Harry Potter and the Garden of Intrigue

Being an exploration of the differences in Mr. Potter's life pursuant to his understanding Victorian flower language at age 11. Single Point-of-Departure: Harry has a working lightbulb in his cupboard.

Harry Potter, all related characters, and the original Harry Potter narrative are properties of J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 11

Confusion

Ron had returned from McGonnagall's Walk of Doom with downcast eyes, in a futile attempt to hide the bubbling grin that was still spreading across his face.

"Well, what happened?" demanded Hermione, suddenly disinterested in the book that had claimed her attentions since dinner began.

Ron sparkled at her. "I dislocated my shoulder, sprained my wrist, and got a full set of matching bruises."

"Ooo-er," cried FredandGeorge. "Full set, eh? Well, color us impressed."

"Did you really do a Gledon twist?"

"He can't have, he's still got both arms-"

"Shut up and let Crimson tell it, will you?"

Ron waited for the hubbub to recede. "And," he continued, wallowing in the attention he'd earned, "a fractured molar."

Harry noticed a mild tone of impatience in the muttered speculation that swept through Gryffindor table. "What about McGonnagall?"

Ron beamed, his face actually glowing with inner light.

"Don't encourage him," whispered Hermione. "He'll be insufferable as it is."

Ron, ignoring Hermione as easily as if he hadn't heard her - which he may well not have - finally deigned to divulge his adventures in the clutches of Professor Do Not Cross McGonnagall. "Well," he began, producing Neville's Remembrall, "After I caught this - which, Neville, here - " Ron tossed the offending article to Neville, who, fully recovered from his fall, had returned only three minutes prior and been fully briefed on Ron's derring-do. "Right. After that, McGonnagall carted me off to a side hallway. I thought she was going to set me on fire and hide the ashes or something."

"-thought you'd been expelled," muttered Hermione, under her breath.

"But instead, she went in, talked to Professor Snape. Said she needed to borrow Wood."

Half the Gryffindors, as well as a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had wandered over, showed a sudden comprehension.

"Of course I was panicked, thought she meant a special club to pound me down with," continued Ron. Harry was honestly thinking the same thing. "And come on, it was Snape, she might've been." This elicited several nods of agreement, mostly from the older Gryffindors. Harry noticed one stocky upperclassman, probably in his fourth or fifth year, starting to stand up. "But then out comes Oliver, and suddenly the world's all sunshine and roses."

"Too right!" called the stocky boy, who Harry assumed must be Oliver. He'd come in just ahead of Ron, as Harry recalled.

"But what about the Gledon Twist?"

"Yeah, was that for real?"

Ron flushed a bit, either from embarrasment or the heady intoxication of popularity. "I'll get to that part."

The table erupted - they didn't care what Ron's story was anymore, they just wanted to know how he'd kept his arms on.

"I said I'll get to that!"

Harry was a bit confused. "Hermione, why does Oliver make the world sunshine and roses?"

"Harry if this is a joke, I swear on the squid I'll hex you."

"No, no," Harry affirmed. "I'm just confused."

Hermione sighed. "Once again, I must admit I don't know. He's not in the study groups I joined last week, but I've heard people mention him in terms of hopeful admiration."

Harry turned to Neville. "Neville?"

"Quidditch captain."

"Ah."

Hermione shook her head apathetically.

Ron, meanwhile, had finally quieted the dissenters - simultaneously backed and opposed by FredandGeorge - and was prepared to finish his story. "Alright, so Oliver asks what's going on-"

"-and McGonnagall tells me she's found a candidate for Seeker," Oliver concluded. While Ron started fuming at his stolen thunder, Oliver elaborated. "He's got a long ways to go before he's really up to our standards, but Mr. Crimson has a way with a broom that I haven't seen since... well, since his brother Charlie got out."

"Charlie's sending me his old broom so I've got something to work with," added Ron, while the Gryffindors roared their approval.

Seamus grinned. "In keeping with long tradition, of course."

"And when you get out, it goes right in with the rest of the splintery sticks in storage," confirmed Dean with a wink.

Ron flushed, this time in familial rage. He tried to snap back at his friends, but unfortunately all he managed was a rabid splutter.

"But what about the Gledon Twist?" cried a third-year Hufflepuff.

"Oh, yeah, that was more of a double Scrimshaw turn," admitted Ron.

"These practices are bloody murder," whined Ron, collapsing into a comfortable chair in the Gryffindor common room. Wednesday had come and gone, and Ron had spent his evening with the Gryffindor Quidditch team instead of studying.

"Having second thoughts?" inquired Hermione. She had drilled Harry, Neville, Seamus and Dean on their Potions homework for Thursday, and they were feeling almost as drained as Ron looked.

Ron goggled at her. "Nah, are you daft? This is the best thing to happen to me since I got old enough to fly!" He eased further into his chair. "It's just exhausting, though. I have to do all the drills for mobility, learn all the plays the Chasers use... Fred and George keep beating Bludgers at me, I think I've got bruises on my bruises now... And Wood's got me on a special regimen of practices for extra speed and maneuverability, he wants me to be good enough for a real Gledon by the first match."

Hermione smiled. "Maybe a bit of Potions homework will take your mind off the pain," she suggested. "I'll give you five minutes to rest, though, you look terrible."

Dean pulled Neville and Seamus aside to play a bit of Exploding Snap - once Neville had gotten over his nerves, he'd become a regular shark at the game, and Dean was determined to beat him somehow. Harry, meanwhile, eased into his own chair, planning to listen in on Ron's Potions torment. He'd been uncertain about the applications of lavender petals in emotion-modifying draughts, and hoped that he'd pick up on the nuances this time around.

Ron, meanwhile, had already fallen asleep.

Thursday. Harry and Neville were darting glances at every shadow, every sudden movement, their shared terror a strange display of synchronicity.

"What are you two on about, eh?" asked Seamus, grabbing them both by a shoulder.

Harry and Neville let out simultaneous yipes, whirling to face the danger of their friend and roommate.

"It's Thursday, we're trying to avoid the Doom that Thursday Brings," explained Harry. Neville nodded in agreement.

Seamus just looked at them, his gaze sweeping slowly from Harry to Neville and back again. "Huh."

"We can't stop it, we know we can't, but we have to try." Neville slumped forlornly. "If we don't at least try to avoid the Doom, it just comes in worse."

"Wait, I thought it got worse the longer we held it off," objected Harry. "Yours bites you if you don't fight it?"

Neville raised his left eyebrow in mild confusion. "Your Thursdays get worse when you do?"

Harry nodded. "Maybe it's trying to teach us something."

Seamus grinned, still not believing the power of Thursday. "Something besides 'run from Thursday'?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Something like 'accept fate' or 'stand up for yourself.'"

"Or maybe it was just preparing us for Hogwarts," suggested Neville. "We're here."

They had arrived at Snape's dungeon.

Harry winced, his forehead flaring with pain as Professor Snape inspected his cauldron for the fifteenth time. The note had been confiscated and incinerated before Harry had even tried to pass it, and his Snape-induced headache was making it very difficult to focus on proper brewing procedure. Ron was being no help, either - he was far too elated from his recent induction into the excessively complex and unbalanced wizarding sport of choice to give attention to potions. Still, Ron's concoction was rather more appealing than Harry's own turgid mess. Beyond Ron, Neville and Hermione were toiling away at a sweet-smelling fluid; Neville had accidentally added wooly thyme instead of woody thyme, earning him a lecture from Snape - and losing a few points from Gryffindor, as well - but Hermione's levelheadedness had steered them back into passing territory.

"Two points from Gryffindor for your obvious incompetence, Potter," began Snape, winding up for another conflated confrontation. His deleterious declamation was interrupted, however, as Ron chose that very moment to slip a few eglantine petals into his cauldron. Snape instantly cut off his tirade, leaping for cover half a second before Ron's cauldron exploded.

The viscous goo that erupted from Ron's ill-fated (school issue) cauldron burned its way into Harry's skin, and he felt a moment of pity for Ron and Neville, who had also been caught in the blast. Cool vapour seared its way through his veins, leaving a wash of comfort and cleanliness in its wake, and Harry was pretty sure he screamed as the infernal sensation overtook his brain.

When he regained his senses, perhaps twelve seconds later, Harry noticed that the globs from Ron's cauldron had already vanished. Well, they've vanished from Ron and Neville, at least. There were a few gobbets still clinging to the floor, the remains of Ron's table, and the dungeon ceiling. Snape was already back on the scene, expertly investigating the potion's remains.

"Incredible..." he murmured, carefully smelling the remnants of Ron's cauldron. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your reckless endangerment of your fellow students, Weasley. The compound you added to precipitate this ... premeditated disaster ..." Snape paused for a moment, studying the remains of Ron's creation. "You should count yourself lucky. Any other substance, and I have no doubt you and your friends would be on your way to St. Mungo's for permanent interment in the insanity ward." Ron blanched, doing a fair impersonation of his elder brother. "I'll decide on an appropriate punishment for you three. Stand as you are, I'll address you at the end of the period."

Ron hung his head, a triumphant grin barely visible behind his hair. Neville collapsed, too shaken to do anything more, while Harry checked his cauldron to see if there was anything he could do to save his grades. Finding it empty - Snape must have gotten rid of that gook while I was screaming - Harry imitated Ron's contrite posture, waiting for Snape to finish grading the Slytherins and abusing the Gryffindors so he could find out what manner of terrible fate awaited them.

Thursday had reached fruition, Harry was sure of it. The three of them against Professor Snape, in the seat of his power? Harry's head was pounding with a severe Snape-Hates-Me headache. There was no question that this was the work of Double Thursdays. Harry risked a glance at Neville, but couldn't catch his eye - Neville was shaking, though, and Harry was pretty sure it wasn't from a private joke.

Ron was still hanging his head to hide that annoying grin. What's he done? thought Harry, hopelessly. Why is he smiling? Try as he might, though, Harry couldn't think of any reason for Ron to be smiling about detention with Snape.

Snape, for his part, had bottled up the remains of Ron's concoction in several quietly humming jars, which he had then locked into the heavy iron cabinet behind his desk. Harry expected that FredandGeorge had spent many an hour trying to break into that repository of dangerous things, but couldn't imagine even their mad skill breaching Snape's defenses.

Snape turned back to the trio of Gryffindors, his expression grim. One eyebrow rose half an inch. "Each of you was involved in the incident."

"Yes," confirmed Ron, a hint of smugness in his tone.

The oily professor leveled a steady stare at Ron's eyes for three full seconds before Ron hung his head again to escape. "I see," he whispered, still not revealing what he meant. "Your reason for endangering the lives of your fellow students with such and ill-conceived potion?"

Ron didn't even hesitate. "We wanted to know what you were on about, with those secret-message questions of yours, and you didn't read the note Harry'd made for you. This was my backup plan to get your attention."

Snape stared at Ron in amazement, and Harry's headache shifted from Snape-Hates-Me to WhatisRondoing. "For this you concocted an exploding potion of pain?"

Ron stumbled back a step in fear, and Harry couldn't blame him. Snape was terrifying even without the black fire in his eyes or the cloak billowing dramatically in the absence of wind, and he'd just manifested both of those qualities spontaneously.

"Ah," explained Ron, "Well, it wasn't supposed to be a Potion of Pain, it was supposed to be an exploding potion of healing."

Snape glared at him.

"But- the reason we wanted to ask, well, Harry translated your secret messages-"

"Unless there was one in the Bezoar question," interjected Harry. "We couldn't figure that one out."

"Right, except for that one. And I was thinking, 'why would Professor Snape, who hates Harry, tell Harry that Snape regrets Harry's mum dying?'" Ron thrust his forefinger into the air. "Then it hit me. You're a double-triple agent working for You-Know-Who, and you do something that you think causes the death of Harry's mum, who you love."

"Get on with it," hissed Snape.

"Right, er, so you feel responsible for that and decide to honor her memory by taking responsibility for her child. Dunno why you hate him, but you've pretty much sworn your life as his protector, right?"

Snape collapsed into his chair. "Your assumptions are correct. The messages were intended only for the young Potter, but it seems he lacks... discretion."

Harry boggled. Ron, on the other hand, was wearing a big goofy grin of the sort usually reserved for children who find themselves in confectioners' establishments after business hours. Harry glanced at Neville, hoping for a bit of sanity, and found a degree of shock which rivaled his own. He turned back to Professor Snape. "Wha?"

"Not really," objected Ron. "He just has smart friends. Neville figured it out in less than a week." Harry wasn't really following the conversation between his most-feared teacher and his red-headed friend, but something was nagging at his mind.

How'd he manage to mix Hermione's explosive? He was asleep while she lectured him!

"You have another accomplice?" Professor Snape was glaring at Harry again, despite Ron's current status as Speaker for the Doomed. "How many are involved?"

Harry swallowed, trying to get his larynx working again. Remembering his conversation with Neville, he decided to give in to the power of Thursday. "Er, I asked my friends to help me figure out what the flowers meant," he admitted.

Ron groaned.

"Hermione and Ron, that is. And Hagrid, I suppose. Neville came up with a plan to let you know we knew. Er, with the note you burned. But I don't understand, Professor, why would you try to send me secret messages by making me look stupid?"

Snape smiled, cruelly, and Harry's headache got worse. "Because, Mr. Potter, the world does not run on sense." Snape turned to Neville. "Mr. Longbottom, do not speak of what has transpired here unless you wish to face consequences most dire. Return to my office tomorrow at three o'clock. You are dismissed." Neville fled the room, and Harry heard him trip on his own feet in the corridor before the door swung shut again.

Snape continued. "Mr. Weasley, relate the events that led you to understand the situation, in detail."

Ron's explanation was complicated enough that Harry found himself missing the ill-fated conspiracy board. He remembered the bit in Hagrid's cottage, but from there Ron's tale soared through wild and improbable hypotheses, from Harry's possible secret bloodlines to suspicions about Snape's involuted personal life. Snape, for his part, had simply sat and listened to Ron's theories as they grew ever more incredible, but had stopped him - mercifully - when he'd started pulling the Quidditch League into it.

"Enough, Mr. Weasley. Your grasp of the facts you were offered is sufficient, but your prattling reveals a dearth of comprehension where the world is concerned." Snape walked around his desk, standing in front of Ron so the boy had to crane his neck to keep Snape's face in view. "You will not speak of these things to any soul that does not already know. The idiocy you have been spouting for the past ten minutes will be forgotten, and you will not attempt to divulge my personal history."

Ron's expression had been growing less exultant by the minute, but at this, his face fell. "Aw, but-"

"No one, Mr. Weasley," ordered Snape. "The consequences for breaching my trust are not to be taken lightly. You will return to my office at three o'clock tomorrow. You are dismissed." Snape turned to Harry, whose mind had become incapable of coherent thought. As Ron trudged out, the Potions Master ordered Harry to sit. Harry complied.

"Er, Professor?"

"You will explain why you thought it best to divulge a secret communication to others. You will also explain how you were able to decipher the message to begin with. You are not particularly intelligent, and I find it suspicious that you would be so familiar with the esoterica of floral communication." Snape's eyes seemed to be boring right into Harry's, as though the professor were wielding an augur with his gaze.

"I didn't, I," Harry gabbled, trying to get his thoughts to line up around the pain in his forehead. "My aunt Petunia had a book about Victorian flower language, I used to read it in my cupboard-"

"You expect me to believe you memorized the contents of that book, and no others?"

"No, I, I brought it with me," Harry sputtered. His headache was growing steadily worse. "After I got my books for Hogwarts, I thought, maybe it would be interesting if they agreed on something."

Snape did not look impressed.

"And I remembered Aconite because it kept telling me to look under other names, and I thought that was fun." Harry was sweating.

"I am not amused, Mr. Potter." Snape hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry the entire time, and his undivided attention was quite disconcerting. "How were you able to divine the intent of my first message?"

The first message- Wormwood and Asphodel. "Lilies." Harry was back on familiar ground at last, and heaven help him if he just let Thursday keep him from doing what Thursday demanded. Blasted Double Thursdays. "Asphodel is a kind of lily, I remember them because my mum..." Harry swallowed again, still shaken by Snape's unblinking stare.

"Continue."

"Wormwood I remember because it had a strange name, and the school chapel mentioned it once. I found it in the book, and I remembered it, because I'd always wondered what Wormwood really was."

Snape's expression still hadn't changed. "And you knew from half-remembered myths and an old Muggle book?"

"No, um, I didn't really understand at first," Harry confessed. "I thought for a moment you'd meant you regretted my mom's death, but, um, you were asking a question," Harry hesitated for a moment, "and you hate me."

At this, Snape nodded agreement, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. "From there you followed your suspicions, and discovered the truth."

Harry nodded.

"You have interpreted my messages correctly," Snape said, sending Harry's throbbing brain reeling. "You will not speak of these events. You will not tell anyone who does not already know of these events. You will not inquire further about my history with your mother. You will not discuss what you have learned with any person save myself or the Headmaster. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, a bit less confidently.

Snape frowned. "You will return to my office at three o'clock tomorrow. At that time, the appropriate actions will be taken. You are dismissed." Harry stood, wobbling for a moment. His headache was still just as intense, but he couldn't believe that Thursday was finished with him so quickly. It was Double Thursdays, how could this possibly be the end?

Snape had opened the door. "Move, Potter!" he hissed, to another flash of pain from Harry's skull. Harry complied, half falling through the dungeon door in his haste to escape Snape's confusing commands.