Shatter the Stars | A Draco Malfoy Fanfiction

Chapter Two - Blaise

The bell rings for the afternoon's double Potions and I make my way to the dungeon classroom.

Waiting outside the Potions classroom, I survey the group of students, curious to see who else is continuing with the class. Macmillan is the only Hufflepuff and there are three Gryffindors, Potter, Granger and Weasley. Terry Boot joins Padma Patil, Michael Corner and Allison in line. Draco, Pansy and Theodire Nott, a tall boy with cream-coloured shoulder-length raven black hair and hazel eyes, are also in the class. I follow his gaze and notice that he's staring straight at Allison.

The dungeon door opens and we file into the room, Slughorn greeting each of us in turn as we enter. The dungeon is already full of vapours and odd smells. I sniff at the cauldrons interestedly as I pass them. The four Ravenclaws take a table together, while Draco, Pansy, Nott and I sit together, leaving Potter, Granger and Weasley to sit with Macmillan. "Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn says. "Scales out, everyone and potion kits and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."

"Sir?" Potter says, 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 stack of old books here, they'll do until you can write Flourish and Blotts." Slughorn strides over to a corner cupboard and after a moment's foraging emerges with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gives to Potter and Weasley along with two sets of tarnished scales. "Now then," Slughorn says, returning to the front of the class, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kinds 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. Can anyone tell me what this one is?" He indicated the cauldron nearest our table. The contents of the cauldron are clear and odourless like water. Granger's hand raises in the air and Slughorn points at her.

"It's Veritaserum, a colourless, odourless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," she says. "Very good, very good!" Slughorn says happily. "Now," he continues, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, which holds a thick and mud-like substance, bubbling slowly, "this one here is pretty well-known...featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately, too, who can -?" Granger's hand is the fastest once more. "It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she says.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here...yes, my dear?" says Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused as Granger's hand punches the air again. The cauldron in question holds a potion with a mother-of-pearl sheen and has spiraling steam drifting up. "It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," says Slughorn, who looks mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" says Granger. "Quite right! You recognised it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," says Granger enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -" But she turns slightly pink and does not complete the sentence. I, myself, smell old books and coffee. "May I ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn says, ignoring Granger'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."

"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," Potter says. "Well, well, take twenty well–earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Slughorn says 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 says nodding gravely at Nott and Draco, both of them smirking. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. And now," Slughorn says, "it's time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," Macmillan says, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within is molten gold in colour and droplets leap like goldfish above the potion's surface. "Oho," Slughorn says again. "Yes. That

"Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turns, smiling, to look at Granger, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," Granger says excitedly. "It makes you lucky!" I sit up a little straighter and so does everyone else. "Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," Slughorn says.

"Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed...at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" Boot asks eagerly. "Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," Slughorn says. "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?" Corner asks with great interest. "Twice in my life," Slughorn says. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days.

He gazes dreamily into the distance. "And that," Slughorn says, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson." Silence falls on the room, the only sound the bubbling and gurgling of the potions. "One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," Slughorn continues, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to all of us.

"Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now, I must warn you that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organised 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," Slughorn says, 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 best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

I draw my cauldron toward myself and begin adding weight to my scales, working in the silence.

Within ten minutes, the whole room is full of bluish steam and not long after my potion has the 'smooth, blackcurrant-coloured liquid' mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

"And time's up!" Slughorn calls. "Stop stirring, please!" Slughorn moves slowly between the tables, peering into the cauldrons. He makes no comment, but nods in appreciation at the pale pink colour of Draco's potion.

When he reaches Potter's, he cries, "The clear winner! Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good Lord, it's clear that 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!"