The Art of Seduction

“The Art of Seduction”

By Michi M. Chu

~*~*~

Chapter Two: Initiating Intentions

~*~*~

‘Now that you are ready to begin, you should start to make your intentions known. However, it is important not to overdo it...simply plant the seed of the idea that you are interested, and it is from this that you will have a foundation upon which to build...’

~*~

Harry sighed, running a hand through his wet tangled dark locks, which were in even greater disarray than usual, courtesy of the hair-styling techniques of wind and rain. It had been a pretty bad day for Quidditch practise, that was for sure, and several of his teammates (well, more like the entire team) had chipped in their complaints. They might think him crazy now, but they would thank him if a freak storm suddenly began during a match. Plus, it improved their accuracy, endurance, and flying skills. After all, Oliver Wood had always had them practise, rain, sleet, or shine. Ever since Harry had become Gryffindor team Captain, he had kept a full-length poster of the handsome former Captain posted in the Gryffindor Team Change Rooms (for purely motivational purposes, of course). It read: “WWWD: What Would Wood Do?” Though a little overenthusiastic about winning, Wood’s passion for Quidditch had still been contagious, and he had been a good Captain. When Harry had succeeded him, he was well aware of the standards that he had to live up to. After all, he only owed it to his team.

Everybody had played well at practise today, despite their complaints. When the weather took a turn for the worse, he had called it a day, and the team disbanded. Harry, however, had left a set of robes back in the Change Rooms. Hermione had planned a study session later on, seeing that they had a Potions exam on the following day, one that counted for fifteen percent of their grade, and she knew the studying habits of her two best friends by now. However, she rarely gave breaks (and once she had even made them miss dinner), so he figured he might as well shower while he was at it, since it was likely that they would be up late into the night.

The Change Rooms were empty, and predictably so. Harry was vaguely reminded of the American slasher films Dudley liked to watch. Once his cousin had even kept the whole house up, bawling about how he couldn’t sleep because the Axe Man was going to get him. This seemed to be a scene taken directly from one of the more classic ones, “There’s Blood in the Showers.” All the elements were there: empty change rooms, a storm outside, the hero (all alone, of course), a half-naked blonde getting ready to take a shower...

Wait a minute. Go back to that last one.

“Malfoy?!” Harry choked out. What was *he* doing here?

Malfoy turned around, obviously slightly surprised. He gave a rather sexy smirk and... Wait a minute. Sexy?! Where the hell had *that* come from? It had never occurred to Harry to link the words ‘Draco Malfoy’ and ‘sexy’ together, despite what he sometimes overheard being giggled in the halls. He supposed he wasn’t bad-looking as far as guys went, since Harry didn’t really consider himself to be the biggest authority on males, but , more importantly, it was Malfoy. His rival and archnemesis. He didn’t need to start thinking about him like that. It would be...well, weird. And weird was not what Harry needed in his life right now, as if he didn’t already have enough to worry about. He didn’t need to have being weird on top of everything regular teenage boys had to worry about, not to mention the whole defeating evil and saving the world bit, while still managing to pass Potions.

Besides, what defined that expression as sexy, anyway? He had seen it millions of times before, and he had never even had the glimmer of a thought to describe it as sexy. Well, it was probably because the situation was slightly different now: same old expression, same old arrogance, same old Malfoy...sans clothing.

It occurred to Harry that in all the years that he had known him, he had never actually seen Draco Malfoy in anything other than his robes or Quidditch uniform. Now that he could actually see what his body looked like...well, it was a little different. Shocking, perhaps. Definitely unexpected. Quidditch had been very kind to Draco—his finely sculpted chest and well-defined musculature could have rivaled Michelangelo’s David. Drops of rainwater dripped from his wet hair down his slender neck and over the flat planes of his chest, past pink nipples peaked from the obvious chill, and leaving silver rivulets as they did so, gleaming in the light of the change rooms- silver upon the pale tapestry of his skin. There was none of the awkwardness he and Ron had been both so familiar with. (And often, were still quite familiar with.) In fact, looking at him now, Harry doubted that Draco Malfoy had ever gone through an awkward phase in his entire life. It seemed to be a huge injustice in the moral workings of the universe, but Harry had to begrudgingly admit that Draco was... well, hot. Sexy. It made him feel unpleasantly weird just thinking about it. Thankfully, Malfoy wasn’t *really* sans clothing (which offered Harry some relief and a little ...disappointment? Nah...) – he was only half naked...he still wore a pair of pants. Yes, a pair of pants that clung to his form, unbuttoned and sinfully unzipped...and from the faint glimpse of fine golden curls, his rival was going commando. Umm...

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Malfoy’s voice, tinted with condescension (and...amusement?) jarred Harry out of his reverie.

“What?” Harry said, ever so eloquently.

Malfoy smirked again, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I said: Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Harry flushed; he had obviously been caught staring. Which was definitely unacceptable, weird behaviour. While not positive, he was pretty sure that normal people simply didn’t ogle their half-dressed rivals in empty change rooms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Malfoy’s smirk widened into a grin. “Oh, but you do. Looking for something, Potter, or just looking? I’m leaning towards the latter.”

Harry reddened even more. “I was not!” Okay, a little childish and not the best comeback, but Harry’s brain always had a tendency to short-circuit in the Snappy Remarks Department whenever he was flustered. However, one could hardly blame him. The very last thing he needed was for Malfoy to spread the word (or to even get that idea) that he was weird. It would be all over the entire school by dinnertime, and he was being whispered about enough as it was, thank-you-very-much.

Malfoy’s reply came back, smug as ever. “Were too.” A flash of lightning came from outside, lighting up the room for a fraction of a second, consequently illuminating the Slytherin's perfect, half-nude figure.

Harry decided that the safest course of things was to change the subject. Get the focus off of him and back on Malfoy. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“You never fail to impress me with your brilliant intellect, Potter. I’m brewing a potion. Or perhaps I’m attempting to Transfigure this bench into an elephant. What does it look like I’m doing?”

What it looked like was questionable, but it was obvious that he was preparing to take a shower, and Harry said so.

Malfoy looked surprised for a moment, and then he laughed. “My, my, my, Potter. Beauty, brains and a sense of humour. I can’t believe you’re still single.” There was the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance.

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that one. It seemed to be the usual antagonistic snipe at him, but there was a gleam in Malfoy’s eyes that Harry was positive he had never seen before, at least not directed at him. If coming from anyone else, it might even be taken as a compliment...or a come-on? Impossible. Either way, it gave him a distinctly uneasy feeling.

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, as if quietly observing him. Then he smiled again, that smile that made Harry feel as if he were breaking out in hives all over—all tingly and odd. When he was younger, he had heard all the horror stories – Aunt Petunia seemed to take a particular relish in scaring the living daylights out of little boys – and there had been one about a little boy who had wandered away from his parents at the zoo. Basically, the little boy wandered his way into the tiger pit, and the moral of the story was to always stay by your parents’ side. Harry had a feeling that the expression upon Malfoy’s face was just a few degrees from being the expression on the tiger’s face when it met the little boy. Consequently, he felt like a very little boy himself, and the flash of lightning that shadowed Malfoy's features did not help in the slightest.

“So tell me, Harry,” Malfoy began, advancing, Harry stepping back out of his pure instinct for self-preservation, “Tell me what I’m sure the resident female population wants to know: Why is Hogwarts’ Most Eligible Bachelor still single?”

“What are you suggesting?” Harry asked defensively. Truth be told, Harry didn’t really know the answer to that himself. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of interest in him; it was obvious that girls of all years fancied him, younger years more than others. In fact, that was a part of it: all those girls liked him because he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Beloved Hero, Conqueror of Evil and All-Around Good Guy, but not because he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Was a Really Good Seeker but Had Really Messy Hair and Was Kind of Bad at Potions. Perhaps the problem was he himself. Save for Cho Chang, there really hadn’t been any single girl who especially appealed to him, since most were too wrapped up in his reputation.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t had any offers,” Malfoy drawled, as if reading Harry’s mind (which would have been very, very creepy), “since there definitely isn’t a lack of female interest.” He continued walking (Stalking? Slinking?) towards Harry as he spoke, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps there is a lack of interest in females?”

“What?! No!” Harry exclaimed, aghast at the mere suggestion of the idea. Malfoy simply smirked, and Harry decided that he was definitely liking the expression upon his rival’s face less and less. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

A platinum brow quirked in response, completing the expression of amused arrogance to a singular perfection that was Draco Malfoy’s alone. “Oh, don’t I?” he challenged. “There’s nothing wrong with it, you know. It’s perfectly natural.” Another rumble of thunder, this one resembling the purr rolling from the throat of a giant feline.

“Right,” said Harry, more in acknowledgement of the words and for lack of anything better to say, rather than in agreement. He had a definite mounting unease of their conversation and the road that it had decided to meander down. Or rather, the road that Malfoy had decided that it meander down. Why, of all situations possible, did he have to pick this one to actually be civil? Harry would be *much* more comfortable if he stuck to his regular routine of insults and animosity. At least he knew how to deal with *that*, unlike the alien awkwardness of this foreign situation. He wouldn’t even mind if it came down to trading blows and having a fisticuffs bit; he was pretty sure he could take the slender blonde. Er, bad choice of words. He was familiar with fighting Draco Malfoy, that was what he meant. Although, fighting usually meant grappling and wrestling with a lot of contact of skin on skin...either Harry on top of Draco, or worse, if the Slytherin managed to gain the upper hand, it meant Draco on top of him...Er, bad mental image. Okay, Harry. Think of something else. Anything else. Like how far away the storm is...One locomotive, two locomotive...

“And it’s a perfectly normal thing for boys our age to wonder about...” Malfoy continued. Harry backed up some more, but as he bumped into the wall, he found that he had suddenly run out of space to back up into. And the grin on his rival’s face was definitely feline and predatory, that of a hunter which has cornered his quarry. Not a good thing. Not a good thing at all. ...six locomotive, seven locomotive....

“Er...right...” Harry said again, palms slick against the smooth icy coldness of ceramic bathroom tile, searching desperately for some sort of trigger that would open up a trap door to help him escape. Hogwarts was an old castle; there were plenty of secret passageways and hidden chambers and the like. Unfortunately, Harry had no such luck. Lightning flickered throughout the room. Er...The storm is...Several kilometres away...?

“And you know what they say,” Malfoy almost purred, casually placing his hands on either side of Harry, so that our hero was, indeed, effectively trapped, “Don’t kick it until you try it, right?”

Harry gulped.

He had once heard that everyone needed a certain amount of personal space to feel completely comfortable. While he wasn’t quite sure as to the exact amount (around one cubic metre?), he was fairly positive that Draco Malfoy was invading his. The blonde’s perfect, half-clothed body was so close to his own that he could feel the warmth of the other’s body heat radiate off of him in light, silken waves. They were so close that if Harry tried to make any sort of forward movement in attempt to escape, he would find himself brushing against aforementioned half-naked blonde in a very intimate way—a way that he was absolutely certain was inappropriate for the current stage of their relationship. The gaze of his rival’s molten silver eyes was even more intense up close, magnified by their proximity. Like the proverbial bird mesmerised by the serpent’s gaze, Harry found that his body would not obey him, neither could he look away. A sudden crash of thunder made him almost jump in response, having totally forgotten the storm and his surroundings. Incidentally, he brushed against the Slytherin in such a manner that made vibrant colour course from the blood vessels of his face to his neck and made the cause of his discomfiture give an almost enticingly brazen smirk. Harry could feel his mouth become akin to the Sahara, all the moisture parching up much in the same way water droplets sizzled upon the griddle.

“Well, Harry?” Draco (It was difficult to continue thinking of someone in a manner that was so distant and formal when one was in a situation that was extremely up-close-and-personal, quite literally speaking.) asked in a slightly lower voice, leaning closer ever-so-subtly so that the distance between their faces spanned mere centimetres. The lightning that illumined the room now cast dramatic shadows that only further emphasised the blonde's fey features, lending an ephemeral beauty that lingered long after the light dissipated. His breath gusted over the sensitive skin of Harry’s face, so that Harry could almost feel the formation of the words as well as hear them. If he had felt odd before, he was almost panicking now. He could feel his heart rate pick up and his body start to tremble, not to mention the incessant acrobatics of his stomach…

DANGER!! DANGER!!! The alarms went off inside his head, accompanied with flashing epileptic red lights and the image of a strange robot flailing its arms wildly. TRAPPED IN UNKNOWN, QUESTIONABLE, **WEIRD** SITUATION!!!

And if interrogated, Harry had absolutely no alibi for as to why his thoughts were so obstinately concentrated upon Draco’s beautifully formed, almost feminine, primrose lips, that were close enough for them to…

“Hey, Harry!” hailed the familiar voice of Seamus as he walked in through the door, causing Draco to turn suddenly and Harry to let out a breath he hadn’t been aware that he had been holding. “Hermione sent me down to tell you to hurry up and--- Oh! I’m sorry!! I wasn’t aware I was interrupting something!”

Harry had never felt such delight at seeing Seamus until he sudden realised exactly what the scene before his Irish friend must have looked like. “Seamus! This isn’t what it looks like!”

Seamus looked from Harry’s flushed face and tousled hair to Malfoy’s predatory smirk and current state of undress. A slow and meaningful grin spread over the Gryffindor’s face. “Don’t be silly, Harry, remember who you’re talking to. You don’t have to make excuses to me. I understand your needs. We all have needs,” Seamus reassured him knowingly.

“You’ve got the wrong idea!!”

“Hey, who am I to judge? You could’ve done a *lot* worse…” Seamus grinned, giving the rather bemused and underdressed Draco Malfoy the once-over. “I must congratulate you on a job well done! You’ve got good taste.”

“No!! You don’t understand—,” Harry protested.

“I understand perfectly,” Seamus interrupted with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll just go back upstairs and tell Hermione you’ll be a little late, that’s all. I’ll be leaving, now…You two crazy kids have fun! Just don’t take too *too* long, okay?”

“NO!” Harry cried; while unaware of what might have happened had they not been interrupted, he was fairly aware that he would *not* have liked it.

Seamus blinked. “Well, I wasn’t aware that you felt *that* strongly about it, but you *do* have a study session to attend, you know. School should always come before fooling around. You know the saying: ‘Studies come before you can cum!’ ”

Malfoy blanched. “That’s gross.”

Seamus grinned. “Why, thank you; I made it up myself.”

“Well, I was just leaving, anyway,” the blonde said smoothly, pushing himself off of Harry in one graceful motion, Harry flushing further when their bodies made contact for one very brief moment. Draco gave a deliberate smile. “I’ll catch you later, Harry,” he enunciated, each word coated in suggestion. Getting his robes and towel, the blonde exited nonchalantly, with all the grace and sex appeal of the detective’s dangerously attractive client in a film noir. One could almost hear the drums and sultry jazz music accompanying his every step.

Seamus turned to Harry, gaping slightly. “You, my friend, have got a *lot* of explaining to do.”

“This is all a misunderstanding!” Harry insisted. “There’s nothing to explain!”

Seamus snorted with obvious disbelief. “Suuuure…”

Harry sighed. “You know what, I hate to keep Hermione waiting, so I’ll just get my things, skip the shower, and go with you.”

“Fine,” said Seamus. “But I don’t plan to let you off the hook so easily. I *am* going to find out the whole story eventually, you know.”

“Fine by me. And when you do, could you please explain it to me?”

~*~

Draco smirked to himself as he leaned against the tiled bathroom wall of the Slytherin showers before turning on the water. Yes, today had been very productive indeed. This was going to be even easier than he had originally thought.

He will be mine. Oh, yesss...He *will* be mine...

Lightning flashed behind him and the dark sky thundered ominously.

~*~

“Hey, Harry,” greeted Hermione as he and Seamus entered the Gryffindor Common Room. “Did you get to shower?”

“…No,” Harry said simply. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table next to her and Ron.

“Oh, then what took you so long?” queried Ron.

Seamus grinned wickedly, giving Harry a not-so-secretive conspiratorial wink. “Let’s just say Harry had a long and hard time in coming up here.”

Hermione hit Seamus on the arm. “Don’t say those things! Harry’s not like that; he’s sweet and innocent! I don’t want you corrupting him with your deviant ways!”

“Right…” Seamus rolled his eyes. “Our Harry here’s a growing boy! He has primal instincts! Manly urges!” There was a loud *thunk* as Harry’s head hit the hardwood table. Seamus continued, nonplussed in his defence of his friend’s ‘honour’. “He has *needs*! And *feelings*! …Well, maybe that doesn’t exactly qualify as a ‘feeling’, but…Not everyone’s completely asexual like you, Hermione. God, you’re like an amoeba!”

Hermione simply gave him a saccharine smile. “I get my kicks *above* the waistline, Sunshine.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Seamus queried, genuinely perplexed.

“Getting kicks above the waistline?” Ron interjected. “Is that even possible?”

“Of course it is,” Seamus told him. “It’s just not very physical and therefore not that entertaining.”

Harry cleared his throat nervously. “Aren’t we supposed to be studying?”

“Right,” said Hermione, slamming the textbooks down upon the table. “Tomorrow’s test is on Chapters 5-8 in ‘The Wonderful World of Potions’, excluding sections 5.9, 6.2, 6.45, and 7.7; Chapters 10-14 in ‘Potions: The Central Magick’ excluding Chapter 13 (since there is no Chapter 13); Chapter 77 in ‘Mixing Magic: Potions for the Advanced Student’; and Chapter 43 in ‘Crazy Concoctions and Alliterative Ailments’. That’s a total of four books and 1,446 pages. Supposing that we skip sleep entirely, we have a total of fifteen hours before the exam. We need to get started right away.”

45 minutes or so into the session Harry’s head was already beginning to swim. There was so much material to memorise: over 100 formulae, concepts and theories that he was positive they had never covered in class, the proper mass, consistency, and colour of each potion, and diagrams of ingredient shapes he was certain he had never seen before. What the hell was a fouder? Or a sankofite, for that matter?

To make matters worse, his mind insistently kept on replaying the earlier scene with Malfoy in the Change Rooms. It was as if the VCR of his subconscious had only two buttons that alternated being stuck: Play and Rewind, Rewind then Play. What had Malfoy been doing?! Or attempting to do, anyway. What was he thinking? It was probably his twisted little mind game. Just a new way of getting at his rival, since he couldn’t beat him out on the Quidditch pitch, or in a blatant wizard’s duel. What better way to unnerve your opponent than to mess up their psyche, their way of thought?

Still… His methods were a bit unconventional. After all, it was difficult to believe that Mr. Draco Straighter-Than-A-Firebolt Malfoy was making advances at him. Sure, there were rumours, but rumours didn’t mean anything. Well, except for that small fact that all rumours were based upon a grain of truth. But Malfoy’s reputation as Resident Millionaire Playboy seemed to cover all of that and make anything else pale in comparison, exempting him from any further investigation on the part of the student body. He certainly hoped that this wasn’t going to fuel any rumours about him, although the only people who had seen the scene were Malfoy, Seamus, and Harry himself. Unless…Unless that this was exactly what Malfoy had been planning, with his goons hiding in the shower stalls, catching it all, seeing every move, every blush…Another one of his cruel pranks, a shenanigan designed to humiliate him for kicks. What if…what if they had cameras, capturing everything on film! That would be all over school by first period the next day, and Harry would never see the end of it, for the rest of his Hogwarts career. Hell, they’d probably talk about it long after he had graduated! He could picture Malfoy and the rest of them now, laughing it up in the Slytherin Dungeons, all at his expense…

‘You should have seen the look on his face! Hahahaha…’

‘Who would’ve thought, Harry Potter the Faggot…’

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice cut in. “Harry, are you home?”

Harry looked up at his friend quickly. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I was just trying to memorise this theorem…”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes,” Hermione informed him.

“Sorry. I guess I was a little…distracted, that’s all.”

“Well, you better not let yourself get distracted during the test. You know we only have an hour and fifteen minutes to complete it. Anyway, what is the accepted mass per litre (rounded off to the third decimal place), consistency, and colour of the potion known as Malicious Misery?”

“Er…1.537 grams per litre, thin and watery, and puce?” Harry attempted.

“4.666 grams per litre, thick and syrupy, and scarlet-crimson and black,” Hermione corrected. She frowned. “That was way off, Harry. You’re going to have to do better than that to pass this test.”

“I know, I know,” Harry sighed, attempting to concentrate. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the previous scene out of his head. Maybe he *was* being a little paranoid. After all, he could trust Seamus not to really say anything to anyone, and *he* certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone the events that had transpired, but Malfoy…He wouldn’t put anything past Malfoy…

“Harry? Harry!” Hermione called. “What’s the answer?”

“Er…what was the question?”

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh and read from the open textbook. “Name the four major side effects of Black Apathy.”

“Confusion, disorientation, nausea, and inability to focus?”

“Good guess. Or was that you just describing your current state, hmm?”

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want high marks.”

Forget high marks, at the moment, Harry would have settled for *passing* marks. Of course, it was impossible (not to mention sheer insanity) to tell Hermione that the reason his notes seemed a swirl of doodles and scribbles to him was mainly because of his Close Encounter of the Malfoy Kind.

Damn, damn, damn. If Draco Malfoy had set out to thoroughly bamboozle and befuddle Harry Potter, then his mission had been thoroughly accomplished.

~*~

Harry was not in the best of moods the morning after the exam. He was not having a good day at all. Directly after getting out of bed, he stubbed his toe on the bedpost, and tripped over scrunched-up carpeting. Then, he found out that Ron had been using his toothbrush (“But we’re best friends! That’s like family!” Family or not, that was really disgusting and absolutely unhygienic.), not to mention all of his shampoo. He got out of the shower only to discover that Pigwidgeon knocked over an inkbottle onto his Transfigurations homework, making a complete mess. Fortunately, he had managed to salvage it, but that had, in turn, made him late for breakfast. Thus, the only dish available was oatmeal, which just so happened to have lumps in it. Harry *hated* oatmeal. Especially the variety that came with lumps.

With that kind of a morning, the only logical direction his day could take would be for the better.

Of course, then there was Potions class.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Examinations are for the teacher as much as they are for the students, to show the professor what his students have learned. This latest exam gives blatant evidence that either none of you listen at all during class, or that your heads are all so stuffed with fluff that you are incapable of any learning. These marks are appalling! I should take your exams and burn them all; I’m so ashamed of them. The average of both classes combined was a 60.1 percent. Never have I been so ashamed of my students. I should have taken a Ministry job,” Professor Snape said, with some amount of sadistic delight in the failure of his students.

Harry wasn’t surprised in the least at the statistics. The test was nearly impossible, and had been about as pleasant as disembowelment with a rusty spoon. He had come to Potions class expecting something of the sort, the way a condemned prisoner knows what to expect when he is taken out to the gallows.

The exam itself had consisted of 17 questions to be done in 75 minutes; five assertion-reason, ten short answer (though short essay would have been a more correct term), and two long essays. By way of help, they were given a scroll of mathematical formulas, conversions, and masses of certain components.

Assertion-Reason questions were known to be most favoured in Hell, since they went something like the following:

The Draught of Drought primarily uses about three varieties of Dragonsbane

BECAUSE

The different species of Dragonsbane consist of different chloroplast count, leaf arrangements, and can be manipulated into several unique extracts.

The possible choices were:
A if the assertion is correct and the reason is a correct explanation of the assertion,
B if the assertion and the reason are both correct but the reason is not a correct explanation of the assertion,
C if the assertion is correct but the reason is false,
D if the assertion is false but the reason is true, and
E if both the assertion and the reason are false.

The short answer questions weren’t any easier, either. An example would be:

When concocting the potion for Rejuvenation, you are given .256 grams of powdered Chicken’s teeth, two pecks of Chameleon tongue, and 3.8 grams of dried mistletoe berries, all boiling in a cauldron at 167 degrees Celsius, stirred 12 times widdershins. A.) How many grams of Mermaid’s Hair do you need? B.) What temperature should the cauldron rise to? C.) What is the rate of dissolution of Chameleon tongue at this temperature and agitation? D.) What is the proper nomenclature for this potion? E.) Name the other ingredients. REMEMBER TO SHOW ALL YOUR WORK!

Potions Class was similar to the horrific mutant offspring of Arithmancy’s mating with Mathematics.

And, if one managed to survive all that, then the Long Essay would have been sure to be their doom.

Please answer the following in five-paragraph formal essay form, using complete, articulate sentences.

1.) Consider the following quotes taken from the text: “Potions in Europe during the Middle Ages solely served to impede the progress of the development of mankind; despite Merlin, the rest of the world was shadowed in ignorance…”

OR

“A critical enumeration of advances were obtained in the vast field of Potions during the Middle Ages in Europe, discoveries which are completely essential for the modern practise of this art…” Choose a quote and support your point of view using examples we learned in class as to the course of history. Also be sure to cite (using proper notation) at least three specific potions and their benefit/detriments to mankind. Include a diagram to illustrate your point.

With an exam like that, it was a miracle that anyone could pass, never mind score full marks. Even Slytherins, whom Harry suspected of getting all the questions ahead of time, did ridiculously poorly, judging by the expressions of mingled despair and dismay upon their faces. And, adding to the difficulty of the test, it didn’t help that Harry could barely concentrate during the study session because of his rival’s earlier actions.

“The only two students who weren’t a total and complete embarrassment to the field of Potions were Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy who both scored 98 percent,” Snape sneered. Harry sighed. He didn’t need Professor Trelawney to tell him those results. “As for the rest of you, I have never scaled an exam in my entire teaching career, nor will I begin now. Neither will I not count it, since apparently two of you did decently.” This remark caused the majority of the class to venomously glare at the smartest people in their house. “However, since this examination severely affects your grade in this course, I will offer tutoring sessions and will accept extra projects in order to make up for it. See me after class for your tutor assignment.”

Harry looked at his own exam with a wince as it was passed back to him. There were so many ink marks all over the parchment that it looked as if a small creature had been shot and then bled to death on it. He had marks of 59%…just under passing. Ron, on the other hand, let out a whoop of joy when he received his.

“What? How did you do?”

“I passed!” Ron exclaimed with obvious delight. Hermione then took the scroll from him and looked it over with a frown.

“Ron, you got a 60%….”

“Yeah, I know,” said Ron dismissively. “But it’s still passing, isn’t it?”

“Just barely,” said Hermione disapprovingly.

“Whatever. Passing is passing. Harry, how did you do?” Ron questioned his friend, although he should have known from the expression upon his face.

“59%…”

“Ouch!” Ron flinched, as if in pain. “I’m sorry!”

Hermione hit his arm. “Ron, he only did one percent less than you!”

“Yeah,” Ron admitted. “But that one percent is the difference between a passing grade and a failing one!”

Harry simply sighed. He was not having a good day.

~*~

After class, Harry was relieved to see that a large majority of the class were waiting for Snape to arrange tutor sessions. At least now he knew he wasn’t alone in scoring so poorly. Ron and Hermione waited with him, being the ever-faithful friends that they were.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Didn’t study as usual, I see. Well, fortunately for you, as Mr. Malfoy has graciously volunteered to tutor you.”

Harry nearly choked in shock. “M-Malfoy?!”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, since he is one of the best students in this course. You should be flattered that he is willing to actually spend his personal time helping you, of all people. While tutoring may be optional, I highly suggest that you accept my most generous offer to better your grade.” When Snape suggested something, it was recommended that one do it, for fear of a fate similar to slow, torturous death by mutilation by rampant bunnies. It was rumoured that the bodies of students dealt in such a manner were packaged and used in potions for future classes. Very efficient and environmentally friendly, actually.

‘…And to prepare the Liquid Valour Potion, add 1.20 grams of Hero’s Liver. Just a sliver or two, and remember to mass it out to the proper number of significant figures. The sample we will use today is of the Harry Potter variety, most potent, and very fresh, too. Take notes, class.’

“Unless, of course, you wish to fail this class? I doubt the populace would look too kindly upon their beloved hero failing something as simple as potions,” Snape informed him, arching a dark brow. “And of course, there is also Hogwarts academic policy which states that any member of the Quidditch team will be barred from playing should he or she fail any class. Unlike the other rules of this school, there are no exceptions—not even for you, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor. Thank you,” Harry mumbled, quite disheartened. Then he thought of something. “Wait, couldn’t Hermione tutor me? She’s doing exceedingly well, too. I’m sure a change of tutors isn’t too much to ask for.”

Snape gave him a carefully selected look of disdain. “Miss Granger is already busy with several students, whereas Mr. Malfoy is available.”

Harry looked at his friend with an expression of clear dismay and betrayal. Hermione looked repentant, but all she could say was, “Sorry, Harry, but he’s right. I’m already bogged down as it is…”

“So, it’s settled then. You may choose a project to work on, which is due in three weeks, and the next exam is two weeks from now. You will meet with Mr. Malfoy privately each afternoon, for at least an hour, until I deem it no longer necessary. You will begin today, after classes.”

Ron gave him a look of genuine sympathy. “Sorry, Harry. Now, if you could have only scored a 60%, like I did—“

“Ron!” chastised Hermione, hitting his arm again. “Harry feels bad enough as it is, you don’t need to make it worse! And a 60 is really bad! I obviously haven’t been working you hard enough!” She then turned to Harry, placing a hand upon his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Don’t worry too much about it Harry, you can only benefit from this. And it’ll really help your GPA…”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed dully. But the worst part was that he was full aware that these tutoring sessions meant himself, Malfoy, and nobody else, all alone, in an empty classroom, for maybe hours at a time…

Not a good day. Not a good day at all.

~*~