Chapter 4, "Advanced Potion-Making"

Despite his (admittedly extraneous) attempts to befriend students whom he found worthy of his attention, Mavis could not find it within herself to outright hate Professor Slughorn. He was a kind man, at best, and in search of fame, at worst; which Mavis, obviously, could sympathize with, having been on the hunt for stardom herself. But Slughorn was much closer to achieving it than she; he had been employed at Hogwarts, as he told the class upon their first day with him, for nearly fifty years. He was a well-celebrated Potioneer and, remarkably, quite fun to chat to, so Mavis could possibly—maybe—understand why he was so redeemed.

"In N.E.W.T. Potions, of course," he explained of the class, as the limited selection of sixth years stood, bored, before him, "you will be tasked with a rigorous workload, external homework, and, at the end of your seventh year, face an examination the likes of which many of you have never seen before."

He let the words settle over his audience with a grave kind of tone, but, upon realizing that nobody was feeding into his over-the-top performance, he fell back into his old persona.

"But today, however," he said fondly, tapping the tips of his fingers together over his round belly, "I simply have one task for you. Before we begin, I—"

The door burst open, loudly and without warning, behind him, and each eye watched as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stumbled in, side by side. Mavis rolled her eyes at the remarkably rude interruption, but Slughorn seemed overjoyed.

"Harry, m'boy," he exclaimed happily, spreading his hands. "Ah, yes, Professor Mcgonagall did mention.... Not to worry, m'boy, not to worry at all. You're not a moment too late!"

"Was the start of class not the limit on 'a moment too late'?" Blaise asked, his voice not carrying further than the few Slytherins around him.

"Not for Potter, of course," Pansy said unhappily; she'd been attempting to cosy up to Malfoy but Potter's entrance had her Drakey slapping her hand away from his face. She pouted and crossed her arms. "I wish classes were still divided by Houses."

"Don't we all," Theo remarked dryly.

"As I was saying," said Slughorn, as he sent Harry and Ron off to join the rest of the class, battered Advanced Potions books in hand, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, of course. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. In any case, you ought to have at least heard of 'em. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

The answer bounced through Mavis's mind upon one glance of the transparent potion—Veritaserum—but she didn't so much as raise her hand, for she knew, bitterly, that Granger would have been a plain bitch to try and beat, academically. Hermione was supposedly the brightest witch of their year, but Mavis was also renowned as their best Potioneer, which outright conflicted with Hermione's title. Mavis, for lack of wanting to pick a fight with a witch she knew to have punched Draco Malfoy straight in the face, usually just succumbed to Hermione's wisdom and let her win, even in a class which Mavis knew she could best.

Sure as Mavis had expected, Hermione's hand was first in the air, and she provided Slughorn with a by-the-textbook definition of Veritaserum and its uses.

"Very good, very good," said Slughorn, beaming. He gestured to a larger pot; its contents were bubbling slowly, curling within themselves and thickly spattering up the walls of the cauldron. "And this one—Oho, Miss Granger, please?"

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," said Hermione evenly, lowering her hand and wrapping it back around her textbook.

"Meh meh meh," muttered Pansy childishly.

"Pansy, she can hear you," said Blaise quietly, keeping his eyes forward and hardly moving his mouth. "Aren't you supposed to be a Prefect?"

Pansy straightened her back. "Hmph. Prefects can have fun, too."

"Shush, Parkinson, look," said Mavis, her gaze narrowing in on the third and final cauldron before Slughorn. "It's a love potion. Intending to use it on Malfoy, now, are you?"

Pansy curled her lip and crossed her arms, and—Mavis's intended effect of her words—fell silent, allowing the conversation to return to Slughorn's repeated question of what sat in the cauldron.

"Amortentia," said Mavis before Hermione could even get a hand in the air—she ignored the pompous glare coming her direction from the Gryffindor side of the room, as she had done so many times before in her life.

"Oh, Miss Granger," said Slughorn cheerily, "a challenger! Miss Mayberry, may I ask, what does Amortentia do?"

"It's a love potion," she said, watching as the steam rose from the cauldron in characteristic swirls. "The most powerful in the world. It's recognizable by its pearl shimmer, the steam, and the scent."

"Right you are, Mavis, right you are!" Slughorn gave the potion a swirl with his wand, and the steam rose from its contents ever fervently. The entire class seemed to inhale sharply upon the release of the scent; Mavis couldn't even help herself from following the crowd. Slughorn looked rather pleased by the effect on his audience. "And what, does anyone know, is the scent of Amortentia? What makes it so distinct?"

"Well, it isn't," said Hermione, matter-of-factly, having taken Mavis's tactic of not raising her hand before answering. "It's supposed to smell differently to everyone according to what attracts them. For example, I smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—"

But she turned slightly pink and did not finish her sentence.

"Right again, Miss Granger! Take ten well-deserved points for Gryffindor. And, of course, Mavis, I'll give you five for Slytherin as well—my alma mater!"

"Great going, Mavis," said Malfoy with a false tone of pride, clapping Mavis's back and shaking her. "Really. Second again."

"Just as you'll always be in your father's eyes," she said to Malfoy, the smile on her lips unfaltering. "Thank you, Professor. But could I get five more if I told you that the last little phial there is full of Felix Felicis?"

Slughorn blinked, clearly taken aback, an impressed smile taking over his face. He laughed. "Why, right you are, Miss Mayberry. I do think that deserves an even ten, like Miss Granger's. Can you inform me of the effects of Felix Felicis?"

Hermione jumped to the answer before the question had even fully left Slughorn's lips, clearly becoming a bit ruffled by her adversary and suddenly showing her true colours. "It's liquid luck. It makes you lucky!"

Slughorn chuckled, as if sharing an inside joke with himself. "Yes, yes, of course. Liquid luck. Whosoever drinks it shall have unimpeded good fortune for his or herself, until the effects wear off. This phial here contains enough for twelve hours' luck, from dusk 'til dawn. And this," he said, pausing again for dramatic effect, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson, to whomever can brew me a decent attempt at a Draught of Living Death, which can be found on page ten of your books. I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody, as this is highly advanced potion-making; but the person who does best will win our little friend Felix here! Off you go!"

The classroom became aglow with lit fires beneath cauldrons, the scents of ingredients wafting delectably around the room and clashing with each other in the air. Mavis, upon finding page ten in her own book, wasted not a moment before getting to work.

It was halfway through the lesson when she lifted her head from her cauldron. Curious, she thought, that she had not yet heard the berating sound of Ron Weasley as he whined to Granger that their task was too difficult. What she found was him glaring down at his ingredients board, trying and failing to cut a flinging sopophorous bean as it scrambled around his knife. Granger's hair had tripled in width.

And Potter—well, he was right as rain, wasn't he? Mavis glanced his direction only briefly at first, then had to do a double-take, brow furrowing in an impressed sort of anger. Potter had never been any good when it came to Potions—hell, he wasn't even on the list to take this class before an hour ago—but now he soared above the rest of the class, calmly stirring his cauldron and, Mavis thought, looking rather pleased with himself.

She scoffed to herself. That little glow of self-absorbment was one that he donned quite often.

Well, he wouldn't be winning that little phial of liquid luck; that much was clear. Mavis simply couldn't allow it to happen. Her ego couldn't take the hit.

She picked up an extraneous sopophorous bean in one hand and a valerian root in her other. With a little clearing of her throat, she let the root fly, knocking Potter square on the back of the head with the projectile and tossing the extra bean into his cauldron when he turned to see what had hit him.

When his eyes landed on her, she gave him a saccharine smirk, lifting her shoulders. He offered what seemed to be a rather authentic smile in return before going back to his potion.

He stirred it, and, much to Mavis's dismay, the steam curling off the draught began to twist among its own toils, and the colour within the cauldron became the exact shade of lilac described in the textbook. Harry looked pleasantly surprised.

Mavis seethed. In the chaos of the classroom, each of the students focused solely on creating the best draught, it was easy for her to get to his table with no one so much as looking up.

"Potter," she said curiously, nodding past his shoulder to a deserted corner of the classroom. "Is that what I think it is?"

Confused, Harry turned, and Mavis tipped her wand towards his cauldron. She coughed to cover up a muttering of "Aguamenti," and the cauldron flooded with water, its surface level rising at least four inches before Harry turned back to Mavis. She dropped her wand and lifted her shoulders.

Harry, to his credit, now seemed to glean that at least something was up; he gave Mavis a suspicious sort of glance, then turned back to his cauldron, though he was still smiling slightly.

As she made it back to her own pot, she heard him murmur "Finite," and her head rolled back in frustration as his draught returned to normal.

Godric, he really wasn't making it easy, was he? But Mavis simply couldn't allow him to win so easily; it would be a hit to both her pride and the Slytherin house.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn excitedly. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slowly, he moved among the tables, peering into cauldrons and muttering to himself. Nobody had proven susceptible to the challenge he had placed in front of them. Occasionally, he gave the potions a sniff or a stir, but nothing truly caught his eye.

At last he reached Mavis's table and—despite her attempt at a draught only skimming the bottom-level meaning of 'fine', for the difficulty of the potion itself in comparison with her knowledge on the subject was too high and Merlin knew there was nobody in the whole classroom besides Slughorn that could draft an acceptable potion—he barely spared her cauldron a glance before moving on to the Potter-Weasley-Granger table in front.

Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Weasley, though his cauldron was the colour of pure licorice (and the consistency of it, too), was granted a rueful smile. Then his eyes landed on Harry's, and many things happened at once.

A look of exceptional delight took over Slughorn's wrinkled face; Harry broke into a smile himself; Hermione opened her mouth—possibly preparing herself to complain—and inhaled sharply; and Mavis, under cover of all eyes on Potter (like usual), gave a flick of her wrist, whispered an incantation, and let the spell fly.

Potter's cauldron turned to a sieve in the blink of an eye; the lilac potion gushed out of the tiny little holes, splashing the dungeon floor and drenching the shoes of everyone circled around the once-masterpiece. Hermione gasped, jumping back, her eyes widening to that of bug status.

At once, Slughorn waved his wand, chortling to himself with surprise; but Harry had turned his back on his own work, giving Mavis an astonished sort of expression, baffled in the same way she imagined a toddler to be at their first instance of magic.

"Oho, watch out, Harry," said Slughorn heartily, drying the floor with a stream of air rushing from the tip of his wand. He clapped Harry's shoulder joyously. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think someone was jealous of your skill, my boy!"

Harry's stupid eyes were aglow with something Mavis wasn't familiar with. He shook his head, turning back to Slughorn, his potion restored in its cauldron. "It does look that way, doesn't it, Professor?"

"Good lord, Harry, it's clear you've not inherited your mother's Potions skills," Slughorn went on. "She was a flat hand at Potions, she was! Here you are, then, here you are—one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

He made a show of presenting Harry with the tiny, golden phial, humming to himself and gesturing for the rest of the class to give him a round of applause.

Harry, beaming, waited for the (albeit, unenthusiastic) clapping to die down, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug, holding up the liquid luck as though it were his most prized possession.

"You know, Professor," he said thoughtfully, an air of amusement in his tone, "I really... can't accept this."

"No?" said Slughorn, baffled.

"No," Harry said, his gaze landing on firm Mavis. "I mean, I couldn't have done it without your help, Mavis. I've simply got to share this with you; it wouldn't do well on my conscience to let your work go unappreciated."

Her mouth ran dry, arms dropping from being crossed stiffly across her body. Nobody said anything for a long, awkward moment.

She narrowed her eyes, brimming with rage now. "I don't think that's—"

"No, but it is," he assured her arrogantly, looking rather pleased with himself. He extended the hand that was holding the phial back to Slughorn. "Professor, if you please, could you split this into two? One for me and one for my brilliant partner."

Slughorn glanced between the two of them, a curious sort of echo of his former smile shelled on his face. "Well, I suppose I could... Honesty is a beautiful virtue, Potter—"

"Professor," Mavis tried again, "I don't need to split anything with... him. It's really alright."

"No, no," said Slughorn, waving her off with both hands and retaking the phial from Harry. He checked the time on his wristwatch. "The rest of you may get on to your next class of the day; I'll just keep you two here so I can split this evenly, if you don't mind..."

The rest of the class—though Mavis was quite positive the majority of them would have perfectly enjoyed staying and playing witness to another Mayberry/Potter melee—gathered their things and cleaned up their workspaces, a wave of mutters rushing over them and glances thrown over their shoulders on the way out. Mavis caught Blaise's eye and sent him a pleading look, but he laughed, like he couldn't believe she'd gotten herself in such a situation in the first place.

"That'll be six hours each, then," said Slughorn, as he fiddled at his desk with the original phial and a second, empty one, his back to his two star pupils. "I'd say that's even more luck than a usual dosage, too, because when you really look at it, from a professional perspective—I know I took about a half a teaspoon in the year '56..."

Though she had pointedly been avoiding looking directly at Harry for the entire time she'd been sucked into standing next to him, Mavis's gaze trailed to her left to meet his twinkling eyes, and seethed to find that he was smiling.

Slughorn continued babbling, though to himself now, as he worked on splitting the liquid luck.

You're welcome, Harry mouthed to Mavis, rolling onto the balls of his feet.

I never thanked you, she replied silently, shaking her head with the deliverance, enunciating each word to make clear he understood. You can keep it.

Harry frowned. But you worked so hard for it.

"...and, of course, I already had a dragon-skin coat over one arm and a lady clung to the other, at that point," said Slughorn over his shoulder, and Harry and Mavis quickly whirled their heads back to face him, but he soon returned to his work and they returned to glaring at each other.

Don't be a prat, she mouthed warningly.

He smiled at her, lifting his shoulders. "Pot, meet kettle."

"Oh, eh, what was that, my boy?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, giving Slughorn a sort of panicked look as he turned back to the pair of them.

"Right," he said, holding two small phials in each hand. He glanced down at them then extended them, rather awkwardly, to each student. "Well, here you are, then. Good work! Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a crossword to get to..."

"You are such a cheat," she said venomously, once they had gathered their things and were out in the corridor. The hall was empty, luckily, save for them, and Mavis used this to her full advantage, spanning a gap between them at least six feet wide. "I wouldn't have done anything I did if you hadn't outright cheated on that stupid potion—"

"Cheating is a harsh term," he said casually, shrugging his shoulders. "I just—got lucky, I suppose."

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes, "because luck truly comes so easily to you. My god, you're insufferable, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Very," she assured him furiously. She unclipped her bag and reached in to pull the little phial of liquid luck from the smallest pocket, turning ferociously towards Harry and shoving her enclosed fist into his chest. "Here. Have your twelve hours."

Harry put his hands in the air, fingers wrapped around the spine of his Potions textbook. "I don't want it," he said, eyebrows high on his forehead. "Really, Mavis, you can have it."

"I don't want it."

He laughed, letting his hands fall into a shrug again. He curled her fingers back around the vial and pushed her hand back into herself. "But I'm giving it to you."

"See, that's the problem!" she burst angrily, clutching her head with her hands. "God, Potter, I don't want you to give it to me. You're a filthy cheat and I didn't do anything except try and expose you. Even if you don't deserve this stupid prize, I don't want you to just hand it over to me."

His brow furrowed, and he tipped his head to the side slightly. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

She inhaled a heavy breath, trying her best not to convulse with rage. A sharp extend of her arm shoved the potion back into Harry's hands.

"When I get to show off how good I am in Potions," she said, furious, "it won't be because I cheated; it will be because I actually have the skills necessary for the class. And when I win a phial of Felix Felicis, Potter—it won't be because you handed it to me. It'll be because I bloody deserved it."

In silence, Harry finally took the phial of Felix Felicis back, his eyes darting between it and the witch before him.

"Okay," he said slowly, brow furrowed. "So what does that make me?"

Admittedly caught slightly off-guard, Mavis frowned passively, shaking her head. "I don't know," she said, still with a twinge of anger behind it. "A prick."

Harry's lips twisted into that half-hidden smile, and he nodded once, endorsing her accusation wordlessly.

"Okay then," she said; and now she glanced around as though looking for something tangible to blame her anger on. "Okay, so, if we agree on that, then I'll be off."

"Brilliant," he said with another nod. "I'll see you later, Mavis."

Mavis, who had begun walking in the other direction (and rather quickly, at that), rolled her eyes. "And quit calling me that, for fuck sake."

"Calling you what?" Harry called after her, frowning. "Your name?"

Mavis groaned in frustration, swinging her arms down through the air. "Yes!"

"Will do!"

She hated that she could hear the grin in his voice, even from the other end of the corridor.