Chapter 9: Revenge
A/N: Gosh, it has been rather a while, hasn't it? I am so sorry, but I got completely stuck on this story and didn't have time to work it out around all of the performances and exams I was doing. But I have sorted and reworked it now and am working on its conclusion. Here's a nice long chapter for you. I hope you will continue to read it. Have a good day, everybody!
Friday was a decidedly brighter day than its predecessor. Though the grounds still bore the puddles of excess water that had failed to permeate the already sodden soil, the sun was beginning to shyly lift its head from the clouds. In another hour or so, the students would be doing the same.
Harry and Ron sat at the Gryffindor table long before anybody else arrived for breakfast. Not even the headmaster had arrived yet. But neither had been able to sleep after what they had witnessed the previous night. On the way back to the Common Room, they had debated going to tell Professor McGonagall immediately, but they had decided against it. Besides, Hermione had not even been told yet.
Ron was glaring down at his timetable.
"We have Snape first," he said, looking as though he were trying to burn the paper with his eyes. "Remind me again why I bothered getting up this morning…"
"I don't think you have a choice, mate."
Hermione, having impeccable timing as she did, chose that opportune moment to appear at the doors of the Great Hall.
"What are you two doing up so early?"
"We could ask you the same question." Ron spoke the precise words that Harry was thinking.
"I always get up early. You, on the other hand, seem to prefer to absorb the warmth of your bedsheets for as long as possible. Why should it be any different today?" Hermione stood defiantly, her arms crossed steadfastly over her abdomen.
"Well, frankly, I am insulted!" Ron replied, his ears turning red. Perhaps, Harry decided, it was time to break this up. He did not think he could deal with yet another full-scale war between his two best friends.
"Last night," Harry began in low, conspiratorial tones, "I was looking at the map and I –"
Harry's retelling of the previous night, however, was interrupted by the opening of the doors once again. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, looking much more their usual selves, entered the hall in light conversation.
"You didn't! I can't believe you would-" McGonagall stopped abruptly in her disbelieving speech as she noticed the presence of the Trio. "Good morning Miss Granger, Potter, Weasley. I trust you have been behaving yourselves in here."
"Yes, Professor," they chorused.
"How are you enjoying the swap?" Dumbledore looked down imploringly at them over his half-moon spectacles like a child silently asking for help.
"Well, it's been…" Ron started.
"Enlightening," Harry added to disguise Ron's silence.
Harry could have sworn he heard McGonagall say "Nice save, Potter" before moving off with the headmaster towards the staff table. When they were at a safe distance, Harry chanced telling Hermione about the previous night, casting regular glances at the staff table to ensure that they were not being watched.
"But that's –"
"Great, right?" said Ron. "We've solved it."
"No, it doesn't make any sense," Hermione said, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Why not?"
"Because…" Hermione trailed off as more students began to trickle into the Great Hall and take up seats around them. It seemed, Harry thought, as though the school did not want them to figure out who the culprit was.Why can't anything be simple here?
Very soon, the Great Hall was thriving with the buzz that usually accompanies students on a Friday; the weekend was getting ever closer. For a lot of the inhabitants of Hogwarts, that meant Quidditch practice, time to scribble down that essay that was due on Monday, or just time to relax. But for the staff of Hogwarts, it represented unparalleled relief. The teacher swap was almost over.
It is safe to say that Snape was his usual self in Charms that morning. Mere seconds after Harry stepped through the door, he heard the harsh tones of the Head of Slytherin's voice.
"Don't take another step, Potter."
Harry looked up at him disbelievingly. What had he done in the three seconds that he had been in the room to offend Snape? Maybe it was his breathing.
"You nearly set off today's demonstration. If it is alright with you, I would rather not have to take you up to the Hospital Wing with only two of your necessary limbs."
Harry looked down but could see nothing, his stomach dropped. Ignoring Snape's sneer, he sidled around the edge of the large ornate rug set out in the centre of the room and took up a seat at the back of the classroom, far from the eye of the Potions Master. When the last of the students had filed into the room, Professor Snape waited for a stony silence to filter through the room, which, admittedly, took all of ten seconds; his very presence seemed to demand attention.
"Charms can be an essential factor in duelling, particularly if your opponent is unprepared for the attack. This, of course, is unlikely, and so you must create your element of surprise. As Mr. Potter almost discovered, I have organised a demonstration for you this morning." He fixed his jet black on Harry for a split second before turning to look at the ornate rug.
"This is a trap covered by an invisibility charm. It takes only a moment to set up if you are proficient in Charms, which I doubt any of you are yet," Snape smirked. "Observe."
The class edged forwards on their seats as Professor Snape conjured a live rat. He grasped it by the end of its tail before setting it down on the edge of the rug. The rat, like a moth to a flame, scurried towards the centre of the fabric. It never finished its journey.
"Excuse me, Sir. I feel sick." Hermione darted from the room, head ducked to avoid anybody's eyeline. The small bloodstain on the rug had been imprinted into her mind and was not likely to disappear anytime soon.
"Does anybody feel the need to join Miss Granger?" Snape asked slowly. Silence. "Then let us continue with the lesson."
When Ron and Harry emerged from the Charms classroom at the end of the lesson, their first thought was to find Hermione. Luckily for them, she had been two steps ahead of them.
"Ron, Harry! Over here," she called from the end of the corridor.
"Hermione, are you alright?" the boys inquired in unison.
"Yes, yes," she said dully, as if she had forgotten about the incident in Charms. "Look at this, will you?" She brandished a small leather-bound book before their noses.
"What's this?" asked Ron, taking the book from her hands. He read aloud: "Love Potions of the Nineteenth Century. Why are you reading this?" Ron gave a teasing smile as Hermione's face turned a deep red colour and she tried, in vain, to snatch the book away from his grasps.
"Lavender left it behind in the Common Room and I wanted something to read, so I thought I would take a look."
"We'll believe you, thousands wouldn't," Ron replied, grinning. Hermione was not impressed.
"Just open it to page sixty-three, will you?"
"Alright, bossy! Erm… oh, here it is. It says: 'The venom of the South African arboralis adamenta, while commonly used as a sedative, can also have strong aphrodisiac effects when given in the right doses. Be careful, though, too much can constitute a strong de-aging agent!' Bloody hell. Does that mean –"
"Someone tried to slip McGonagall a love potion?" Harry asked incredulously. "Are you joking?"
"What other theories do we have, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, but what would Blaise Zabini want to give a love potion to her for?" Ron screwed up his face in thought.
"To whom, Mr. Weasley?" The three Gryffindors turned to find Professor Sprout looming (as far as was possible for a woman of her diminutive stature) over them. They looked guiltily between them. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know the answer. Are you in for Care of Magical Creatures next?"
"Yes, Professor," they replied in unison.
"Good. Don't tell Professor Dumbledore, but I managed to swap a Charms lesson with Professor Burbage so that I could do this instead. There's nothing quite like the fresh Scottish air to remind you that you're alive."
"Quite right, Professor," Hermione said cheerily. Ron eyed her suspiciously. "Actually, Professor, I was wondering whether I could ask your help with something?"
"As long as it doesn't involve numbers," Professor Sprout winked. "I was always hopeless with numbers."
"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's actually about Herbology."
"Well, then, there is no place better for you to go! Fire away, Miss Granger."
"Can you tell me anything about the arboralis adamenta?"
"Not looking to sedate anybody, are we, Miss Granger?" Professor Sprout asked with what Harry deemed was an undertone of real suspicion.
"Well, my father works as a dentist, you see, and he uses sedatives on his patients sometimes, but I wondered whether the arboralis adamenta venom might be more efficient."
"Well, it only takes a few millimetres to put somebody small to sleep for a few hours, perhaps seven or eight for somebody tall. But precision is absolutely necessary when dealing with that particular venom, because too little can form a powerful love potion when mixed with the bloodstream, and too much can make a fair de-aging solution. That's if you can get your hands on the plant in the first place; it's extremely rare. We're lucky to have had one donated to us by the Headmaster after his travels in South Africa."
The Trio positively beamed at each other. At least the little information they did have was correct.
"Would you class Professor McGonagall as tall?"
Harry and Hermione turned on Ron in disbelief. His direct question had probably just blown everything. Professor Sprout was sure to know they were up to something now.
"I honestly don't think she heard," Ron said as they made their way across the grounds, towards Greenhouse Three. Harry and Hermione were still angry at him.
"Oh, Ronald, she would have to be deaf not to have heard that; she was walking right next to us!"
Ron was saved from the indignant glares of his friends when Professor Sinistra peered nervously around the door to the greenhouse. Her knuckles had turned a sickly white hue as a result of the tight grip she held on her wand.
"You may come in now," she announced shakily.
"Are you okay, Professor?" Neville asked, earning himself a sharp jab to the ribs from Hermione, who was appalled at his lack of tact. Professor Sinistra, however, seemed not to have noticed.
"I am perfectly fine, thank you, Mr. Longbottom. I am calm and –"
With perfect timing, the tentacle of a bright orange plant dropped onto the Professor's shoulder. She screamed and within a second, sparks had flown from her wand and severed the slimy appendage from the plant. It dropped to the ground with a heavy sploshing sound like that of a rock being dropped in the ocean.
This, Harry decided, would be a long Herbology lesson.
Potions with Hagrid, now this was the lesson Harry had been looking forward too. It had taken the Trio rather a while to get from the greenhouses to the dungeons, however, (thanks to Hermione's plentiful supply of heavy books) so they were the last three to enter the classroom.
"Oh, hello you three." Hagrid's deep voice carried well through the dungeons, so much so that Harry was certain they could have heard his greeting in the Owlery. Unfortunately, the cluttered Potions room was not designed to accommodate Hagrid's large frame.
Within seconds, potions and ingredients were flying everywhere. Eyeballs rolled along the floor, newts were set free as their glass prisons smashed against the cold flagstones, a thick powder filled the air with its dense aroma. Sensing another potions disaster like the one at the beginning of the week, Harry shouted to Hagrid over the hubbub.
"Hagrid. HAGRID STAND STILL!"
Hagrid obeyed and the class were left to recover as the noise died down and the powders began to settle as dust on the floor. Hagrid looked thoroughly embarrassed.
Harry, Ron and Hermione volunteered to stay and clear up the mess while the rest of the class were ushered towards their respective Common Rooms by an irate Professor Lupin, who had been searching for an ingredient for a new batch of pepper-up potion for Madame Pomfrey. The clean-up took a long time and it seemed even longer with the relative quiet passing between them but, at least, Harry reasoned, he had managed to spend some time with Hagrid. Even if Hagrid had been too embarrassed to say much.
The first floor corridor was quite devoid of life when the Trio reached the door of the Transfiguration classroom five minutes early. Immediately, they were struck by a sickly scent of incense and cooking sherry so thick that it felt solid in their mouths.
"McGonagall would be livid if she knew Trelawney was taking Transfiguration," said Ron as the Golden Trio filtered into the classroom to wait their fellow Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.
"Good afternoon, children," came the airy voice of Professor Trelawney as she appeared from behind the blackboard. "My inner eye told me that you would be arriving early so I too arrived here before the bell." Before Harry had time to even roll his eyes at the witch's predictable reference to her psychic abilities, the bell sounded and a stampede of feet ruptured the quiet of the classroom. Within five minutes, the rest of the class had taken their seats.
"Today, class," the heavily-shawled witch said with a slight slur, "we shall be turning quills into bottles."
"That's appropriate," Ron whispered to Harry. Thankfully, Professor Trelawney seemed not to notice their badly-suppressed giggling.
"Like so." She waved her wand at the nearest quill and shouted at the top of her lungs: "Utrem transmutare!" To the infinite surprise of the class, the quill did change shape. But not into the right shape. Instead of a shiny glass bottle, the quill had become a large eagle, perching on the edge of the desk. Crabbe leapt from his desk near the front of the class, sending several others crashing to the floor as he sprinted from the classroom. Harry and Ron could no longer suppress their amusement.
While the class ran riot, as had happened in many other lessons that day, Professor Trelawney stood at the front, muttering something about getting "the wrong incantation". The eagle was just spreading its wings, preparing to take flight, as the Professor pointed her wand at it and whispered "finite incantatem".
The class were still shouting. Neville was crouched under a table. Malfoy aimed quills at Ron's head as though he were a dartboard. Hermione remained sitting, reading a heavy book she had extracted from her bag. It was all-out pandemonium.
"You will stop this right now!" Whatever Harry had expected Professor Trelawney to say, it was not that. Her face was red with rage and her shoulders shook. "I demand that you stop this instant and show some respect."
The entire class, even Malfoy and Goyle, had been shocked into silence.
"Mr. … er… Malfoy, you will go and retrieve your classmate and everybody else will take out a spare quill and prepare for your Transfiguration lesson."
Nobody argued.
Popping their heads into the Divination classroom like clockwork dolls, Harry and Ron saw Professor McGonagall staring into a crystal ball with disgust.
"Trelawney would be livid if she knew McGonagall was taking Transfiguration." Harry chuckled as he echoed Ron's earlier sentiment.
"Take a seat, please," McGonagall said without removing her eyes from the book she was reading. Once the last student had taken their seat, she continued. "Today we shall be looking at… er…" she shuffled around some papers on the desk until she found the one she wanted. "Today we shall be looking at the art of tea leaves." Her tone as less than enthusiastic.
Harry whispered to Ron, "I thought she hated all this stuff." Ron merely shrugged in reply.
"Right… if you could all take out your reference books and enjoy your tea." With a flick of her wand, each student had their own cup of nearly-transparent tea. They drained their cups in silence.
"Is something the matter?" McGonagall's voice roused the students. "Normally, I wouldn't be able to get you all to be quiet. It's like a morgue in here." Harry laughed at her dark humour. "Would anybody like to volunteer to read their partner's tea leaves?"
Of course, Lavender's hand shot into the air.
"Well, this looks like a broken aeroplane, which indicates a trap, and that looks like a cat, meaning deceit. But that looks like a cup, which means a reward. So you will face a trap and be deceived, but this will lead to a reward."
McGonagall suppressed a snort. "Thank you, Miss Brown. Anybody else?" Predictably, nobody else volunteered.
"Would you like me to read your tea leaves, Professor?" Lavender asked bashfully.
"I don't think –"
"It might change your mind about Divination, Professor."
"I highly doubt that, Miss Patil." Then, after a pause, "Alright then, Miss Brown, you may read my tea leaves."
Lavender almost skipped up to the desk and seized the porcelain cup. "This feather indicates a lack of concentration. This seems to be a mountain, which means that you will reach goals but with many obstacles." Suddenly, she grinned and indicated a final symbol. "And this is a fan, which means flirtation." A laugh rose through the room.
"Settle down please. Thank you, Miss Brown, you may sit back down now. Everybody please swap cups and try to find some sense in your partner's tea leaves."
Twenty minutes into the lesson, it was evident that everybody had given up on the week. The class were talking amongst themselves (even Lavender and Parvati had given in to talk of their plans for their first ever visit to Hogsmeade) and Professor McGonagall was gazing surprisingly absent-mindedly over their heads into a world known only to herself. Her wand was directed lazily at the teacup on her desk which was now – unbeknownst to the Professor – dancing a cheerful little jig. Harry took the opportunity to discuss with Ron their ever-changing theory on the de-aging mishap.
"Well, it couldn't have been Zabini, could it?"
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"Can you imagine him trying to slip a love potion to McGonagall?" Ron had a point.
"Don't tell me you didn't think she looked good at seventeen."
"Yeah, but she wasn't seventeen. She just looked seventeen!"
"What if he didn't intend it as an aphrodisiac?" Harry ventured.
"So he wanted a sedative instead? I can't see that working, mate." Ron furrowed his brow in deep thought. "What if someone gave it to him? What if they were just getting him to do their dirty work? You heard Malfoy talking about a bet; he could easily have –"
Their conversation was interrupted by McGonagall's voice. "It's obvious that you have all checked out for the weekend, so you might as well leave early." Nobody moved. "Class dismissed. You can go, really." They did not need telling again; chairs scraped on the floor and bags were quickly slung over shoulders as students prepared to get some time in the sunshine.
"Potter, Weasley, can I talk to you for a moment please?" Oh dear. Ron and Harry wearily approached Trelawney's paper-covered desk. "Professor Sprout seems to be concerned about you two. Is there anything you are not telling me?" Harry sent mental daggers at Ron. Professor Sprout had heard him!
"No, Professor," they chirped simultaneously, both hoping that she could not read the guilt on their faces.
"I don't believe you. You know that, don't you? Now go on and enjoy your weekend. And stay out of trouble if you physically can."
After dismissing Potter and Weasley, Minerva had rushed from the Divination room, eager to get far away from the place, and its thickly scented air, in as short a time as possible. On returning to her own classroom, however, she found the air to be just as heavy with some woody perfume and a distinct whiff of cooking sherry. Sighing, she grabbed a stack of essays awaiting marking and swept from the room to escape the smell once more.
It seemed, though, that peace and quiet were no friends of the Transfiguration Professor's that evening. She was not three steps inside her rooms when something unusual caught her eye. In the centre of the room was a large case made of cracked leather. When it had been put there, and by whom, were the puzzles she now had to solve.
She circled the case hesitantly, a predator waiting to pounce. The seventeen-year-old Minerva, she thought, would have jumped on the case and started investigating it immediately. But age makes us cautious, another part of her mind argued. It was drowned out, however, by the other part saying: "why should that happen to all of us? Come on, old girl, let the cat give over to curiosity for a while!"
Just as Minerva had given in, just as her fingers grasped the lock of the case, a loud thumping noise sounded to her left as if by divine intervention. Naturally, her hand flexed towards her wand. Holding it an arm's length before her, Minerva stopped before the bathroom door, behind which she had heard the sound. It's now or never, old girl.
"Bombarda." That door would need fixing in the morning. It flew from its hinges, missing a squat, yellow-clad figure by mere inches. Minerva gasped. Horace Slughorn was standing, shell-shocked, in front of her sink.
"What are you doing here… in my bathroom?" she demanded. To Minerva's surprise and annoyance, her old Potions teacher chuckled – yes, chuckled.
"Perhaps you need to talk to the Headmaster," he replied, beaming. Minerva scowled in reply.
"Oh, I will," she said, advancing on him, "and you had better not be in my room when I get back!" Ignoring Professor Slughorn's indignant 'Charming!', Minerva stormed out of her office and turned towards the Headmaster's.
"Poor git," she heard one of the Weasley twins murmur as she strode past them and came to a halt at the statue guarding Professor Dumbledore's sanctum sanctorum. Before she could stop herself, she had replied: "You have no idea." Smirking at the shocked faces she left behind and mentally berating herself for her slip, Minerva ascended the staircase (new password: liquorice wands. One day, she thought, Albus Dumbledore would lose all of his teeth and she would be obliged to say "I told you so"). She did not even knock before throwing the door open.
"What is Horace Slughorn doing in my rooms?" Even she was impressed by the strength of her voice reverberating around the room. Albus turned his attention away from the silver trinket he had been adjusting and fixed the Deputy Headmistress with his twinkling gaze.
"I don't know, Minerva. Is there something you aren't telling me?"
"I don't care for what you are insinuating and you can take that grin off of your face right now!" Not one to push too far past the limits in situations like this for fear of his personal welfare, Albus endeavoured to keep a straight face. A long pause ensued while the Headmaster attempted to keep his laughter at bay; Minerva's unnecessarily angry expression was not helping matters either. Phineas Nigellus seemed to be on the point of reprimanding him when the door swung open once more.
Does nobody have the common courtesy to knock anymore? Albus thought ruefully. An invisible weight dropped into his stomach when the round form of the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, appeared in the doorway. Minerva rolled her eyes as he removed his distinctive bowler hat and gave what he evidently thought was a chivalrous little bow in her direction. She was even more disgusted when he proceeded to ignore her and address Albus as though she were not even in the room.
"Albus, an urgent meeting of the Governor's has been called by an independent individual concerned by recent events at Hogwarts." The first thought that crossed the mind of both teachers was 'Lucius Malfoy'. "I thought it better that we investigate this first-hand."
"So you removed all of the school Governors from their daily occupations –" Albus began, but he was cut off by Minerva.
"- And dragged yourself away from the running of this country's magical community!"
"Yes, thank you, Minerva." She scowled at Albus's tone. "What we seem to be struggling with, Mr. Fudge, is the notion that you would cause so much disruption to investigate such a claim." Good old Albus, Minerva thought. Trust him to make an insult seem polite.
"It is a spectacular waste of time and money, you see," Minerva said. She appeared to be struggling more than usual with the censorship of her sharp tongue. Fudge, quite accustomed to the outspoken nature of the Head of Gryffindor (And her students, come to think of it), acted as though he had not heard her.
"I think, Albus, that Ms. McGonagall might be more comfortable in her own rooms."
"Ms. McGonagall is quite capable of speaking for herself, Mr. Fudge. Besides, my rooms have suddenly become a guest house, by the looks of it."
Finally meeting her gaze, Fudge said blandly: "A staff member has placed each Governor with a teacher to allow for an effective and representative monitoring system to be set up for the ensuing weeks."
"Weeks? How long exactly do you intend to be 'monitoring' us?"
"I am sure, Professor, that if you are as able a teacher as the Headmaster seems to think you are, then you have nothing to be concerned about." Minerva blushed despite herself.
"The point still stands," she replied, "that you will be wasting a colossal amount of time and energy that would be better invested in improving Muggle-Wizard relations or tightening up security in Azkaban, since neither of those things appear to be on your list of priorities."
The Minister's face turned a shade of purple that would put even Albus's robes to shame. "I do not think," he began in measured tones, "that the safety of young witches and wizards is a waste of time."
"But this is not about the children, is it, Minister?" Minerva spat, her fists clenched dangerously at her sides. "This is about your vendetta against Hogwarts and the way Albus chooses to run it!"
"Well, with people like you working here, can you blame me?"
"You have no right to talk to my staff in that way, Cornelius," Albus said finally in a clear, resonating voice. "Minerva, I will speak to you later."
"But –"
"Minerva, it would be best if you went back to your office."
She moved unwillingly towards the door, although not before sending one of her trademark glares-of-doom to the Minister, who blanched visibly. It was only when the door was almost closed that Minerva heard the Minister say "I see you still couldn't find anyone tamer for the post, then."
It was all Minerva could do to stop herself from crashing back into the office and unleashing the full extent of the rage she had built up over the last week. She was still fuming when she bumped into Severus Snape on the fourth floor corridor.
"Are you enjoying the company the Minister sent?" he asked, sneering at her. In that second, something clicked in her mind.
"It was you! You put Slughorn in my room, didn't you? Did you call in the Governors too? Well?" She was one step away from whipping out her wand and forcing him against the wall, but the thought of a student coming down the corridor and witnessing the whole thing held her back.
"I cannot take credit for the latter accusation," he drawled, "but it was I who showed the Governors to their teaching partners."
Minerva's blood was searing now. Severus Snape would pay for this.
A/N: The next chapter should be the last one, in which the mystery of the plant venom will be solved (hopefully).
