Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Harry had not expected to be able to take potions this year, and he was uncertain how to feel about the fact that professor Slughorn had lowered the grades required to attend. It was better for his fellow students -and the future of the wizarding world- but as someone who supposedly wanted to be an auror, this was a class he was expected to take.
At least he could gripe about the fact that he was still stuck with bloody Snape as a 'teacher'. Which he did. Vociferously.
Professor Slughorn graciously allowed them the use of sixth year potion's books which had been left behind for some reason. Harry wasn't surprised when Ron immediately grabbed the less worn second-hand potions book, or that his former best friend took the opportunity to bodycheck him. He planted his feet and stood his ground, though. He didn't move an inch. He might be short, but he also played Quidditch since he was eleven years old under the fanatic leadership of Oliver Wood. Normal calisthenics for Quidditch were no joke, but Oliver had taken it to another level. And just because Umbitch had banned him from playing the game, didn't mean she ever thought of banning him from participating in the ground based workout routines.
Oliver had been furious -and creative- when designing Harry's exercise regime that year. And Harry had only added to it over the summer.
Ron looked shocked, which was odd and yet another example of how British Wixen desperately needed classes on critical thinking and logical reasoning. His former friend had been there, after all, laughing at his misfortune.
Unless Ron expected Harry to have been weakened over the summer, which meant that the boy knew more about Harry's circumstances then he had ever let on.
Harry pushed that thought away for later. He wasn't looking forward to the rest of Ron's petty behaviour, either way, especially as they shared bedrooms. Not even his bed would be a safe haven since his former best friend would certainly have mean pranks planned.
It would be good practice, though.
Harry sighed and turned to the worn book in his hands. The previous owner had written notes in the margin, and that was always interesting. He leafed through the pages and discovered that he knew most tips and tricks, thanks to Winky's tutoring. He would have to try out the ones he didn't know -as long as they didn't concern the more volatile stages of the potion.
He might have been tempted to try anyway -they were in a protected classroom under the nose of a potions master- but Dobby had threatened him with teaching him how to knit patterns using different colours, and that was a big no for Harry. He might like knitting now, but having to tuck away a gazillion loose strands on one lousy scarf seemed like the definition of hell to him.
Harry tuned into the lesson with that smarmy professor when the man showed off a bottle of Felix felices potion and promised them that the student who brewed the best potion of the day would get to take it home.
It made Harry uncomfortable. It would be a boon to have during this war, but Malfoy was the best potions student in their class. He had the talent and had received private tuition from Snape since he was a small boy.
Harry wasn't going to stress over it, though. He'd learned a lot during the summer and he could much better sense when a potion was just right for that stage or whether it needed a little more of a certain ingredient or perhaps a stir withershins. He had a genuine shot at winning -and his second-hand potions book would explain away his sudden success- but the Felix Felice's potion felt like a Deus ex machina move, and with the RoR and his courage trunk he felt rather glutted on miracle solutions.
So, Harry took his time and concentrated on experimenting with the notes written in the margins. The tip about the beans was great. In hindsight, it was a logical step to take after simply cutting them didn't work, but it prevented a lot of frustration and it made him think about potions differently. He'd learned to love brewing this summer, but experimenting might be fun too!
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Harry grimaced at the little bottle in his hand. It glinted innocently, but he knew better. Professor Slughorn had awarded it with great aplomb, nattering on about how he inherited his mother's talent with potions.
It did feel good to share her talent and passion. It made him feel closer to the one parent he knew the least about. The one who killed Tom the last time; something the British wizarding world preferred to ignore. Because being grateful to a baby in nappies was so much better than being grateful to a Muggle-born witch.
Obviously.
Unfortunately, Hermione hadn't won the potion. Her brew had been decent, but it hadn't been good enough. Both Malfoy and he had the best potions of their class. Draco's might actually have been a tad better. Slughorn must have noticed, but perhaps he wanted to keep the potion out of the hands of a (future) Death Eater. It's why Harry accepted the gift, even though it felt rather like a poisoned chalice.
Harry sighed and tucked the bottle away in the mokeskin pouch he wore around his neck. He'd transfer it to the dimensional store under Fidelius when he was alone.
"You don't seem happy to have won, and how did you even manage it anyway?" Hermione asked with an irritated tone.
Harry raised a chiding eyebrow at her. "I managed to get an E on my OWL, even after the shitty training I received by a teacher who was too busy abusing me in class -and overlooking the tampering with my potions- to be of any use. And that after having had a really shitty school year where I was being tortured by three separate adults. No need to act that surprised." He finished packing up his stuff, threw his book bag over his shoulder, and stalked off.
After Winky's reprimand, he'd stopped planning to distance himself from his best friend. He'd even found a way to stop her from trying to fix things with Ron. He knew she was still trying, but at least she had calmed down and he didn't have to hear about it. He was pretty sure she was just giving him time to cool off, though, and he would have to hear about it at a later time. But that was future Harry's problem.
This Harry was again mightily annoyed by Hermione, without any instigation on his part. He didn't know what had gotten into her this time, but he was going to ignore it.
He had better things to do with his time.
Harry ducked into a loo and transferred the potion bottle. He grimaced at it again. The Felix felices potion might bring luck, but it just felt like a curse to him. He knew what he would use it for: making sure that Moldyshorts was deader than dead without any way to come back. There was nothing more important in his life. Dumbledore was, after all, already dieing given the state of his hand. He had at most a year according to Winky.
Harry knew, though, that something bad would happen before Tom's death -like another loved one dieing. It was inevitable. And he would know he could have prevented it if only he used that potion at the right time.
He didn't know how to deal with that.