Hello everyone!
My editor and I worked super, super hard on this one. I think this chapter has needed more editing, research and plain old hard work than any other chapter thus far. Thank you, JessariOfErebor. You're an angel.
Thanks so much for reading so far, enjoy this new chapter! Hope you are all keeping safe and well, wherever you are.
I've updated the tags, so please feel free to check those out if you like!
Hermione took in her office with hands on hips and a critical eye.
After the revelation of Atlas and Crookshanks' genuine affection for one another, she'd been forced to remodel. She'd spent her first day off reorganising, charming, and revamping the office so that there would be enough space for all of them. After all, she hadn't brought Crookshanks and Atlas all the way to Hogwarts with the intention of practically never seeing them. It hadn't been easy, but she felt pretty proud of the results.
She'd prioritised her books until she only had three bookshelves and charmed her desk to make it a little smaller. A great silver bird perch now stood beside her desk. Neville's great blackboard had been turned on its side and stretched up to the ceiling. Whenever she needed to use it, she could just float herself up and down it. The extra space had freed up room for a massive bird stand for Atlas; a few oak branches and a charmed sheet underneath that the unfortunate realities of avian anatomy had made necessary. She did not want her office smelling like an owlery. She'd also managed to stick a cat basket on a fork between two branches with a handy Adhesive Charm, just in case. She had no idea if Crookshanks would use it, but at least it gave him the option.
Hermione nodded in satisfaction. Since she spent more time in her office than she did in her actual bedroom, this wasn't such a bad way for her to be able to spend time with both of them, and to give them the opportunity to spend time with one another if they so chose.
She turned to her familiars, who were currently perched on opposite ends of her desk. Waving at the office, she asked, "Well?"
Crookshanks bounded down from her desk, trotted across the room and with perfect calm, started sharpening his claws on Atlas' tree. Atlas made a very unhappy sound and flew over to him. Hermione watched as the eagle owl tried his very best to intimidate the cat by hooting at him, flying in circles around him, and flapping his wings angrily. The cat just kept scratching, and soon Atlas gave up. He landed on a branch and gave Hermione an eerily human long-suffering look.
Hermione was not bothered by all this. They play-fought all the time, but they never hurt one another. She left them to it and settled down at her desk to work. Taking the essay at the top of the pile, she sighed a happy little sigh and started marking.
A minute or so later, she was scared half to death by the sudden sensation of Crookshanks jumping into her lap. He turned around in a few circles, then curled up. The warmth was comforting and very welcome.
Not to be ignored, Atlas flew from his stand to her desk. The eagle owl looked up at her shoulder, then up at his perch. His amber eyes were very grave. He looked at her shoulder again.
"Not a chance." Hermione warned. "Atlas, you're massive. You're not a baby anymore-" The bird's eyes turned plaintive, and Hermione sighed. "Oh, fine."
She conjured up a bit of old carpet, draped it over one shoulder and turned back to her work with an exasperated sigh. Before she'd even picked up her quill again, Atlas landed expertly on her shoulder. Even through the carpet, Hermione could feel his talons digging in. He closed his eyes in blissful serenity.
"You dear bird." Hermione murmured, and gave him, then Crookshanks, a little scratch behind their ears.
A witch could get used to this.
This happiness couldn't last forever. It was ruined by the rather pathetic entrance of Pigwidgeon through her office window.
Hermione could only shake her head as the frazzled, silly creature did a few wobbly laps of the office before it finally noticed the glaring, hulking mass of Atlas and, spiralling in a panic pronounced enough to dislodge the letter from its leg, fled with all speed out the window.
Hermione stared at the latter for a long time. She already knew who had written it. The address was on the top right-hand corner; The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole.
Even without it, she would have known. The handwriting was almost as familiar to her as her own; messy, untidy, letters unevenly spaced. Ronald.
He could have nothing to say that she wanted to hear. In keeping the whole thing a secret from her, Ron had proven that his maturity hadn't improved since the breakup. Harry and Ginny had apologised, profusely and genuinely, for their part in things, explaining that Ron had begged them for a chance to tell her himself. She had forgiven them as much as she could. Harry would do anything for family and Ginny, while more independent than her husband, certainly wasn't immune to that sort of manipulation. Ultimately, Ron was the one who was the most responsible, and yet she knew that the chances of him understanding how hurtful and cruel what he had done had been were slim to none.
Ignoring the letter seemed like cowardice, but she was very tempted to do just that. She wasn't a person to avoid something important just because it was difficult, but what good could it possibly do?
After a few torturous minutes, she decided she would read it after all. She wasn't afraid of Ron. She wouldn't give him that much power over her.
Hermione,
It's taken me hours to write this.
I think you've read the papers, because Ginny is acting like I don't exist, Harry keeps on telling me to write to you, and I think you've jinxed me. Been falling over all day and my nose keeps bleeding, but I guess I deserve that.
Don't be angry at them. I made everyone promise not to say anything until I was ready to tell you myself. Now it's too late, but I feel like I owe you some sort of explanation anyway.
I met Emily pretty soon after we broke up. I didn't want you thinking that I'd done anything wrong, so I asked Ginny and Harry to keep it quiet. After that… I just wanted to have something that was mine, without worrying about whether you approved or not. I didn't want you thinking I was dating a muggle to pretend I was dating you again, or something. It's not like that. Emily is… she's fantastic.
I'm happy. I don't feel like I'm always falling short, just because I can't do all the magic you can do and I haven't read all the books you have. I don't know if you'll understand that, but you don't need to. What's important is that I've found someone, and if you care about me at all, you'll be happy for us.
Either way, I don't want to see you again and neither does Mum. If you want to see Amelia you can take that up with Ginny, but don't come to the Burrow in case I'm there.
Goodbye,
Ron.
Her hands were shaking by the time she was halfway through. Not with nervousness. With rage. How dare he. How dare he. As if she would ever hex him. Why did he have to blame his clumsiness on her, let alone what was obviously just a bit of bad luck? Bringing Molly into it, insulting her, that nasty little dig about seeing her own god-daughter- She clenched her teeth and tried to remind herself to breathe.
Hermione folded up the letter into painstakingly even sections and put it down gently in the fireplace. She walked away, levelled her wand at it, and hurled the largest fireball that she could at it.
Smoke immediately swallowed her, and she had to flee the room hacking and coughing; but she felt better. When she came back, Crookshanks was glaring down at her from the top of a bookshelf, tail fluffed up and hackles raised, and Atlas must have flown out the window, since he was nowhere to be seen. A wave of guilt rose up in her for losing her temper when they might get caught in the crossfire.
Later that evening, after she'd had a good long cry about the whole situation, she felt a moment's regret for destroying the letter. Having something tangible that exemplified how absolutely wrong Ron had been for her might come in handy, one day. But then she realised that that just wasn't true. She might have regretted her own part in how badly their relationship had gone, but never, for one minute, had she regretted ending it. She knew now that she never would.
Hermione knew that she would have to have a talk with Harry and Ginny explaining that she and Ron wouldn't be having anything to do with each other from now on. Not now, while she was still angry. But sometime soon.
She left the fireplace as it was for a few days. The once beautiful stone was charred black and crumbling. It suited her mood.
Hermione was just wrapping up the last of her fifth-year Charms class when she noticed she had a guest.
Lucius Malfoy stood in the classroom door, dressed in his usual black.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, but he only smiled and waved at her to continue. She could almost hear his droll remark, don't let me disturb you, Professor.
Well, she couldn't just keep going with him standing there watching. She dismissed the class a few minutes early, reminding them again of the essay they had due next week. The students gathered up their things, leaving the two of them alone. Lucius got a few curious glances, but that was all. Teachers often had business with one another.
"Lucius." Hermione said as the last student left, wiping her blackboard clean with a flick of her wand. "What can I do for you?"
"As a matter of fact, Hermione, I need your help."
Bringing her concentration back to the matter at hand, she asked, "My help? What could you need my help with?" An idea came to her, and she perked right up. "Do you need something invented?"
"Not at all, though I will be sure to commission you if I ever do. No, Hermione, this is a school matter." He saw her interest was piqued, and went on. "You see, my NEWTs class is somewhat more of an… exclusive group than what I would like."
Hermione made a sympathetic noise. That was a real shame. Even when she'd been a student, Potions NEWTs classes had always been a little on the small side. Unlike Charms, which was considered an 'easy' subject, people often did Potions because they had to, rather than because they actually enjoyed it.
Still, she was surprised to hear that Lucius was having so much trouble. He was generally known to be a fair teacher who wanted his students to excel. In Snape's time, the unpopularity of the class was mostly due to his cruel personality and rigorous course requirements, the latter of which was excessive even by Hermione's standards for a NEWT's class.
"I'm sorry to hear that." She said carefully, shuffling some papers in an attempt to make her desk somewhat more presentable as he went to stand before the great Charmed window. "A NEWT in potions is a prerequisite for so many careers, I would have thought more students would at least consider it."
He nodded. "Indeed. And yet, it is not an easy subject to enjoy. It requires patience, and the results are not always outwardly impressive in a way that appeals to younger minds. I have even observed that the types of students who might usually appreciate the more, ah, subtle possibilities of potionmaking are somewhat scarce this year."
Hermione looked at him sharply, but he was facing away from her and so she couldn't see his face. This was the closest he had come to admitting that Slytherin's numbers were depleted. It was a forbidden subject. Even McGonagall had always dodged her questions whenever she had tried to bring it up.
Lucius continued, "It seems to me that with the appropriate demonstration, the students might consider taking the subject further."
"What did you have in mind?" She asked, curiosity evident in her voice.
Lucius turned with an amused smile. He knew he had her. "I thought perhaps a Salve of Panacea or a Brew of Ascension would do the trick."
To say that Hermione was shocked would be an understatement. Properly made, the Salve of Panacea had the power to cure any physical malady. It could cure anything from Dragon Pox to lycanthropy. At least, that was what countless accounts asserted. It had last been made three hundred years ago, and its use had been restricted to very few powerful and influential people. Even so, supply had run dry over two centuries ago. Half the ingredients used to make it didn't even exist anymore, and even the best proxies didn't seem to work. The rest were illegal.
And as for the Brew of Ascension… that was even more incredible. Its ingredients were notoriously difficult to procure, their measurements the subject of fevered academic debate. Its creator had made it once, and only once. Legend had it, she had studied under Merlin himself. Once consumed, it gifted the drinker with perfect ability in a skill of their choice. Any skill. It could be consumed more than once, and could bestow more than one gift to the drinker, though the exact limit, if any, was unknown. It had no side effects.
It even, if the legend was to be believed, tasted quite nice.
Lucius mistook Hermione's silence for reluctance. "I would consider it a great favour."
Hermione shook her head. "I'm just… surprised. Do you really think we could do it?"
Lucius shrugged. "Alone? Certainly not. But together… I think we will acquit ourselves admirably. Salazar himself could never reach the final ten steps. I suppose we will make it to the final thirty or so."
Hermione had to admit, it was an intriguing suggestion. Like many potions enthusiasts, she'd done a bit of research into the more 'mythological' potions, in her time. The Brew of Ascension, in particular, had drawn her. Of course, actually trying to create it had been out of the question. She could count the number of people she knew with the skills necessary to try it on one hand. Severus Snape had been one of them. For obvious reasons, she never broached the topic with him. Another possible candidate had been Professor Slughorn, but she hadn't felt comfortable asking him to try it with her, and the potion was impossible to do alone.
"Even if we don't make it that far, it would certainly drum up more interest in potions." Hermione mused.
Lucius raised an eyebrow at her cynicism.
"I am surprised at you. Your gifts as a potioneer are well-known. I've read your books, Hermione. I can hardly think of any two potioneers more capable than us."
Not to mention that potions was an incredibly useful subject, and it was sad to think that students were not being drawn to it. By default, she wanted to help. Not to mention the incredible challenge that it presented, and oh, did Hermione love challenges. And really, if she was to be honest, she was just a tiny bit flattered that he would ask her for help.
And if there was even the slightest chance they could be successful, she owed it to herself to try. It would benefit all of humanity. It would galvanise the students into learning a useful subject that (she was forced to admit) was often passed over in favour of her more flashy class. Generations of witches and wizards had tried and failed to create these magical masterworks. It was a hurdle that was practically impossible to pass.
Simply put, nothing could possibly be more tempting.
Not realising she spoke aloud, she wondered, "Which one should we try first?"
At once, Lucius said, "The Ascension, of course. If we can only brew that, we could give ourselves such potioneering mastery that the Panacea would be easy."
A thrill of excitement coursed through her, and Hermione stuck out her hand. "The Brew of Ascension it is, then."
Lucius clasped his hand in hers. "When shall we begin?" His grip was firm, his tone confident.
Hermione was already thinking of how to reorganise her schedule. This week was as busy as any other, but it was for the students, after all… "Tomorrow evening? I can be in the library by nine."
"Then nine o'clock it is."
When the clock struck nine the following night, Lucius met Hermione at the librarian's desk and led her to the restricted section. He answered her many questions with no more than a mysterious smile. Once they were deep in the restricted section, he went up to a bookcase and raised an eyebrow at her, and she knew he was about to do something clever. Sliding his hands between two volumes, he pulled a hidden lever behind the books to reveal a little room.
Hermione swayed backwards in surprise. She thought she had known all of Hogwarts secrets, but here Lucius was, still surprising her...
"Here. We will not be disturbed."
Hermione entered and looked around the small space in awe. She knew that she was finally standing in the private teacher's study room (which Neville had so absently neglected to show her). All four walls were bookcases, much to her delight. Beautiful stained glass lamps illuminated the room with sapphire, violet and ruby tones, their flames heavily protected in their sconces of enchanted glass.
Against one wall was a bench and table, with a few neat stacks of books and scrolls upon it. There were empty parchments, quills and inkpots… Lucius had come prepared.
Hermione floated over to the far wall, absently trailing her fingers over a row of book spines as she took in the name of each book, growing more and more excited as she found rarity after rarity. She was ignorant to Lucius's bright eyes on her, awaiting her reaction.
"Is it everything you thought it would be?"
Hermione spun to face him, her face radiant.
Lucius smiled indulgently, and she was reminded of why they were there.
"I assume you have all the ingredients?" She questioned as she made herself comfortable on the bench, excitement waning slightly as she came back to herself.
He sat next to her. He didn't seem overly concerned. "The sphinx fissure will be coming in any day now. Once we have that, the rest will be easy enough."
Easy enough, indeed. Unicorn's horn, dragonstem and fairy wings, to name a few.
"So, we focus on the brewing of the potion itself, then. The original first, then the transcripts?"
"Indeed," he said. "I imagine you are familiar with the steps?"
By this, he meant the fragments of the recipe they had to work with. Hermione could probably recite those almost word for word, and she said as much.
"Wonderful. Where shall we start?" Lucius's eyes were filled with barely contained excitement, and she thought it made him look younger, less weighed down by the hardships life had placed upon his shoulders.
Hermione's eyes fell on the texts that graced the table, her smile growing at the idea of him pouring through the ancient titles, piecing together tidbits of clues that might help them. She held up two of the most promising books.
"We start here."
The next few weeks passed very pleasantly for Hermione. She had everything she needed to be happy: a busy work day and a stimulating side project. In Lucius, she even had the elusive bonus of a capable, intelligent partner whose mind was bent to the same task with the same dedication as hers. His suggestions were thoughtful, his ideas sound. He knew when to make pleasant conversation, and he knew when to be silent. These were impressive qualities as well.
He had put it to her, late one evening, that their mental faculties would benefit from a pot of tea while they worked. She had reminded him that hot liquids were completely off limits in the library. He had smiled convincingly, and informed her that technically, the teacher's study was not on any map of the library, and therefore couldn't really be said to follow the same rules. She had protested, he had countered, and before long, taking tea together while they worked had become a tradition.
"Pages one through fifteen shouldn't be a problem." Hermione said confidently in the teacher's study one evening, sipping on her prohibited tea. It was delicious.
"I agree. I doubt we will struggle at all until the last third of it."
She thought he might be right there.
"What do you think about all the annotations in the corners?" She asked, tracing them with her fingertips. "A few years ago, I read a paper that claimed they're a cipher of some sort."
She saw that her cup was running low and made a little noise of distress in the back of her throat without knowing she did it. He filled it up from the teapot with smooth, economical motions.
"It's possible, I suppose," he replied, setting the teapot down gently. "I don't think we should concern ourselves with them. Too many witches and wizards have wasted their lives trying to find meaning in those scribblings. I have yet to meet an inventor who does not fill the columns of their work with all sorts of nonsense as their minds wander."
Here he gave her a pointed look, as if daring her to contradict him. Thinking of what some of her notebooks looked like, she could only blush.
A few of the ingredients they needed for the Brew of Ascension could be sourced from Hogwarts' own Greenhouses. This shouldn't have come as a surprise, since Neville worked very hard on procuring as much diverse and interesting plantlife as possible.
The moment Hermione had asked him if they could use some of his plants, Neville had offered to sort it all out for them. Hermione was loath to add to his workload so she refused, and Lucius had come with her instead.
For a while they worked in silence. He wore the plainest clothes he had ever seen on him; a black shirt and trousers with a herbologist's apron and gloves. It suited him. Hermione had come to suspect that just about anything Lucius wore would suit him. Everything he wore, he wore with confidence.
"I don't mean to overstep." He said slowly. "But are you alright?"
"Why do you ask?" Hermione said, putting her garden fork to one side.
With a wry smile, Lucius said, "A great plume of smoke was seen blowing out of your window last week, Hermione. Knowing your capabilities and the volatile nature of Charms, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but you have been very quiet, lately."
To say that she had been quiet wasn't exactly right. She and Lucius had been talking together almost daily. She knew what he was talking about, though. She hadn't gone to the Head Club on Friday, and she wasn't exactly throwing herself into her classes with as much enthusiasm as normal.
"Ron sent me a letter." She blurted.
His hands stilled on the thyme he was harvesting for just a moment, before resuming their sure motions. "I see." Lucius said, and Hermione prepared herself for an onslaught of questions. She and Ron had been a sort of celebrity couple, in their own right. People always wanted to know what had happened, who had done what and said what, who had ended it, and all those sorts of things.
All he said, though, was, "It's not easy to separate from those we are close to. Sometimes, it is the best thing to do, if being with them reminds us of things better left forgotten."
Hermione frowned. "That wasn't it." Ron and Hermione had gone through hell together, but she hadn't ended things because of their past.
"Perhaps not." Lucius said agreeably. "If you would like to talk to someone about it… I am here. Nothing you can say to me will reach him."
All Hermione could say was, "Thank you."
When they felt they were ready, Lucius wrote up the announcement on the school board. The Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin House were going to make an attempt at the Brew of Ascension at nine o'clock saturday morning.
The news spread like wildfire. Nothing else was talking about for the rest of the day, nor the rest of the week. Teachers had to crack down on students openly ignoring their classwork in favour of whispering to one another about the attempt. There was going to be a Ministry official there to record the brewing, someone had heard. It was being held in the Potions classroom, and everyone was invited.
It was going to happen the following week, and it could not come soon enough. None of them had seen an attempt in their lifetime, and students along with teachers were caught up on it. Bets were placed, all firmly out of Hermione's hearing. People were furiously speculating on how Lucius and Hermione might manage the cryptic recipe and more importantly, how successful their attempt would be. Would they get to the last three pages? Would they crumble under the pressure and fail miserably, as so many great potioneers had before them?
The staff were hardly immune to this curiosity. It was brought up at the staff table at least once a day after the attempt was announced.
"Out of interest," Tiberius asked one morning, not looking up from his coffee cup, "How did you go with the ingredient on page twenty, the one with the tea-stain over it?"
Lucius replied, "We decided on ashroot, seeped in a tincture of ashantic stones"
"Ashroot?" Tiberius chortled, startled out of his usual morning stupour. "Not likely. Not with the cold snap that year. Zafirah liked her herbs fresh, and the winter would have made that impossible. No, far more likely she would have used a local alternative. Dreamroot, perhaps. Or gilded lily, if you place her home to be in Ireland instead of Wales, as some scholars do. And gilded lily added in at just the right dosage ought to turn the mixture that shade of sapphire you all seem to worry about so much."
This incredible speech so shocked Hermione that she almost dropped her teacup. If ashroot wasn't what Zafirah would have used… this changed everything.
The stare she gave Tiberius was blank, but her mind was working, working. In any potion, the interplay of ingredients and how they worked together was crucial. Removing the ashroot would mean redesigning the entire recipe. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. Unusual weather conditions in eight century Europe was a particular favourite of mine when I was a boy."
"Tiberius," Lucius asked weakly, pale eyes riveted on his friend's face, "Do you suppose you could give us a hand with this potion?"
"... Hm? What? Oh heavens no, old boy. I'm far too busy."
Lucius gave Hermione a beseeching look, and for a moment she was torn between pride and what she knew to be right. This was their attempt. She hated the idea of asking for help from someone else. But then she thought about how incredible it would be if they really could recreate the Brew of Ascension, and how the entire world could be changed in an instant by it. And even if Tiberius did help a little, Hermione would still be known as one of the people who'd made it happen. She wasn't a perfect person. She would very much like to go down in history as one of the greatest potioneers who had ever lived.
Clearing her throat, she gently slid her notebook toward the Arithmancy Professor, "Tiberius, could you just quickly-"
Tiberius gave it only the most cursory of glances. "I really am sorry, Professor, but I couldn't possibly. I have a project of my own. I'm trying to find out how the Mesopotamian numeric system influenced their arithmanctic deductions. They were still changing over from the Sumerian style and sort of hodge-podged them both together in a way we're still trying to understand. Frankly, the whole thing makes no sense, and yet their witches and wizards got by somehow-"
"That's lovely, Tiberius, honestly, but see here, what do you think of this page-?"
Though they pleaded and bargained, nothing they could say would convince Flint to turn his incredible intelligence onto the task of the Brew of Ascension.
"Let him be, Hermione." Lucius said, with a final noise of disgust. "We'll get nothing more useful out of him for the rest of the semester. The gilded lily is a good idea, but as for the rest, we can't second guess ourselves now. We'll have to trust in our own abilities."
"I suppose." Hermione said, knowing that he was right.
The day finally came.
Hermione had wanted to stay up all night with Lucius going over the recipe again, but he'd insisted that they would do better to get a good night's sleep. She'd woken up that morning feeling rested, determined, and very, very anxious. She forced herself to eat at least a small breakfast.
An hour or two before they were to begin, Hermione stood in front of the door to the potions classroom for the first time since she had been a student.
She had been avoiding this room ever since she'd come back to Hogwarts. There were few places in the whole school that held as many painful memories for her. Painful because of how Snape had died in front of her, because of everything she'd suffered here.
So many people had gone out of their way to make sure she felt welcome at Hogwarts. Her natural gifts had been respected, even admired, by most of the staff and many of the students. Certainly there had been bullies, as there were in every school. But in no classroom had she been outright outstracised, laughed at and demeaned just for being what she was… except this one.
Hermione squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.
It was almost unrecognisable. Snape had taken a certain perverse delight in making his students as unhappy to be there as possible. It had been dark and dingy, the corners lost to shadow. He had taken no steps to make the students forget the fact that they were in a dungeon.
By contrast, Lucius had gone to great lengths to conceal that fact. The flagstones were polished and clean, as were the walls. The tables and chairs were all gone save for the one at the far end, which was to be their workspace for the Brewing. Their absence made the space light and airy.
One end of the room, near the storage cupboards where students would find cauldrons and the like, was completely given over to raised beds of herbs and flowers. All common potions ingredients, easily recognisable. They basked under bronze sun-lamps or silver moon-disks, as their preference demanded. The smell of green growing things was immediately welcoming and she breathed it in, feeling a little of her anxiety fade away.
The rest of the changes were more subtle. There were touches here and there that might be called artistic. A set of crystal weighing scales that could not be meant for any practical use. An antique atomiser stood behind a glass case. There was a glass cabinet filled with rows and rows of vials that covered one wall from floor to ceiling. She could only guess at their ingredients. The powders, liquids and scales shined softly in half a dozen colours. Silver and lilac, turquoise and gold. Whatever they were, they were beautiful.
Along one wall were portraits, some mere likenesses and others inhabited, of all the potioneering greats. Salazar Slytherin, of course, and Merlin. Zafirah Jaziri, whose Brew they would be trying to recreate today. Her lips curved in that infamous, mysterious half-smile. She held her rod under the crook of one arm. Arabella Millywicke and Rabastan the Good also graced the walls of the classroom. Rabastan gave her a broad smile, and Arabella waved gleefully.
The difference was incredible. It looked very much like a place that a student could conceivably learn something, and possibly even enjoy themselves in the process.
Organising all their equipment and ingredients on their table, Lucius took in her wandering eye with amusement and no small amount of pleasure.
"Neville and I set up the student garden." He said, noticing how it had particularly interested her. "Some ingredients are best picked fresh, I have found."
She was not really listening. Instead she could only think of how Neville must have felt, being asked to transform a place of such personal misery into a place of higher learning.
"You must care a lot about your students," she said.
He did not seem to understand, and only replied, "The potions club maintains it as part of their duties. It is no work for me at all." Then he smirked. "You seem surprised, Hermione. Did you really think I would choose to spend my days in such a dark, dingy place?"
He seemed eager for conversation, but the clock was ticking. Perhaps she should make time to come by the Potions classroom later. She would very much like to take a look around. The decor looked nothing like what she had seen of the Manor. She had no idea whether that made it a more significant representation of Lucius' character, or less.
Now that she was actually here, she didn't feel as nervous about it as she thought she would. They had not been able to practice the actual brewing together due to most of the ingredients being too rare to risk wasting. Still, they had discussed every part of the process in minute detail. The way they worked seemed quite similar. On the few things they had disagreed on, discussion was normally enough to make them see eye to eye.
And they had disagreed on some things. The incomplete state of the recipe made it impossible not to. There were entire steps, entire pages missing and they both had different ideas on what they might be. Her way of thinking was more inclined to genius, to flashes of insight and inspiration based on her past experience. His was more methodical, less experimental. When in doubt, he usually gave way to her force of will. He complained, of course, but there was no bitterness in it.
"How much time do we have left?" Hermione wondered aloud and answered herself moments later. "Fifteen minutes. Plenty of time to go over a few things."
She generously ignored the studied martyred look he allowed to come over his face. Instead, she took the opportunity to impress upon him the importance of stirring the mixture correctly. In total, it had to be stirred five hundred times. Three hundred and forty seven times clockwise, one hundred and fifty three times counter-clockwise. It was the step that tripped up most of the people who tried to make the Brew.
For this exact reason, Hermione would rather have done it herself. Unfortunately, Lucius' superior physical stamina meant that he was best suited for the job. Just as she was about to remind him, once again, on the importance of maintaining a proper speed, the Ministry official came in with a photographer, not one of those Prophet vultures but a proper one, and Hermione tensed up. Lucius moved imperceptibly closer towards her, and she calmed down with a rueful shake of her head. Get it together. Half the Ministry think you're some sort of hero, anyway.
Then the students started filing in, and Hermione realised that it might have been better for them to do this in the Great Hall. Being a central room in the dungeon, the potions classroom was deceptively massive, but even so… Before long, a veritable horde of eager students packed into the room, whispering amongst themselves.
Above them all towered Hagrid. The groundskeeper had overcome his hatred of Lucius to come and support her. He even wore his hairy waistcoat for the occasion. He gave her a confident thumbs-up. His presence immediately made Hermione feel better.
Beside her, Lucius Malfoy was ready. She went to join him behind the table. He stood with his sleeves rolled up and, like her, had his hair tied up and out of the way. Their clothes were covered with protective aprons, in case of splashing. The room was as lit as it could possibly be, and the photographer stood in the corner with the ministry official. They spoke amongst themselves as they waited for the potion making to begin.
As for the students, they all patiently waited with baited breath. The anticipation that filled the room was a tangible thing. Hermione wondered if this energized, focused feeling was what it felt like to step onto the Quidditch field as a player. This was her dominion, and her time to prove herself.
The ingredients were all sorted into neat, well defined groups. Everything she would need, from knives to a mortar and pestle, was all perfectly ready. Lucius had set everything up so that the things she would need to use the most often were within closest reach.
Lucius and Hermione shared a look. He raised an eyebrow in a question; ready? She nodded.
The official called the time; exactly nine o'clock in the morning, and started his watch.
They'd begun.
Lucius poured the base of the potion into the cauldron. It was simple: two parts moondew and one part honeywater. This, at least, was clearly laid out in the instructions.
With the basics done, Lucius began stirring. Not wanting to disturb him, she started counting the steps as he worked.
One.
She diced the sphinx fissure, the most important ingredient, with steady hands. Some pieces she reduced almost to crumbs, some she left as large as her fist. It had to be doled out into the cauldron in very particular amounts.
Thirty.
The powdered green calcite and scarab shell went in next. The mixture was starting to steam. A quick bit of magic from Lucius brought the temperature down for a minute or so before bringing it up to a boil. Her hands ducked in between his to toss in a few pinches of thyme. A flash went off in her periphery, but she barely noticed it, too caught up in the process to care about her surroundings.
One hundred. He was not tiring. She hadn't had to correct him on his speed even once. It was incredible, actually. Was this the first time she had ever brewed up a potion with a partner without having to constantly check every single thing they did, just to see if they'd make a mistake? What a difference it made. It was like a whole part of her intellect that she'd had to dedicate to carrying other people was suddenly free to serve her instead. She felt sharp, alert.
A hundred and seventy. She reduced the dragonstem to dust and combined it with squid-ink. At this addition, the mixture turned scarlet red. She heard the ministry official, and Lucius, huff with approval.
Two hundred and sixty. She sprinkled in the powdered flying seahorse and fairy wings and started slicing up her asphodel petals as the potion turned a lovely turquoise color.
Right on time, Lucius reversed his turns. The mixture began darkening by the minute. It took a lot of self control for Hermione to not lose focus as this tangible proof that they were making progress.
She reached for a bit of parchment, a quill, and an inkpot. She used the ink to write down a three-part Elucidation Incantation. Throwing the parchment into the cauldron, she prayed that their calculations were correct. When the parchment hit the mixture it turned to flame, and Lucius had to lean sharply back to avoid being burned, but he didn't falter.
It was almost done. The gilded lily she threw in uncut and untampered with. This had been a subject of great debate between her and Lucius, but he'd managed to convince her. She added crushed unicorn horn and dittany to make the potion safe for human consumption.
Five hundred. Lucius came to a stop, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead from the heat.
It was done. Hermione felt no less anxious. Now for the real test; did it work?
The students were silent as the official walked over. He took out a little spoon from his pocket and dipped it into the sapphire mixture. Hermione held her breath.
"I have always wanted," The official declared. "to be able to stand on my head."
They all watched as the official gave it a try and, less than a second later, fell over in a mess of robes and limbs.
Hermione felt all the hope drain right out of her. She had thought they might, just might, have gotten it right.
"A failure." The official announced. "But quite a marvelous one. One of the best attempts I've ever seen! Certainly one for the record books, eh?"
But Hermione hadn't wanted to be the best in years. She'd simply wanted to be the best.
The children didn't share her disappointment. At Lucius' invitation, they swarmed the table and peered excitedly at their ingredients. Lucius started answering questions, and Hermione flicked through their notes again. Had they gone wrong, somewhere?
"Out of interest," The official was asking, "What did you use for step six, page two? I didn't quite catch it."
"Scarab shell." Lucius replied. "It was good for the colour, and it's known to heighten the Sphinx fissure's augmenting properties."
The official seemed skeptical. "How did you counter the acidity?"
"Thyme." Hermione said absently. "You can sort of make out a 't' and a 'y' under the inkblots, once you've looked at Zafirah's handwriting for long enough."
"Marvellous." The official said again, and jotted that down.
She couldn't think of anything they could have gone differently. Their research had been meticulous, their technique flawless. They'd done the best they could with what they had. She was convinced that they had come closer than most. Certainly, they had done fantastically well for a first try.
Funnily enough, though there had been several dozen people watching them, when the time came to clear up all the mess of potion-making, everyone mysteriously vanished, leaving her and Lucius alone.
Hermione didn't mind. She needed the time to think.
She dipped a spoon into the cauldron and had a small taste. It was vaguely sweet. "Not bad." She said, and offered some to Lucius.
He took a small sip and said, "Considering the ingredients, it tastes about as good as we could hope for."
"I still think we should have added some blueberries." Hermione grumbled, unable to help herself. "It would have helped the taste."
"Hermione, that would have been cheating." Lucius said. "Which I suppose, shouldn't surprise me, coming from you."
"Lucius." Hermione said very firmly, fighting to keep a straight face. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
Their banter helped to ease the fog of disappointment hanging over her. Vanishing their attempt at the Brew stung a little, but after that, the monotony of simple cleaning spells was strangely relaxing. Lucius fell into an easy silence as he worked. Whether because he needed time to gather himself as well, or out of respect for her, she didn't know.
Once they had finished, Hermione flopped down at an empty desk. She felt that particular kind of tiredness unique to mental exertion. It wasn't a bad thing, exactly. She'd come to associate the feeling with a productive day well spent. But she was in desperate need of a rest.
Lucius understood and said, "I, for one, am parched. Would you like a cup of tea?"
The second he offered, Hermione realised that her throat was like a desert. While they'd been making the potion, she hadn't even noticed. But now… "Oh, Merlin. Yes please."
As he started making up a pot (on the same burner they'd used to make their Brew, which Hermione thought was rather funny), she let out a contented sigh and summoned them up a couple of cups. Porcelain, to suit his sensibilities. Twice as large as a porcelain cup had any right to be, to suit her needs.
He began idle conversation as they waited for the tea to boil. They hadn't managed to successfully create the potion, but they'd most certainly achieved what they set out to do. They had inspired the students and they'd got closer to creating the legendary potion than any had in decades; the colour had been right, after all, and hadn't tasted bad at all. It may not have been the result she'd hoped for, but it was something to be proud of nevertheless.
Hermione had no regrets.
It's all coming together...
This chapter was meant to be like 3k but turned out to be 7.5. Massive. I can neither garden nor cook, so please forgive any sloppy writing or mistakes in those sections.
Remember how I said the Halloween Ball is my favourite chapter so far? Well, the next few chapters are probably my favourite *overall* section of the story. It was actually meant to be one huge chapter but instead we've split it into three; chapter 10, 11 and 12. Normal rules apply in that I will attempt to post more regularly for split chapters so you guys don't have to wait as long. Then it'll be back to once weekly updates for chapter 13 ect.
Please let me know your thoughts as I always cherish every review. You guys are the best.
I'll see you next week!