After Defense Against the Dark Arts, the Slytherins had a new least favorite class.
Draco blocked Harry's path, sneering. "Must be nice, Potter."
"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy?" Harry shot back, wary.
Earlier, the two of them had lost their tempers—abandoning the nonverbal rule entirely and flinging hexes at each other.
Sirius had stepped in to stop them, only to catch a curse from Draco himself. The result: another five points deducted from Slytherin.
Just like that, the points John had earned were wiped out, and Slytherin's hourglass dropped to the lowest it had been in years.
It was a first.
Draco didn't say anything more, just let out a few mocking laughs before walking off.
...
At dinner in the Great Hall, Draco animatedly recounted how he'd made Harry dance with a "Tap-Dance Jinx."
John stared down at his bowl of suspiciously yellow fried rice.
Across the table, Daphne looked calm, but anyone who knew her could see the tension in her posture—she was seconds away from cutting her plate in half.
Both she and John were top students, evenly matched.
Daphne might be a little stronger overall, but under the restrictions of nonverbal casting, certain spells couldn't be used—and in that field, neither could truly best the other.
"John, are you really not going to Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore?" Daphne asked.
John took a bite of his fried rice, thought for a moment, then nodded. "Not just Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'll be showing up to a few other classes less often, too."
Draco lifted his head, surprised by the announcement.
"So from now on, Slytherin's going to have to rely on you all," John said casually, glancing at the hourglass of house points. A faint smile curved his lips. "Keep Slytherin's honor intact."
Those words instantly made Draco feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.
"Especially you, Draco—just try not to lose too many points." Seeing Draco's expression fall, John chuckled. "But don't hold back when someone gets on your nerves."
"After all, we're Slytherins."
John's words filled Draco with renewed confidence.
Slytherins had never been the kind to shy away from trouble.
Lunch ended.
That afternoon, there were two Potions classes.
Still simmering from the morning's point deductions, Draco was determined to make up for it in Potions.
...
The dungeon classroom.
When Draco arrived, there were barely a dozen students present.
That was to be expected—after five straight years of Snape's verbal lashings, few had the patience or courage to keep taking his class.
Aside from Draco and Daphne, Blaise and Theo were there as well.
And, of course, where Theo was, Pansy was never far behind.
As Daphne's fellow overachiever and close friend, Pansy's Potions grades were actually quite good.
From Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan was also in attendance, loudly retelling the story of how John had supposedly left Professor Black speechless.
"Hey, Potter." Draco immediately spotted Harry entering and gave him a wicked grin. "Welcome to my domain."
Snape's class was known for favoring Slytherins and mercilessly docking points from Gryffindor—no wonder Draco looked so pleased.
Harry's face darkened; he could barely resist the urge to brawl with Draco right then and there.
Ron groaned in despair. "We're doomed. Snape's going to bleed us dry."
"Padfoot didn't even do anything wrong," Harry muttered irritably.
Still, unease crept in beneath his anger.
If Snape decided to take it out on him—dock points for no reason—what could he do about it?
Would Sirius stand up for him then?
Harry was certain his godfather would retaliate by deducting points in return—but that might make the school think Sirius was unfit for the position, and possibly get him fired.
The thought worried Harry deeply.
While he wrestled with that mix of anxiety and anger, the door to the dungeon classroom opened.
A large, round belly appeared first—clearly not a figure belonging to Snape.
"Professor Slughorn?" The students blinked in surprise at the portly man.
Beaming, Slughorn said, "Your Potions Master has some matters to attend to, so I'll be substituting for him today."
He phrased it delicately.
After all, letting people know Snape had skipped class out of fury over Sirius would be rather embarrassing.
As a substitute, Slughorn wasn't the least bit annoyed—if anything, he looked quite pleased.
It wasn't the first time a Headmaster had stepped in to teach; even Dumbledore had done so in the past.
Once the former Slytherin Head of House himself, Slughorn was back to teaching Potions again, and he found the idea unexpectedly delightful.
Especially since among these students were a few he was very eager to "collect."
The students filed into the classroom, still a little dazed.
Unlike before, the dungeon was now filled with steam and strange, lingering scents.
Slughorn's gaze swept across the dozen or so students, pausing here and there until he finally frowned in surprise. "John isn't here?"
Indeed—he wasn't.
John hadn't shown up for class at all.
"I could've sworn he signed up for Potions," Slughorn murmured in disbelief.
The very student whose presence had convinced him to return to teaching wasn't even attending?
Perhaps his disappointment showed a bit too clearly, because the students exchanged uncertain glances before Draco spoke up. "John took on a lot of classes. He's probably preparing materials for his research."
"Oh, I see." Slughorn's expression brightened immediately. "That's perfectly fine, Draco. I don't mind in the least."
Ron leaned over to mutter to Harry, "He doesn't even care if John skips class—think we could get away with that too?"
Hermione shot him a glare. "Only if you've got a Merlin Medal."
That shut Ron up quickly.
Harry, however, caught on to what Draco had said. "Research? What's John researching?" he asked curiously.
No sooner had he spoken than Hermione huffed, clearly annoyed. "You're doing it again! Are you suspecting John of something bad?"
"I'm not—"
Merlin as his witness, Harry had honestly just asked out of curiosity.
But Hermione was in full-on "defend John at all costs" mode. Anyone who so much as questioned him earned one of her death glares.
The students took their seats—Slytherins sharing one table, while the trio settled at another near a golden cauldron that gave off a tantalizing aroma.
Slughorn's teaching style was quite unlike Snape's.
His lessons were lively and full of interaction.
For instance, besides the gleaming golden cauldron, three other cauldrons simmered nearby, each emitting a different, enticing scent.
Even Draco, who'd walked in with his usual arrogance, couldn't help the look of bliss that crossed his face after catching the fragrance wafting through the air.
"What is that smell? It's like pear blossoms—with a hint of pumpkin juice and… Firebolt polish?"
"Wait, Firebolt polish smells different from other brooms?" Blaise asked blankly.
Oh, sure—just had to make sure everyone knew you owned a Firebolt, didn't you?
Daphne leaned in and inhaled carefully. A trace of pinewood filled her nose, mingling with the faint, golden sweetness of Starlight Wine.
Her cheeks flushed slightly—she recognized exactly what that potion was.
"Alright, alright, settle down," Slughorn's voice boomed cheerfully through the rising steam.
Through the warm haze, his plump figure appeared to waver, as though drifting between the fumes.
"Everyone, please take out your scales, ingredient pouches—and don't forget your Advanced Potion-Making textbooks," Slughorn said warmly.
Harry raised his hand.
"Yes, Harry?" Slughorn's tone remained kindly.
"I don't have a book—or anything, really. We didn't think we'd be allowed into the advanced class."
He hadn't even planned on taking Potions, but Professor McGonagall insisted—an Auror needed Potions certification.
And since Snape had revised his entrance requirements, those who qualified were precisely the ones he didn't want to teach—plus one he simply couldn't.
So, the standards had been quietly lowered.
Whether that story was true or not was anyone's guess.
"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention that," Slughorn said, remembering. "Don't worry, my boy. You can use the ingredients and tools in the storage cupboard for now."
At that, Harry and his long-suffering companion Ron headed for a cupboard tucked in the corner.
They'd never opened it before.
Inside were a few battered textbooks and some worn tools.
One of the books was so tattered the cover was about to fall off, while another looked in far better condition.
The two exchanged a glance—and immediately lunged for the newer one at the same time.
After two and a half minutes of struggling, Ron finally used a shoulder check to shove Harry aside.
Harry, shorter and lighter, lost the battle and could only grab the shabby old book.
"Sorry, mate," Ron said smugly. "I'd take a curse for you, but the new book's mine."
Harry ground his teeth in frustration, grabbed a set of scales and a few ingredients, and they returned to their table.
Slughorn didn't seem bothered by the minor scuffle. Standing at the front of the classroom with a genial smile, he said, "I've prepared a few potions for you to admire—purely for interest, of course."
"When you've completed the advanced curriculum, you should be able to brew potions like these yourselves."
"Now then, who can tell me what this one is?"
He pointed to the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table, where a clear, water-like potion simmered softly.
Two hands shot up simultaneously—one at the Slytherin table, one at Gryffindor's.
The two girls locked eyes, sparks practically crackling in the air between them.
"Easy now, Miss Greengrass," Slughorn chuckled, rubbing his eyes as if to dispel the illusion. "You answer."
Daphne shot Hermione a triumphant glance before saying, "Veritaserum—a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."
"Excellent, excellent!" Slughorn said happily, clearly pleased that one of his prized recruits from the train had impressed him. "Now, who can tell me what that one is?"
He pointed toward the second cauldron and continued, "This one is a bit more well-known…"
Before he could finish, two hands shot up again.
Slughorn glanced from Daphne to Hermione, clearly amused.
Once more, he chose Daphne.
"It's Polyjuice Potion," Daphne said smoothly. "By adding a strand of hair, the drinker can take on the appearance of the person the hair belongs to."
"Excellent, excellent!" Slughorn said enthusiastically, nearly clapping for her. Then he gestured toward the third cauldron—the golden one.
This time, before he could even open his mouth, two hands rose again.
Slughorn hesitated for a moment. He'd already called on Daphne twice—it was only fair to give someone else a turn.
He pointed to Hermione.
"It's Amortentia!" she answered at once.
"Quite right! I daresay you know what it does, don't you?" Slughorn asked, clearly impressed.
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" Hermione said eagerly, making up for being passed over earlier.
"You recognized it by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, I presume?"
"And the spiraling steam pattern," Hermione added quickly. "Its scent is unique to each person—it smells different depending on what one finds most attractive."
"I can smell strawberry ice cream, new parchment, and…"
She trailed off mid-sentence, cheeks flushing slightly.
Slughorn, thoroughly charmed by her knowledge, smiled and asked for her name.
________
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