Dawn Rivera

Felix Felicis

I have Herbology first thing the following morning. Harry was unable to tell Danny, Ron, Hermione and I about his lesson with Dumbledore over breakfast for fear of being overheard, but he fills us in as we walk across the vegetable patch towards the greenhouses. The weekend's brutal wind has died out at last, and the weird mist has returned and it takes us a little longer than usual to find the correct greenhouse.

"Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who," says Ron, as we take our places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps that form this term's project, and begin pulling on our protective gloves. "I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?"

"Dunno," says Danny, inserting a gum shield. "But he must think it's all important and it'll help Harry survive."

"I think it's fascinating," says Hermione earnestly. "It makes absolute sense to know as much as Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"

"So how was Slughorn's last party?" Harry asks us thickly through the gum shield.

"Oh, it was quite fun, really," I say, now putting on protective goggles. "I mean, he drones on and on about famous ex-pupils a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he's so well-connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones."

"Gwenog Jones?" says Ron, his eyes widening under his own goggles. "The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"

"That's right," says Hermione. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but - "

"Quite enough chat over here!" says Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. "You're lagging behind, everybody else has started and Neville's already got his first pod!"

We look around; sure enough, there sits Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but clutching an unpleasantly pulsating green object about the size of a grapefruit.

"OK, Professor, we're starting now!" says Ron, adding quietly, when she has turned away again, "Should've used Muffliato, Harry and Danny."

"No, we shouldn't!" I say at once, feeling, as I always do, intensely cross at the thought of the Half-Blood Prince and his spells. "Well, come on...we'd better get going..."

Hermione and I give the other three apprehensive looks; we all take deep breaths then dive at the gnarled stump between us.

It springs to life at once; long, prickly, bramble-like vines fly out of the top and whip through the air. One tangles itself in Hermione and I's hair and Ron beats it back with a pair of secateurs; Harry and Danny succeed in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; a hole opens in the middle of all the tentacle-like branches; Hermione and I plunge our arms bravely into this hole, which closes like a trap around our elbows; Harry, Danny and Ron tug and wrench at the vines, forcing the hole to open again and Hermione and I snatch our arms free, clutching in our fingers a pod just like Neville's. At once, the prickly vines shoot back inside and the gnarled stump sits there looking like an innocently dead lump of wood.

"You know, I don't think I'll be having any of these in my garden when I've got my own place," says Ron, pushing his goggles up on to his forehead and wiping sweat from his face.

"Pass us a bowl," says Hermione, holding the pulsating pod at arm's length; Harry and Danny hand one over and she drops the pod into it with a look of disgust on her face.

"Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out, they're best when they're fresh!" calls Professor Sprout.

"Anyway," I say, continuing our interrupted conversation as though the lump of wood did not just attack us, "Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party, Harry and Danny, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come."