripping his right hand tightly with his left. Hermione, sitting on Harry’s right, gently placed her hands on top of his for a moment before pulling his hands apart. He glanced around to see Malfoy shoot him a smirk, which he scowled at. Never mind that the Slytherin had the seemingly-impossible task of murdering Dumbledore on Voldemort’s orders. He was still a complete arse. “I require your fullest attention,” said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk. His eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry’s than anyone else’s. Harry held himself still, refusing to react. “You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe.” There was no ‘believe’ about it; Snape obviously knew this, had watched each one come and go, waiting for his chance. “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.” It wasn’t surprising to Harry; he had personally taught at least half the class in the D.A. meetings the previous year. “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 whole 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.” Harry quietly listened, unnerved by the loving caress in Snape’s voice as he spoke about the Dark Arts. “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” – Harry looked down, not wanting to stare at that picture again as Ron gripped his left hand – “feel the Dementor’s Kiss, or provoke the aggression of the Inferius.” “Has an Inferius been seen, then?” said Parvati 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 right 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, 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 which some lack.” He glanced around the room. “You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other pair will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on.” Harry had taught the D.A. last year how to do a Shield Charm, but none of them had ever attempted it without speaking. A reasonable amount of cheating (whispering under one’s breath) seemed to ensue as Harry partnered with Ron and Hermione partnered with Neville. It came as no surprise when Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word after about ten minutes, nor was it surprising when Snape completely ignored her success, instead lingering to watch Ron, who 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 that Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling. “Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?” Harry saw the anger in his dark eyes and averted his gaze at once, unable to repress a flinch. “It is pleasing to see one of my most devoted followers treating you exactly as you ought to be,” Voldemort’s voice whispered, and Harry fought the impulse to react to the words, to give into the flashback, to do anything but be present in that moment as Luna had told him to do. “Yes, sir,” Harry forced himself to speak, looking slightly to the left of Professor Snape. “I’m sorry.” Silence encompassed the entire room. No student had ever heard Harry willingly apologize to Snape for anything before. Behind Snape, Neville and Ron gaped openly. Even Hermione appeared shocked. Snape stilled for a long moment as he eyed Harry. “Very well,” he said neutrally. “Continue as you were.” And he swept away, ordering everyone in the room to get back to work. “You actually apologized to Snape!” exclaimed Ron once they were safely on their way to break a short while later. “Why’d you do it, anyway?” Harry shrugged, all-too-aware of the other students around them who were trying to listen in. This was starting to become a frustratingly common occurrence. “Anyway, crazy the way he talks about the Dark Arts, innit?” said Ron. “He seems to love them,” agreed Harry with a nod. “All that unfixed, indestructible stuff –” “Well,” said Hermione slowly, “I thought he sounded a bit like you, Harry.” “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 is really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?” Harry was so startled that she had thought his words as well worth memorizing as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue. “Harry! Hey, Harry!” Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him 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, privately thinking 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, “He enjoys Acid Pops?” said Ron, who had read the message over Harry’s shoulder and was looking perplexed. “It’s the password,” said Harry quickly as he spotted Ginny. He waved at her; she said goodbye to Colin and her other friends before coming over. “Hey, you,” she said with a grin as he leaned down to kiss her. “What have you had so far?” “Just Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Harry. “Ooh, what’s Snape like in there?” she asked. “I don’t have him until tomorrow.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussed their class with her, and she was clearly as surprised as everyone else had been that Harry had apologized to Snape. “Why did you say sorry to him?” asked Ron. Harry shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I mean, he’s still Snape, but I…” He sighed, remembering Hermione’s rule. “It was a land mine,” he finally admitted. “I thought it’d end faster if I… did something I don’t normally do.” No one spoke for a few moments. “I wondered if it might be something like that,” said Hermione at last. “Thank you for being honest with us, Harry.” “You know,” added Ginny, “if you keep it up, he might shift from antagonizing you to ignoring you!” “I genuinely prefer being ignored,” said Harry with a small grin. “Anyway…” He showed her Dumbledore’s note, and the four of them spent the rest of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry that would ensure his victory against Voldemort. The main thing they could agree on was that, whatever the lessons entailed, Sirius thought they were of the utmost importance. Ron thought maybe Harry would be learning spells that not even Death Eaters would know, but Hermione argued against that, again citing Sirius’s approval of these lessons. “He wouldn’t want Harry to learn illegal curses or the like,” she said, “and I doubt Dumbledore would either.” After break ended, Hermione went off to Arithmancy, and Ginny to Charms while Harry and Ron returned to the common room, where they grudgingly started Snape’s homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process). They had only just finished 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. There were four Slytherins (including Malfoy), four Ravenclaws, 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. Sirius had spoken some about his old Potions teacher, and swore up and down that Uncle Vernon outstripped him in terms of weight and mustache. Harry decided that Sirius’s memory had to be faulty, because both the belly and mustache both were larger than anything his uncle could have ever managed. Slughorn ushered the students in, greeting both 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, 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 – Coloring, Harry leaned away from the cauldron. “What?” whispered Hermione from across the table, but Harry shook his head. The last scent he’d detected was Ginny’s shampoo, that flowery scent that followed her everywhere she went. He glanced at Ron to see him grinning lazily at him, and did his best to smile back, wondering what this particular potion could be, and what it was his friends had smelled upon inhaling. “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!” He smiled at the class as they all obliged, pulling out their materials quickly and quietly. “So,” said Slughorn, 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,” she answered with a worried glance at Harry; Ron’s hand was already gripping Harry’s left wrist to keep it from moving since anything with even the vaguest connection to Umbridge still tended to set off the same reaction almost every time. Harry shot Ron a grateful look as Hermione continued speaking. “It’s a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth.” “Very good, very good!” said Slughorn happily. “Now,” he continued, pointing at the potion 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. Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year. The third potion, located on their table, turned out to be something called Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. Hermione and Slughorn discussed its characteristics. “It’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us,” said Hermione eagerly, “and I can small freshly mown grass and new parchment and –” She abruptly cut off, turning slightly pink. Well, that explained the different things Harry had smelt, he thought, especially that last one. “May I ask your name, my dear?” Slughorn asked Hermione, ignoring her 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.” Harry saw Malfoy 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. “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. Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione looked over at Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!” “He only spoke the truth,” said Ron, suddenly looking rather eager as he leaned forward. “I’d have said the exact same thing if he’d asked me.” Hermione blinked, but smiled warmly at Ron. “Thanks,” she whispered to him, and he sat back, looking pleased with himself. Maybe the section in Ron’s book about compliments was onto something. Slughorn explained about how dangerous Amortentia could be due to its ability to cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. “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, 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!” The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter, but none more than Malfoy. Harry was suddenly seized with the intense desire to tackle the Slytherin boy to the floor to keep him from getting his hands on it, though the blonde had made no move to rise. The last thing Malfoy needed was to be lucky enough to succeed in his mission for Voldemort. “Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn. He explained the difficulty in making it, it’s effects (all endeavors would come to pass?), and the side-effects of taking too much. Then, he dropped the bombshell: “One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis as the prize for today,” said Slughorn, taking a miniscule 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 it 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. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and hoped desperately that Hermione’s attempt would be better than his; twelve hours’ luck was probably more than enough to see Dumbledore dead before Harry could attend the lessons the headmaster had planned for him. Harry opened his book and blinked. He leaned closer and blinked again. “Sir,” he said, raising his hand, “there’s something wrong with my book.” Slughorn bustled over and looked at Harry’s book. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “It’s so incredibly rare for such a thing to happen.” “What’s wrong?” asked Ron. “My book only has the second-half of the contents,” said Harry. “Twice. I don’t have page ten.” “Well,” said Slughorn, “I do have an extra copy that you can borrow for now until you’re able to have your godfather write to Flourish and Blotts to demand a suitable replacement.” He quickly fetched an old and battered copy of the textbook for Harry to use, and he opened it to the correct page and swiftly bent over it. To his annoyance, Harry saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending lower to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurriedly dug out his ingredients and got to work, doing his best to ignore everyone else around him. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed the furthest. Her potion already resembled the ‘smooth, black currant-colored liquid’ mentioned as the ideal halfway stage. Having finished chopping his Valerian roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written in the alternative instruction: Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting. The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up using the printed directions. Debating for a moment, Harry finally decided to give the alternative instructions a chance and pulled out his silver knife, carefully positioning it over the bean and crushing down with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all. Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook. His annoyance with the previous owner completely vanished in that moment, and he quickly read the instructions to see what he needed to do next, taking into account the additional comments added by the previous owner. The instructions directed for counterclockwise stirring until the potion turned clear as water. The cramped writing insisted on seven counterclockwise stirs followed by one stir clockwise. Could the owner really get this right twice? Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned palest pink. “How are you doing that?” demanded Hermione, who was red-faced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple. “Add a clockwise stir –” “No, no, the book says counterclockwise!” she snapped. Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing. Seven stirs counterclockwise followed by one stir clockwise again and again, the potion doing exactly what it was supposed to do. Harry looked around, seeing that no one else’s potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had never happened before in this dungeon. Finally, Slughorn called for everyone to step away from their cauldrons and began walking around, taking in everyone’s attempt. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron’s cauldron, and passed over Ernie’s navy concoction without comment. He gave an approving nod to Hermione’s potion, but upon seeing Harry’s, a look of incredulous delight spread across his face. “The clear winner!” he cried to the dungeon. “Excellent, excellent, Harry! I can scarcely believe this was your least favorite subject when it’s so 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 a mixture of pleasure and relief that Malfoy had failed to get his hands on the very thing that would have allowed him to fulfill his mission without issue. He also felt guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione’s face. This was a subject in which he had never outshone her before. “How did you do that?” whispered Ron with a dumbfounded expression on his face as they left the dungeon. “Better learning environment, 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 everything. “I was honestly just hoping Hermione would do better than Malfoy,” he finished, “because the last thing we need is Malfoy getting luck on his side when we still don’t know his plan.” “Agreed,” said Ron at once. Hermione’s expression, however, was quite stony. “I s’pose you think I cheated?” Harry asked her, feeling aggravated by her expression. “Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?” she said stiffly. “He only followed different directions to ours,” said Ron, adding shepherd’s pie to his already-heaping plate of food. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk and it paid off. We ought to be thankful for that, if nothing else.” “Hang on,” came Ginny’s voice, and Harry caught another waft of her flowery scent, reminding him vividly of that love potion, Amortentia. “Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone else wrote in a book, Harry?” He looked up to see an alarmed and angry expression on her face, and he immediately knew what was on her mind. “It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “Ginny, I swear, that’s the last thing I would do, following orders from anything like Riddle’s diary. It’s just an old textbook someone’s scribbled on.” Ginny sat down next to him, still looked worried. “But you’re doing what it says?” “I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins,” he replied, taking her hand and giving her the most earnest expression he could. “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 cover. Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared. “Finished?” said Harry irritably. “Or are there any other decisions you think I’m incapable of making for myself?” Hermione paled, and Voldemort’s laughter started to fill Harry’s head. Suddenly losing his appetite, Harry seized the book along with his bag and left the Great Hall, ignoring Ginny and his friends as they called out his name. He strode angrily up the grand staircase toward Gryffindor common room, but tripped on the last step and dropped the textbook. Swearing under his breath, Harry bent down to retrieve it, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, which he was going to safely store inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs. This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince. Ginny watched Harry angrily stride out of the Great Hall and turned to face Hermione, scowling deeply. “You shouldn’t have pushed him like that,” she said. Hermione glared back at her. “I wasn’t the only one pushing him,” she snapped. “You were the one pushing about how safe the book was to begin with!” “You both messed up,” cut in Ron tightly. “Didn’t we just apologize yesterday for doubting Harry’s choices and instincts?” “Seeing as how I never doubted him,” snarled Ginny, temper rising, “I don’t understand why you think I messed up.” “Look,” said Ron reasonably (something quite unusual for Ginny’s brother), “I get you were worried, Ginny. Books being anything other than what they seem is your land mine, right? But you kept going even after he tried to reassure you that it’s nothing more than a textbook that someone wrote in years ago! And Hermione, I’m sorry, but you made it worse when you took out the book to try and support Ginny’s worry like that.” “Made it worse?” said Hermione indignantly. “It’s not my fault!” said Ginny angrily at the same time. “I had to make sure, that’s all!” “I don’t think that’s how Harry saw it,” said Ron with a shrug, turning back to his plate and stuffing a large bite of shepherd’s pie in his mouth. Ginny stared at him, speechless and confused, while Hermione stared blankly at her own meal. “Trouble in paradise?” said Romilda Vane snidely as she passed by with a devious smirk on her face. “Maybe Harry needs the loving comfort of someone better suited to him.” That was it. Ginny was done; she had dealt with snide comments about her and Harry all day, and she’d had quite enough of the disparaging remarks about having bewitched Harry or even pretended to be something she wasn’t to gain access to his inheritance. It certainly didn’t help that the Daily Prophet had made him out to be single on top of all the other nonsense they had been reporting the last couple of weeks. Turning in her seat, Ginny shot a hard glare at the younger girl. “Tell me, Vane,” she said loudly, “do you think your gold-digging ways are what he actually wants?” Romilda stopped and turned to face Ginny, that awful smirk still playing about her lips. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing, Ginny?” she asked snidely. Ginny saw red, and before she could think it through, she was on her feet, wand in her hand, and Romilda was screaming as bat bogeys erupted from her nose and started flying wildly around her. “Miss Weasley, what are you doing?” Ginny winced and lowered her wand as Professor McGonagall rushed over, Banishing the bat bogeys at once and leveling her with her steely gaze. “She hexed me!” shouted Romilda angrily as she rubbed at her nose. “You were asking for it!” Ginny fired back. “How dare you assume I’m only with Harry for his fame or fortune, you sick little –!” “Miss Vane, Miss Weasley, that is quite enough!” McGonagall interrupted. “Twenty points from Gryffindor, and you will each serve detention with me tomorrow after dinner. This kind of behavior is completely unacceptable!” Ginny glared at Romilda, grabbed her bag, and left the Great Hall, barely noticing the whispers that broke out as she headed for the stairs. She muttered angrily to herself the whole way back to the common room, biting out the password to the Fat Lady and climbing through the portrait hole to see Harry slumped in his favorite chair by the fire. He glanced up at her before looking away. Ginny’s temper faltered at the withdrawn look on his face, and she slowed her pace as she approached her boyfriend and carefully sat in the chair next to his. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly after a minute of silence. “Ron says… well, I suppose weird books are my own personal land mine.” Harry nodded, but didn’t say anything in return. Ginny watched him silently as he stared into the fire. “I hope you know I don’t doubt you,” she finally stated. “I know that.” Harry said the words so quietly she could barely hear them. “You’ve had my back this whole time.” “I should’ve believed you right away,” said Ginny. “You said it was your own personal land mine,” sighed Harry, pulling his glasses off to rub wearily at his face. “I’m not exactly the most reasonable when I’m in that position, myself.” He shoved his glasses back on and looked at Ginny. “I’m not angry with you, Gin, I promise.” Ginny nodded. “I’ve got detention tomorrow after dinner.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “What for?” “I hexed Romilda Vane in the middle of the Great Hall.” Harry blinked at her. “She insinuated that I’m only with you because I’m interested in your wealth, and honestly, I’ve been getting snide remarks like that all day, and then she comes along and… well, I snapped. Bat bogeys” – she waved her hands to demonstrate – “all over her face.” Harry blinked at her again before he snorted and shook his head. “I think you described the interest of every other girl in this castle who keeps staring at me like I’m some juicy steak they’re dying to get a bite of.” Ginny grimaced. “Not the most pleasant picture you’re painting there.” “Neither is the rubbish you’re dealing with.” Ginny smiled before wincing as her stomach rumbled. “I take it you didn’t get around to eating after I left?” asked Harry wryly. “No,” said Ginny. “I don’t really want to go back to the Great Hall.” Harry nodded. “How about the kitchens, then?” That didn’t sound too bad, actually, so Ginny agreed, and they set off, both of them taking along their bags so they could get started on their class assignments. No sooner had the door to the kitchens opened then Ginny heard the familiar tones of one very happy house elf. “Harry Potter has come to visit Dobby!” Next moment, a tiny blur slammed into Harry’s legs, causing him to stumble into Ginny as he greeted the elf with a hint of laughter in his voice. She barely kept them both upright as she grinned down at Dobby. “Hey, Dobby,” she said. “Have a good summer?” “It’s Harry Potter’s Miss Wheezy!” Ginny found Dobby wrapped around her legs the next moment and couldn’t stop from giggling. Dobby the house elf was very excitable. “Dobby’s summer was excellent, Miss Wheezy,” said Dobby from somewhere around her midsection. “Miss Wheezy is so kind to ask Dobby, so good, just like Harry Potter, miss!” Ginny caught the amused look on Harry’s face. “Any chance of some food, Dobby?” he asked. Dobby pulled back. “Yes, of course, we is honored to serve Harry Potter and his Miss Wheezy!” A scuttling sound announced the arrival of five elves carrying quite the dinner spread to choose from. Ginny settled down to eat, her Charms book propped open on a jug of pumpkin juice while Harry chatted with Dobby between bites of food, asking him about what elves did during summer break as well as how the house elf Winky was getting on these days. Ginny had only seen Winky once at the Quidditch World Cup, and not having made a habit of visiting kitchens over the past two years, only knew what she’d heard about the elf’s Butterbeer addiction. She could just spot the small elf, passed out in a small pile of empty bottles on the other end of the kitchen. With only Dobby to focus on, Harry was definitely calmer than he had been earlier in the Great Hall. Ginny knew Harry was uncomfortable with the excessive praises Dobby showered him with, but it seemed the praise was doing some good after Hermione’s distrust from earlier. Ginny watched him periodically between bites of food or when she turned the pages of her book, taking in the barely-there slump in his shoulders and the subdued warmth in his eyes as he periodically looked through the textbook Slughorn had loaned him for his Potions assignment. He wasn’t happy, but he was more at ease. “I love you,” she said when Dobby had hurried off to fetch some treacle tart for Harry’s dessert. Harry met her gaze and smiled. “I love you, too,” he said, reaching out to take her free hand. “Thanks for coming down with me.” “Nowhere else I’d rather be,” said Ginny, leaning forward over the small table they were sharing to kiss him. This first day of school hadn’t exactly been enjoyable, but finishing it with Harry looking at her the way that he did made all the snide remarks from the jealous girls around the school worth it. |
| Reviews 220 |
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