Harry Potter and the Draught of Living Death

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Brothers and J.K. Rowling, copyright 2000. Some portions of this Fan-fiction are directly taken from the novel.

* [Pg. 137, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone]

Chapter One: Potions

Begin quotation

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

'Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?' Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi'?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For you information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death…."

End quotation

* ~ *

Harry snapped awake in his upstairs bedroom at the Dursleys' home.

He tried to retain some of the details of the dream that he had just had, but for some reason it felt more like he was trying to remember something. Asphodel and wormwood…. He was trying to remember why they seemed significant. Finally, as sleep started fading and he grew more awake, the significance of the two herbs came to him.

They made the Draught of Living Death; they had been the first things Professor Snape had asked him when he took his first class in potions. However, he couldn't think of why he was dreaming of that horrible day now. The memory had stayed with him every day, mostly because it had been so embarrassing.

Harry fell back in bed, now unable to return to sleep. He kept racking his brain, trying to think of one good reason why he would be remembering that horrible day now.

In curiosity, Harry pulled out his first year potion book. He flipped through it, looking for the Draught of the Living Death. He didn't find it 'til near the end of the book. He smirked, leave it to Snape to quiz the poor first year Gryffindor on something they wouldn't learn until the end of the class.

The Draught of Living Death

When powdered root of asphodel is added to an infusion of wormwood it creates a sleeping potion that is so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Someone who is given this draught will fall into instant sleep, unable to awaken until the potion has run it's course. A word of caution: this potion is useful for helping someone to sleep when they are hurt or injured or suffering from severe insomnia, but if it is given in too large a dosage, the results can be eternal sleep or instant fatality. At this time, there is no known counter potion for the Draught of Living Death.

Harry frowned. The small paragraph didn't exactly give him any insight as to why he had been dreaming about it. He briefly considered that if might be a warning, but decided that it couldn't be, since his scar hadn't hurt. Finally, he passed it off as a simple dream of a bad memory. In fact, it had been a nice alternative to dreaming about the third task during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Now having settled on a feasible reason for his dream, Harry climbed out of bed and began to pull out some of his homework for the upcoming year. Professor McGonagall had assigned a three-parchment roll essay on self-transfiguration. If Harry were lucky, he'd be able to find enough information to fill his rolls.

* ~ *

If it was at all possible, the Dursleys' had gotten worse.

Harry had been roused from his bed at four in the morning and told he'd better eat right then if he expected any food at all. Still exhausted from his dream filled night, Harry had rolled out of bed and was entering the kitchen just as Aunt Petunia was started to clear his place at the table. Harry hurried and sat down.

She huffed a little but left the food alone.

"You'll have to wash your own dishes now, you lazy boy."

Harry shrugged; it wasn't as if she would have washed his dishes for him in the first place.

Aunt Petunia turned pink with anger. "Just for you insolence, boy, you won't be getting those clothes I was going to give you. I'll take them to the good will instead."

Harry shrugged again. Dudley's clothes didn't fit him anyways, besides that, if he had things his way, he'd be going to buy his own clothes today.

Aunt Petunia, somehow realizing she wasn't going to make him angry huffed off to the stove to start making breakfast for the rest of the family.

Since Harry had arrived, Uncle Vernon had decided that it was better if Harry didn't eat with the rest of the family, since there always seemed to be trouble at the table. Harry didn't mind, it meant that he got a quiet meal. It was at that moment that Uncle Vernon came into the room, in an unusually good mood.

"All right, you listen here boy, this is going to be a big day, and you know what that means."

"It means I won't be here."

"Right you are, Harry. Old Ms. Figg has kindly volunteered to take you for the day. She said you'd have to help her go grocery shopping, so you'd better not cause any trouble for her, or we may not have anyone to watch you anymore."

Harry didn't respond, he knew he wasn't expected to. Instead, he scooped the rest of his breakfast down his throat and washed his dishes in record time. For the first time, he was anxious to get over to Ms. Figg's house. Earlier in the previous summer, Harry and Ms. Figg had finally come to an understanding that had a lot to do with the deduction Harry had made at the end of his fourth year.

Dumbledore had mentioned an Arabella Figg as part of the Order of Phoenix. It had taken Harry a couple of weeks, but he soon realized that Arabella was the same Ms. Figg that Harry had been staying with most of his life. When he confronted her, she had just smiled and held a silencing finger to her lips, as if saying she couldn't tell him anything about it. After that, his stays there had been much more pleasant. He chose not to mention this to his aunt or uncle, as they would have found a reason for him not to go over there anymore.

Harry rushed up to his room and grabbed the wallet of money he had been keeping since he had gone to Diagon Alley a year before. He had taken that time to exchange a bag of galleons for some money he could use in the muggle world, thinking that it might come in handy. Now he was glad for his forethought. Even though he knew Arabella was a witch, he hardly thought she would take him to Diagon Alley to exchange his money, so he was glad that he already had some.

A week before, he had called her and asked her if she would take him shopping while he was over there. Today was Dudley's birthday, which meant that Harry wasn't allowed to be home. After the incident the year he turned eleven, his aunt and uncle no longer trusted him to go on special trips with them. Again, Harry was grateful.

At a quarter to seven, Harry informed his uncle that he was ready to go, and was told to hurry up and get himself out of the house before Dudley woke up. Apparently his uncle didn't want Dudley to even realize Harry was alive on his special day.

Harry raced over to Ms. Figg's house and let himself in. The old lady came out of the kitchen when she heard the door and gestured for him to come into the room. Harry did so, and sat himself at the table, gladly accepting the plate of cookie's she offered. He listened to her prattle off in the way she always did, but with a little more respect since he realize whom she was now. She must have been an awful powerful witch for Dumbledore to trust her with his safety. After making sure he had a hot cup of tea and enough cookies to keep him happy for a while she wandered off to her bedroom to change for their shopping trip.

Once Harry had eaten one too many cookies and finished his tea he asked Ms. Figg if she wanted him to call a car to take them to the shopping center. She nodded appreciatively.

"I'm sorry," she said in a cracked and slow voice. "I always seem to forget things like that."

Harry nodded, he was sure it was because she was used to being able to apparate everywhere she went to. He just wished he could get her to admit who she really was.

Ms. Figg and Harry climbed into the cab together about fifteen minutes later and spent a very amiable ride together to the shopping mall that Harry had never seen before.

Also, for the first time, Harry wondered why he had never liked spending time with Ms. Figg. All of the pictures of her cats weren't so bad, and he was beginning to enjoy her distinctive smell of boiled cabbage.

* ~ *

Harry had never seen anything so grand in his life, except for maybe Hogwarts. The shopping center was huge, with stores varying from clothes to knick-knacks to grocery plazas. He couldn't imagine them actually finding time to visit every single one of them. Ms. Figg slowly moved her old body out of the cab and stood beside him.

"Well, there's no use staring at it, Harry. It's not like it won't be there in a few minutes."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Figg… I've just never seen one before."

The old woman looked surprised but didn't say anything. Of course he had never seen one before, she realized, not when he lived with those horrid muggles. She shook the thought and reminded herself to act like the crabby old woman she was supposed to be.

"Well, we haven't got all day. Let's get this over with."

Harry smiled to himself. He saw the gleam in her eye and knew she wasn't as agitated as she pretended to be.

"Where do you want to go first," he asked politely.

"Let's get your errands out of the way first, that way we won't have to carry groceries around with us everywhere."

Right before they entered the first clothing store, she grabbed his shoulder. "Don't you dare tell your aunt or uncle about this little trip. They'll never let you stay with me again."

Harry nodded solemnly. He knew that as well as she did. He also knew that she enjoyed having his company during the summer. In fact, she had pressed his aunt and uncle to let him come over more often to do "yard work" for her. They had instantly agreed to it, knowing that they wouldn't have him underfoot. It was the only thing that had made his summer halfway pleasant.

They entered the clothing store, Harry trying to contain the excitement of finally having a trip that was just for him.

* ~ *

An hour later, Harry still couldn't figure out why so many people hated going shopping for clothing. He had already tried on numerous different styles of clothing and picked out things that he never could have had if it weren't for this trip. He had even tried not to wrinkle his nose at some of the clothing Ms. Figg had suggested for him. At the moment she was holding up the most horrid shirt he had ever laid eyes on.

It was a polo shirt, with bright stripes of green, yellow, and blue.

"This would be very appropriate for your school," she commented. "You would look so grown up in it."

Harry forced a smile. He couldn't very well hurt her feelings by telling her what he really thought of the shirt. He offered to try it on and she smiled happily.

Harry almost groaned out loud. Now he would have to get this one. Again, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He made a note to himself to wear it whenever he visited her.

A few moments later they were looking at hats. Ms. Figg had mentioned that if he couldn't fix his hair he could at least put a hat over it, as long as he didn't wear it in class. Harry nodded; he actually liked that idea. He chose a couple of different ball caps and put them in the cart she was pushing around, and halfway leaning on.

He realized she was starting to get tired and suggested that they might want to take a break for lunch, and then included that it was his treat this time, since she was spending the day with him. She smiled and accepted.

As Harry sipped his soda about fifteen minutes later, he realized he had never spent quite such an enjoyable day in his life. He knew he would be doing his penance once they got back to her house. He didn't mind though, he would look at a hundred pictures of cats if only it would make her happy. For once, Harry understood what it was like to have a grandmother.

* ~ *

Harry received his school owl while he was at Ms. Figg's house that afternoon. He was sure she had noticed it, but she chose not to mention it. He read the list of supplies he would need as he sat in her living room. She had just excuse herself to start dinner. Harry could already smell cabbage boiling.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

~

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

As usual, the term begins on September 1.

We would also like to congratulate you on being named prefect. Enclosed you will also find your badge and list of rules for prefects. Please wear this upon arrival to the school. You and your fellow prefects will be expected to guide the first years to their common room and explain to them the rules of conduct as well as offering advice for their upcoming year.

Please remember to make yourself available to all of your fellow students. They will look up to you and depend upon your guidance.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry didn't known what to think. The last thing he had expected was to be named prefect. He already knew who the other prefect was. Hermione had been made a prefect in her fifth year, not to anyone's surprise. Harry then thought of Ron. Ron had been hoping he would be named the other prefect, but everyone, including Harry, knew that Ron's grades weren't good enough to be a prefect. Harry's face carried a look of worry, but he shook it off, hoping Ron would understand. He then flipped to the next page, which was a list of specific rules for Prefects.

The prefect badge will be worn at all times on the left side of the robe.

All prefects are expected to act in a manner befitting that of a role model.

Violation of any school rules is grounds for immediate relinquishment of badge.

Out of bounds is out of bounds, even for prefects.

Favoring any student or house is unacceptable.

Harry realized there weren't many rules, but he also realized that he had broken all of them, with the exception of the first, at least once before.

He shook his head and pulled out the final sheet, listing the equipment he would need for school.

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 6)

By: Miranda Goshawk

A Guide to Self Transfiguration

By: Bathilda Bagshot

The Art of Healing Potions

By: Bertha Handrake

A Defenders Guide to Spells

By: Phillip Lancaster

Other Equipment needed for the school year

One set of dress robes if not already purchased.

Harry almost considered asking Ms. Figg to take him to Diagon Alley, but then decided that she would just go into hysterics and ask him where he thought that might be. He smiled to himself. He knew she would never admit that she was a witch.

Harry tucked the letter in his jacket, praising Dumbledore for thinking to send it to him while he was away from Privet Drive. His aunt and uncle would probably have tried to turn the owl away. Just as Harry was entering the kitchen, he heard an explosion from outside. Chills ran down his spine and he heard Ms. Figg screaming.

He bolted for the kitchen, and arrived just in time to see two death eaters standing outside her window. She was reaching in her pocket and pulled out a wand.

"Harry, stay back. They can't come in here, it's protected."

Harry knew it probably would have been, but then it wasn't protected against normal means of breaking and entering. His suspicions were confirmed as he saw a rock sailing towards the window. The window shattered on contact and Harry drew his wand from his pocket.

Ms. Figg pointed her wand at one of the death eaters.

"Expellimarus!" she shouted. The wand flew from the death eater's hand and into Ms. Figg's hand.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted as the death eater had turned around and was trying to run away.

Ms. Figg disarmed the other death eater, just as Harry cast another spell.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted. The death eater stiffened and fell to the ground as Ms. Figg caught the other wand.

"Too easy," Harry murmured as Ms. Figg ran to the fire in her kitchen.

She threw dust into the fire and shouted, "Albus Dumbledore!" The face appeared almost instantly.

"Arabella, what's the matter?" he asked.

"Death Eaters," she said in a rushed voice. "Harry's here. We got the first two, but it was too easy, I think we've got more to worry about, I think those two were just a distraction."

Dumbledore nodded. "On my way," he said. In a few seconds, Dumbledore had apparated into Ms. Figg's kitchen. A few seconds later Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape appeared at his sides. Snape grabbed a hold of Harry and within a few seconds, Harry found himself alone with Snape in the center of Hogsmeade.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, a worried tone coming through his voice.

"No time for questions," the greasy haired professor snapped. "We have to get to Hogwarts." Snape grabbed a hold of him and started running towards the school. Harry had no choice but to follow.