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HP466- Luck?
🕑 Added 2025-07-13 07:45:59 +0000 UTC“Now then, now then, now then,” Slughorn called out, his booming voice echoing off the high ceiling. “Scales out, everyone! Potion kits at the ready! And don’t forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making... you will want those open in just a moment!”
Slughorn waddled back to the centre of the room, puffing himself up like a toad trying to look impressive. “Right, my fine young potion-makers!” he bellowed, clapping his hands so hard a few students jumped. “I’ve prepared a few brews for you to examine. Nothing too taxing... merely the sort of thing you ought to recognize by sight if you’ve any hope of passing your N.E.W.T.s. These, my dears, are the sort of potions that separate the good from the great.”
He waddled toward the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table, where a pale steam curled lazily upward. The liquid inside was clear and still, bubbling faintly at the edges.
“Now then,” Slughorn said, beaming as he clasped his hands over his belly, “who can tell me what this is? Hmm?”
Hermione’s hand shot up before he’d finished speaking.
“Yes, Miss Granger, of course,” Slughorn said warmly, gesturing to her like an orchestra conductor inviting a soloist.
“It’s Veritaserum, sir,” Hermione said crisply. “A colourless, odourless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth.”
“Very good, very good indeed!” Slughorn exclaimed, his moustache quivering with delight. “You are quite correct. Dangerous little brew, this one... three drops, and you will have even the most tight-lipped wizard spilling their deepest secrets.”
Blaise leaned back slightly, murmuring low enough for Harry to catch, “Good thing he didn’t drop any in the pumpkin juice at breakfast, eh?”
Nott smiled faintly.
Slughorn was already bustling over to the next cauldron, this one a thick, bubbling concoction the colour of muddy green. The smell rising from it was pungent, sharp enough to make the Ravenclaw students nearest to it wrinkle their noses.
“Ah, now this one’s a little trickier,” Slughorn said with relish. “Featured in more than a few Ministry pamphlets these days—anyone care to hazard a guess?”
Hermione’s hand punched the air again.
“Yes, yes, Miss Granger?”
“It’s Polyjuice Potion, sir.”
“Excellent!” Slughorn crowed, clapping his hands together. “Very impressive. Complex brew, that one, takes a full month to prepare properly. Not that I need to warn any of you against taking a sip unless you fancy sprouting tentacles or fur.”
one was a pearly, shimmering liquid that seemed to swirl on its own, the surface glowing faintly like mother-of-pearl.
“Ah, yes,” Slughorn said, his voice dropping slightly, as if introducing something particularly precious. “Now, what about this beauty?”
Hermione’s hand shot up again.
Slughorn’s eyes twinkled with mild amusement. “You do rather make it too easy, Miss Granger... but yes?”
“It’s Amortentia, sir. The most powerful love potion in the world.”
“Spot on!” Slughorn said with a chuckle. “And I daresay you recognized it from that distinctive sheen, didn’t you? Marvelous stuff, though highly dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Astoria tilted her head slightly. “Why does it smell different to everyone?” she asked curiously.
Slughorn’s moustache twitched. “Ah, a sharp observation, Miss Greengrass! You are quite right. Amortentia smells different to each of us because it reflects what attracts us most... whether we know it or not.”
He raised a stubby finger, his voice almost bouncing with enthusiasm. “I shouldn’t have to explain this to you lot, you are the very ones who developed the detection and counter potions. Tremendous breakthrough! Mr Potter, you and your friends did something remarkable for the Magical Community. When I read about it last year, I was gobsmacked. Could hardly believe my eyes. Had to test it myself, and let me tell you... it worked marvellously.”
Tracey leaned back in her seat, smirking. “We weren’t planning to revolutionise potion-making, Professor. Just didn’t fancy being caught off guard by poisons.”
“Well, I daresay you’ve done more than revolutionise it,” Slughorn said with a chuckle. “You’ve saved lives. That is no small thing.”
Harry shrugged lightly, leaning back against his stool. “They had the brains, I just stirred the cauldron.”
Tracey let out a soft scoff, and Daphne shot him a flat look, but neither said a word. Susan smirked, shaking her head as if to say sure you did. Even Hermione raised an eyebrow, though she didn’t press him on it. They all knew he was downplaying it. For once in his life, Harry Potter was trying to sound humble. It was rare enough that no one wanted to ruin the moment.
Slughorn, of course, looked delighted by the answer. “Ah, modesty! That is the mark of real talent, my boy. Well done to all of you, truly.” He even gave a little clap.
The compliments went on for a few moments longer, Slughorn positively glowing as he gushed about the group’s “remarkable ingenuity” and “admirable initiative.”
At last, Slughorn clapped his hands together, the sound cutting through the low murmur in the room. “Right! Let’s continue.”
He gestured toward the cauldron nearest his desk, the pale steam curling lazily toward the ceiling. “Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course,” he said, his voice rich and jovial. “It is impossible to manufacture or imitate such a thing. No, this will cause only a powerful infatuation... an obsession, really.”
“It is probably the most perilous brew in this room,” Slughorn added gravely. “Yes indeed.” His eyes twinkled as they swept over the class again. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you will learn not to underestimate the power of obsessive love.”
“And now,” Slughorn said, his tone brightening, “time for us to get to work.”
“Sir, you haven’t told us what’s in that one,” Ernie Macmillan said hastily. He pointed toward a small black cauldron on Slughorn’s desk.
The potion inside shimmered like molten gold, thick drops leaping and splashing about as though it had a mind of its own. Oddly enough, not a single drop spilled over the lip of the cauldron.
“Oho,” Slughorn said, his walrus moustache twitching as if he’d been waiting for the question. Harry was certain he had... the dramatic pause felt rehearsed.
“Yes, that,” Slughorn said grandly. “A most curious little potion... Felix Felicis.”
There was a soft gasp from the table across the aisle.
“I take it,” Slughorn said, turning with a smile, “that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?”
Hermione’s hand was already half-raised. “It is liquid luck,” she said quickly. “It makes you lucky.”
“Correct, Miss Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor.” Slughorn’s smile stretched wide. “Liquid luck! Yes, it’ is a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn. “Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off.”
“Why don’t people drink it all the time, sir?” said Terry Boot eagerly.
“Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence,” said Slughorn. “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?” asked Michael Corner with great interest.
“Twice in my life,” said Slughorn. “Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days.” He gazed dreamily into the distance.
Whether he was playacting or not, thought the class, the effect was good.
“And that,” said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, “is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson.”
There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.
“One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. “Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized 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,” said Slughorn, 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!”
There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible.
Harry shook his head with a smile. At this point, everyone in his circle could brew the Draught of Living Death with their eyes closed if pressed. He honestly wondered how Slughorn planned to decide whose attempt was “best.” The man likely intended to make it up as he went along.
Still, Harry didn’t need Felix Felicis. If he wanted, he could brew a perfect batch in the Virtual Room and stockpile enough to flood Diagon Alley twice over. Not that it mattered.
But he knew Felix Felicis wasn’t true luck. Luck wasn’t something you could bottle and sip like Pumpkin Juice, no matter how many Ministry pamphlets tried to make it sound like magic solved everything. What it really did was sharpen the senses, nudge instincts into overdrive, and give the drinker just enough reckless confidence to act on opportunities they would normally miss. Combine that with heightened awareness and a subtle metaphysical push, and voila... “liquid luck.”
Nigel spoke in Harry’s mind. “Ah, the attempt to bottle luck. The hubris of humanity never ceases to amuse me."
Harry shook his head, not bothering to answer. Micro-divinations were still a marvel in their own way, if one cared to call them that. Felix Felicis produced brilliant effects, and there was no denying its reputation had lasted for centuries for good reason. Still, luck, true luck, was chaos incarnate. It wasn’t the sort of thing a cauldron could brew up. That was why people spoke of stars aligning. No potion, no matter how potent, could bottle the sheer randomness of the universe.
When the class ended, Slughorn looked utterly dumbfounded. Half the classroom was still filled with a light haze of potion steam, but it was impossible to miss his wide eyes as he glanced from one perfect cauldron to the next.
Daphne, Tracey, Susan, Hannah, Neville, Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, Draco, and Nott had each brewed flawless batches of the Draught of Living Death. The potions shimmered with the pearlescent hue of textbook perfection. Even Parvati, Padma, Megan, and Lavender, who only joined Harry’s group last year, weren’t far off. They weren’t quite at the same level yet, but their work outshone the rest of the class easily.
Harry, on the other hand, had produced a passable result. It wasn’t brilliant, not terrible either, just good enough to avoid Slughorn raising an eyebrow. He hadn’t so much as glanced at his own cauldron while helping Parvati fix her stirring rhythm earlier.
“Merlin’s beard,” Slughorn muttered finally, his moustache quivering as he surveyed the rows of gleaming vials. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen a group brew with such consistency before. Extraordinary! Positively extraordinary!”
Tracey leaned back on her stool, lips twitching as she murmured to Daphne, “Should we tell him we practiced this in fourth year?”
“Leave him his illusions,” Daphne murmured back, eyes flicking toward Slughorn with amusement.
“Ten points each for… oh, where do I even begin?” Slughorn said, his voice pitching higher with every word. “Slytherin! Hufflepuff! Gryffindor! And Ravenclaw as well! Marvellous work, all of you.”
“Miss Davis! Miss Greengrass! Exceptional, simply exceptional. Ten points each. And Mr Longbottom... steady brewing there, lad. You’ve inherited your parents’ discipline, I see. Ten points.”
Neville gave a polite nod, not rising to the bait.
“Miss Granger, I expected nothing less. Ten points to Gryffindor.”
Hermione offered a small smile. “Thank you, Professor.”
“Miss Parkinson, Mister Zabini… splendid work! And you as well, Mister Malfoy, Mister Nott. All of you... ten points apiece.”
Slughorn’s voice softened as he stopped in front of Padma and Parvati’s bench. “And the Patil twins, remarkable progress! And Miss Jones, Miss Brown... your potions may not be flawless, but they are leagues ahead of what I usually see at this stage.”
Megan gave a small smile, while Lavender fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, clearly trying not to beam.
Blaise inclined his head slightly. “We aim to please, sir.”
“Quite, quite,” Slughorn said, eyes gleaming as he moved on. He paused at Harry’s cauldron, blinking once. “Ah… Potter! A respectable attempt, certainly, but...”
“Not quite Slug Club material?” Harry suggested mildly, his lips curling.
“Oh, nonsense, my boy,” Slughorn said quickly, though his moustache twitched as though he’d been caught out. “Everyone has off days, yes? I daresay even I’ve brewed a subpar potion or two in my time.”
Slughorn clapped his hands together once more, his face pink with excitement. “Brilliant work today, all of you! Absolutely brilliant. Take note, class... this is what happens when diligence and raw talent meet!”
“Or when you are terrified of Potter’s study sessions,” Megan murmured to Padma.
Nott smirked at Harry across the bench. “So, what about the reward, sir?”
Slughorn froze mid-step, clutching the little bottle of Felix Felicis like it might solve the dilemma for him. His eyes darted between rows of bottles, each one holding a flawless Draught of Living Death.
“How could I possibly choose?” Slughorn muttered. “Truly, I am spoiled for choice.”
Susan leaned forward on her stool, chin in her hand. “If he gives it to one of us, the rest will riot,” she said in a mock-serious tone.
“Riot is a bit strong,” Blaise drawled from the back, “but I might consider mild sabotage.”
Harry burst into a laughter, shaking his head. “If we are all perfect, maybe the reward goes to the least perfect. Seems fair.”
Neville grinned. “In that case, Harry, you’ve just nominated yourself.”
That earned a small round of chuckles. Hermione smirked as she straightened her stack of notes. “Or,” she suggested lightly, “we could split the reward. Brew another batch and divide it.”
“Sharing luck?” Pansy gave a small scoff. “That sounds like the most Hufflepuff thing I’ve ever heard.”
Hannah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Hufflepuff or not, it would solve the issue.”
Slughorn held up a hand, shaking his head as though the very idea offended him. “Oh no, no, no! Felix Felicis isn’t the sort of thing you split. Half-measures never work with a brew like this. You are either lucky or you aren’t.”
Daphne turned slightly, giving Harry a look that said he was welcome to resolve it.
Harry leaned back lazily on his stool, hands resting against the edge of the bench. “Here’s a thought,” he said casually. “Keep it, Professor. Hand it out to next year’s class. Maybe it will inspire them to get their act together.”
The Slytherins smirked in unison.
“You are serious?” Slughorn said, blinking at him.
Harry shrugged lightly. “We make our own luck.”
