Horace Slughorn was not particularly well-acquainted with Lady Luck. For twenty-four years, he had had string after string of particularly unlucky days, one right after the other. It was one big, long string, really—it just helped him deal with it if he imagined it to be broken up into several considerably shorter strings. Twenty-four years is a long time to go without getting lucky—that's almost a quarter of a century. Horace did not like being unlucky.

He was not in the habit of moping, however. Thirteen years ago, the Sorting Hat had decided he was a Slytherin. This meant that he should have been able to come up with a cunning plan to make turn his luck around. "Should" was the key word, of course. Horace had never really been good at cunning plans.

Professor Leonide Allard was the reason Horace needed a cunning plan. He had first heard of Leonide Allard at a staff meeting one week before his second term of teaching at Hogwarts had begun. The purpose of this staff meeting was to announce the arrival of Leonide Allard. This was the first lucky thing.

"We are very lucky to be getting an expert in the field to do some work with our Ancient Runes students this term," Headmaster Dippet had said. "Professor Leonide Allard of Beauxbatons is participating in a little exchange for our own Professor Numer for the term. Professor Allard is a linguist of the finest caliber, and is extremely accomplished for a woman of only twenty-five. I do believe several books she has written are available in our library if you'd like to check them out." Ironically, Dippet had made a grave error, which would later cause him great embarrassment, but Dippet is not important.

It was a complete coincidence that Horace found himself in the library later that day, and complete coincidence that he found one of Leonide Allard's books. He decided to try and read one, to see what kind of woman Professor Allard was, as the curious are wont to do.

What Horace found was that Professor Leonide Allard was not, in fact, any kind of woman. She or rather, he was a man. The second thing that Horace found was that Professor Allard was a very handsome man. This was the second lucky thing, because the important thing to understand about Horace was that he quite liked handsome men.

In the picture on the dust jacket, Professor Allard was sitting in an office surrounded by huge stacks of books. (Horace liked books, too.) He had short, wavy brown hair and blue eyes. (Horace also liked blue eyes.) He was smiling slightly at the camera, though he looked distracted by the papers spread out in front of him. He wore wire-rimmed glasses which kept sliding down his noses, requiring him to keep pushing them back up in a way that Horace found especially endearing. He read the book cover-to-cover in one sitting.

It was very interesting. He decided he was going to talk a lot about Ancient Runes with Professor Allard when he arrived.

Horace had taken Ancient Runes in school, and he had been quite good at it. He had been quite good at most of his classes. Frankly, Horace had been good at most of his classes because he really hadn't been good at anything else, like Quidditch, or mischief-making. He had almost always gotten caught if he put a foot out of line as a student, so much so, that he stopped putting feet out entirely. This had somehow ended in him being named a Prefect, which he had enjoyed, if only because he got to wear a shiny badge on the front of his robes. Horace liked shiny things.

In the eyes of most of the teachers, Horace-as-prefect had segued nicely into Horace-as-professor. Dippet, for one, seemed to give him an awful lot of responsibilities for the most junior of the staff, such as the work he gave him when he announced the Halloween Ball.

Hogwarts had traditionally held balls only on the occasion of the Triwizard Tournament, but Dippet had apparently decided that this year was special enough for a ball. Of course, by making it a Halloween Ball, no one could say he was usurping the tradition of the Yule Ball.

Horace enjoyed it because it gave him an excuse to dress up. Little did he know that this was the third lucky thing, and that three is an extremely lucky number.

***

The day Professor Allard arrived was one of the last warm days of September. It also happened to be a Friday, and Horace happened to have the afternoon off. Because of this, he had decided to take a walk around the lake, which meant he was the first to see Professor Allard.

Professor Allard looked even better in person. In fact, for several seconds, Horace forgot to breathe.

"Excuse me," Professor Allard said as he approached. He set down one of his bags and pushed his glasses up. "You work at 'Ogwarts, no?"

"No," said Horace. "I mean, yes. Yes, I work at Hogwarts." He surreptitiously tried to make sure his hair looked all right, which must have looked odd from Allard's perspective. "I teach Potions. My name is Slughorn, Horace Slughorn."

Allard beamed. "You are just 'oo I am looking for."

"I-I am?" asked Horace.

"You can take me to see Professor Deepit? I am Allard, from Beauxbatons. You weel call me Leonide, oui?"

"Oui. I mean, yes." Horace was beginning to get quite flustered, a feeling he did not like.

When Leonide offered his hand, Horace shook it quickly, hoping the other man wouldn't notice his sweaty palms.

The whole way up to the Headmaster's office, Horace simply listened to Leonide's accent, and tried to keep from going all to pieces.

They paused outside the door to Dippet's office.

"'Ere," said Leonide, digging through his bag. He pulled out a small box and held it out to Horace. "'Ave some. I brought zem for ze 'Eadmaster, but you can 'ave one. Eet's crystallized pineapple."

Horace took a piece and Leonide smiled. "I'll see you later, 'Orace."

As soon as Leonide had gone, Horace popped the piece of pineapple into his mouth. At that moment, he decided crystallized pineapple was the most delicious food in the world.

***

Leonide decided to sit next to Horace at the staff table for dinner that night. This made Horace giddy with excitement, but also incredibly nervous. It did not help that Leonide seemed to keep touching his arm or his hand whenever they spoke.

Perhaps it's a French thing, thought Horace, but he could not help but want to entertain the thought that this attraction might be mutual. Don't be stupid, Horace reminded himself. You've only just met. You'll get over it.

On Leonide's other side, Galatea Merrythought brought up the Halloween Ball.

"I love balls," said Leonide. He turned to Horace. "I am looking forward to seeing what kinds of balls you 'ave." Horace aspirated the mouthful of water he had just taken; it didn't help matters that Leonide left his hand on Horace's back several seconds after he had stopped whacking him.

"Horace loves balls, too, don't you, Horace?" asked Galatea, smirking.

"Zen I suppose we 'ave zat in common," said Leonide, smiling. "I 'ear you also 'ave been reading my books."

"Oh, yes," said Horace, all his intelligent thoughts about Ancient Runes flying out of his head when Leonide fixed his blue eyes on him. "I read them. I read them all."

"Deed you like zem?"

Horace opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"He won't shut up about you," said Galatea helpfully. "He loves your books."

Horace could have sworn Leonide flushed slightly, but it could have been his imagination. "I really did like them" he said, recovering himself a little more. "I was particularly intrigued by your thoughts on the, er, Yumerian Stanzas."

Leonide beamed. "You like ze Yumerian Stanzas?"

Horace nodded.

"Zey are quite romantic," Leonide noted. "Many people do not notice zat when zey first read zem."

"Z-they don't?"

Leonide shook his head. Horace felt his mouth go dry, as Leonide launched into a technical description of what the wands in the Yumerian Stanzas symbolized. This technical description ended with a wink. Horace was quite glad he was sitting down when that happened.

***

Horace remained unsure of whether or not what he and Leonide proceeded to do for the next two months constituted "flirting." He supposed it did, but Horace had never been good at flirting.

He would often find himself wondering if Leonide could possibly feel attracted to him, too. He knew it was unlikely, even impossible, but, on the slim chance that Leonide reciprocated his affection, Horace felt that he had a right to know.

This was precisely why he needed to come up with a cunning plan. He supposed the Halloween Ball was as good a time as any to put his plan into motion, chaperoning duties be damned.

It was one cold evening in late October that he first thought of inviting Felix to the Ball. Horace had never taken Felix Felicis before, and he would have to buy it, as he didn't have time to brew it before the Ball. He was in the deserted staffroom, debating the merits of said potion (was it cheating?) when the door opened and Leonide entered.

"Oh! 'Orace!" Leonide smiled. "Good evening." He crossed the room quickly and sat down opposite him. "'Ow are you? Excited for ze Ball? I am."

"Oh, yes," said Horace absently. He looked down at the third-year essays he had been marking before he had started thinking about Leonide. He always seemed to start thinking about Leonide at the most inconvenient times. Like when Leonide was in the room.

"You look tense," said Leonide suddenly. He got up, walked over to Horace, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should relax."

Horace didn't say anything. He was afraid to say anything.

"You 'ave been working too 'ard," said Leonide, gently kneading his thumbs down Horace's back. It felt good. "You 'ave been working too 'ard on zis ball." He sat on the arm of Horace's chair to get a better angle. "Stay still," he murmured in Horace's ear, when he tried to move. "Zis will 'elp you relax."

Horace tried to relax, but Leonide's hands, straying ever lower did not help. In fact, he noticed with a twinge of discomfort, they made it worse.

"You should really be lying down," remarked Leonide, in a low voice. Horace could feel his breath on the back of his neck. This could not end well… He squirmed.

"Eet works better zat way," Leonide continued. "Would you like to come up to—"

"I'm all right," said Horace suddenly, standing up, gathering up his papers. "Really." He dashed for the door. As he shut it, he noticed what could have been a dejected expression on Leonide's face and it occurred to him that Leonide may have intended more than just a backrub.

Blast.

***

Halloween fell on a Friday and that morning Horace unfolded a tiny bottle from the thick brown paper it had been wrapped in. He had ordered it from Hector Dagworth-Granger (who owed him a favor). Horace sighed.

Part of him wondered if it would be cheating, but then, he remembered his own training, the words he had recited to his sixth years many times already—"Felix cannot create feelings; it can only allow those feelings that are present to bubble to the surface." He had reason to believe Leonide reciprocated his feelings, and even if he didn't, it couldn't hurt.

He took a deep breath and swallowed.

Classes that day were a blur, due to his nerves, but he could feel Felix's effects throughout the day. Leonide smiled at him during lunch, and complimented him on his choice of novels (one of the Muggle Balzac's, in translation). There were no accidents in any of his classes and the last hour seemed to arrive just in time.

Horace practically sprinted back to his rooms after his last class, nearly bowling over several first-year Hufflepuffs in the process, who were happy that he had luckily forgotten to assign them any homework.

His shower was one of the nicest he had had in a long time. The water was pleasantly hot, but not scalding, and he did not get shampoo in his eyes even once. He didn't cut himself shaving, and when he combed his hair, it did exactly what he wanted it to do (with the help of no more pomade than usual.) His hand hesitated over the small collection of cologne on his dresser.

I wonder…

Instead of reaching for his favorite (Amortentia #9), his hand hovered over a tiny bottle, hidden behind the others. He picked it up. October Warlock, the label read. He vaguely remembered his mother giving it to him for Christmas or his birthday, perhaps hoping it would attract him a wife, though she had to have figured out by now that he had no use for one.

He uncapped the bottle and sniffed the contents. It smelled good, actually. It smelled like Halloween. He couldn't help humming to himself as he put it on. This was going to be his lucky evening after all.

***

He was very pleased with himself. Everything seemed to be going his way (which he supposed was to be expected, given the nature of Felix Felicis, but it still surprised him).

He marched confidently up to the Great Hall, where the other professors had gathered. Leonide was among them, dressed in dark blue dress robes. As soon as he saw Horace, his face lit up and he hurried over.

"I like your robes," said Leonide. He grabbed at one of the green silk sleeves to assess the material, and Horace's breath caught in his throat.

"Thanks," he finally managed to choke out. "B-bought them owl order."

Leonide fixed him with a smile that was almost mischievous, in the right light. "Zey fit well," he added.

Horace smiled, feeling a little giddy. "I like yours, too."

Leonide grinned and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Zis old thing? 'Orace, I am an academic. My wardrobe eez somewhat lacking."

"Well, they look good on you," said Horace suddenly. Leonide grinned.

Dippet cleared his throat. "Are we ready?"

This was when Horace noticed the decorations. The star-studded ceiling of the Great Hall was almost obscured by hundreds of orange and black balloons bouncing against each other. The floating candles had been replaced by carved jack-o-lanterns, and charmed bats fluttered overhead.

"You've outdone yourself, sir," said Horace, nodding at Dippet.

Dippet frowned. "You could have helped, if you'd been here."

Horace blanched. "Sorry, sir."

Leonide placed a hand on Horace's arm. "Professor Deepit, eet ees all right. 'Orace 'as been under a lot of stress lately." He smiled at Horace. "'E should be relaxing."

Dippet sighed, but nodded. "Well, then. I forgive you. I'll post you out in the courtyard. There should be fewer students out there…"

Galatea grinned at Horace when Dippet turned away from her and mouthed, "Lucky you."

Lucky me, indeed, Horace thought.

***

Thusly, after a meal he hardly remembered, Horace found himself standing in the courtyard, which had been spelled to contain several large trees weighed down by autumn leaves. Several couples stood under these trees, and Horace would occasionally discourage a few of the more amorous ones. He was getting slightly bored. He had envisioned himself inside, warm, and chatting up Leonide over copious amounts of pumpkin juice. His only chance was slowly slipping away before his eyes. He sighed.

"Knut for your thoughts? I am sorry eef zat ees not ze right phrase…"

Horace turned. It was Leonide, holding two bottles of warm butterbeer.

Horace stuttered out a thank-you and Leonide smiled. Horace's stomach flip-flopped when their fingers brushed as he took the bottle.

"I thought you looked lonely," said Leonide. "You could use some company." He edged closer to Horace. "Eet ees so cold."

"It's October," Horace croaked. "Nearly November," he added breathlessly. "Tomorrow is November."

Leonide laughed. "I know. We 'ave zose months in France."

Horace hoped Leonide couldn't see him blush. He silently prayed the potion was still working.

"You are a very good teacher," said Leonide suddenly. "I can tell ze students respect you."

Horace nearly laughed. "Well, you're good, too," he added. "They seem to like you."

Leonide rolled his eyes. "Runes 'ere, eet is not like at Beauxbatons. Your program ees, 'ow you say, subpar."

"Oh," said Horace, feeling somehow responsible for this. His own Runes classes seemed a million years ago.

"But zat eez why I am 'ere," said Leonide with conviction. "I 'ave to feex it." His expression softened. "I am so glad zat I 'ave made friends here." He smiled and placed his hand on Horace's arm. "You 'ave been a very good friend to me zese past two months."

Horace stepped closer to Leonide. They were very close now, their bodies nearly touching. Horace could see himself reflected in Leonide's glasses. A cloud drifted in front of the moon, casting them in shadow.

He could see his own breath, and Leonide's, could feel the other man's breath on his face. He remembered that night in the staff room with a shiver. He regretted not finding out where that might have led. But did he still have another chance?

His heartbeat quickened when he noticed Leonide had closed his eyes and moistened his lips. Should I… Horace wondered. Slowly, he reached out to pull Leonide closer. He was so nervous. He was going to do it…

"Professor Slughorn!"

Horace whirled around. Leonide took several steps back, turning slightly pink.

The Gryffindor who had interrupted them looked as if he might be ill.

"Er, hello, Mr. Richards," said Horace, adjusting his robes. "How are you?"

Richards smiled nervously. "I'm fine, Professor." He looked up at Horace shyly. "I just wanted to say. 'hello.' Your robes are nice."

"Er, thanks." Horace cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at Leonide, who looked as if he was glowering, though it may have been the light.

Richards sighed. "It's a nice night, Professor."

Horace blinked. "Yes, it is…" He shifted awkwardly. What exactly did he want? Richards stepped closer, a hungry look in his eyes. Oh.

"Would you like to come inside, Professor?" He stepped still closer. Horace took a step backward.

"Mr. Richards…" Horace began, throwing another look over his shoulder at Leonide. He froze. Leonide was gone. His stomach fell. No.

"Professor?" Richards pressed.

"Listen," said Horace, looking quickly around the courtyard. "Can this wait until Monday?" Not waiting for an answer, he dashed back into the Hall. Leonide was talking to Merrythought, and didn't even look in his direction.

Sighing, Horace retreated to a corner with his butterbeer and tried to continue chaperoning, but his heart wasn't in it. Gradually, most of the students drifted off to bed until all that was left was the teachers.

Horace glumly began to help the others clean up, perhaps hoping he might be able to say something to Leonide. Albus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You look tired, Horace. It's all right, I can clean up." The older man's eyes were clear and kind.

Horace opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly he knew that he shouldn't. At least the potion was still working. He nodded and headed for the entrance hall. Perhaps another time, Horace thought mournfully. What if I just asked him? I suppose that couldn't be too bad.

"I theenk I will retire, too," said Leonide suddenly. "Wait for me, 'Orace. I will walk with you." Horace froze. Could this be a coincidence… or?

Together they walked down the corridor. Horace still felt tingly from the potion in his system… or perhaps it was Leonide's proximity… He hesitated and turned to face the other man.

"I'm sorry about tonight," he said lamely. "Well, I guess, being a teacher, you, er, know how it is."

Leonide smiled. "Eet was no problem." He batted at a balloon that had come to rest on his shoulder. He didn't know why, but Horace found he liked that very much.

Suddenly, Horace was very aware that Leonide's face was very close to his.

"I 'ave come to find zat you Eenglish are very interesting," Leonide murmured softly, not taking his eyes off Horace's.

Horace gulped. "Er, thanks."

It suddenly occurred to him that Leonide's eye were very blue. Cornflower blue, some part of his brain supplied. The rest of the world seemed to fall away as he looked into those eyes. He completely forgot about everything that had gone wrong that evening, and instead focused on what had gone right. Or what was going to go right…

He was not sure how he knew to do this, as his body seemed to be acting of its own accord. Resting his hands on the other man's shoulders, he gently drew him forward and pressed his lips to Leonide's.

Don't pull away, Horace silently begged, but to his great relief, Leonide seemed to relax at his touch, and wrapped his arms around Horace's neck. Shortly, Horace felt Leonide's tongue brush against his lips. He smiled, and together they deepened the kiss.

There was two months' worth of tensions in that kiss, and it seemed a long time before they broke it. Leonide sighed, and reached up to run his fingers through Horace's hair.

"I feel very lucky tonight," he whispered huskily. Horace got goosepimples as Leonide brushed his lips against his ear.

Horace looped an arm around Leonide's waist and guided him toward the stairs leading to the dungeons.

"I think I'm the lucky one," he said. "In fact, I know I'm the lucky one."