Harry looked around; Jack Sloper,

Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him holding a roll of parchment.

“For you,” panted Sloper. “Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?”

“I'm not sure yet,” said Harry, thinking privately that Sloper would be very lucky to get back on the team. “I'll let you know.”

“Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend—”

But Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione,

unrolling the parchment as he went.

Dear Harry,
I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at eight p.m. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.
>Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.
“He enjoys Acid Pops?” said Ron, who had read the message over Harry's shoulder and was looking perplexed.

“It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study,” said Harry in a low voice. “Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased... I won't be able to do his

detention!”

He, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the

type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive

magic. After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room where they grudgingly started Snape's homework. This turned out to be so

complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process). They had only

just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the

required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked

despite his rather pompous manner.

“Harry,” Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, “didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against The Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson,

I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags... And how are you, Ron—Hermione?”

Before they could say more than “fine,” the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus

mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four

Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored

cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a

broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's

fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.

“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,