𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀, harry potter

ninety eight

98 || slughorn

It seemed being a Quidditch captain meant more hassle than realised. The entirety of her break Adelaide was harassed by students from second year to seventh year wanting to try out. Adelaide still had to go down to Hooch to schedule the try outs, never mind figure out how what drills she would do.

"So, we need two new chasers, two new beaters and a seeker," Adelaide said to Blaise, "You trying out this year?"

He nodded, having lost to Adelaide and Theo in second year, Blaise was waiting for Adrian to leave, they just didn't anticipate not having Theo.

"So, one chaser because I'm obviously the best one." He joked.

Adelaide sent him a glare, "We'll see, wont we? I'll probably see if we can do it this week, need to get training quickly because we're winning the cup this year. Gryffindor won't win it three times a row."

"That's the spirit." Blaise exclaimed and the bell for afternoon lessons went off, "Ah, potions time."

It was strange going into the dungeons and not having Snape, after all they had suffered through five years of him.

Slughorn appeared at the dog, beaming and beckoning them in, he smiled enthusiastically at Blaise then looking at Adelaide, "Miss Black, how are you?"

"I'm good." She said cautiously.

"I meant to talk to you on the train," Slughorn said, and Adelaide winced internally, "I have this little thing, the Slug Club. Your Uncle Regulus may have mentioned it to you, after all he was one of my best students."

Regulus had spoken about the Slug Club with much admiration for the Professor, "Yes Sir."

"I would like to invite you, I have a rather interest in the Black family, the only one I never collected was your father, though I spent most of my time berating him."

"Thank you, sir, I would be honoured." Adelaide said.

"Amazing," Slughorn exclaimed, "Now, take a seat."

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. The four Slytherins, Draco, Blaise, Alex and Adelaide, took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws, and Hermione, Harry and Ron with Ernie Macmillan.

Adelaide had never smelt something so seductive, a wood like smell, a familiar cologne and cinnamon. She knew immediately what the potion was. Amortentia.

"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 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?"