Disclaimer: All things you recognize from the seven Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing for my own entertainment and do not earn anything for writing this story.
Thanks for reading, and please review. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, but you know, school.
And lots of thanks to my fourth reviewer! Please do review. I want to know what people think. Thanks.
2021.1.20.
A Bloody Hand: Things Just Seem to Happen Together
Chapter 3
A day had passed since Harry had confessed to Professor McGonagall about his hand—or rather, been forced to explain about the sentence on his hand.
He knew Professor McGonagall would wait for Dumbledore to come back, and would stay put until he was back, because that was what she had promised, so he was relieved—she wouldn't lose her job if she didn't do anything.
Now, he had to focus on classes. He hadn't receive any more detentions from Umbridge for he had been careful to stay out of her way when he could and avoided speaking about anything when she was anywhere near, only saying "yes" or "no" to questions.
It also seemed as if Professor McGonagall had been telling the truth—Snape was sick, and this seemed to be no simple cold as well. It was the only explanation for his absence from the staff table at mealtimes, including this morning, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron had heard rumors that Snape hadn't been at any of his classes yesterday; instead, there had been a substitute professor, who apparently got food from the kitchens instead of going to the Great Hall to eat and stayed in his rooms, one of the guests' quarters, the rest of the time so the three hadn't seen him yet.
"I wonder if this professor will be any good," said Hermione as they stood waiting outside the Potions classroom for Potions.
"I don't care," said Ron. "I don't like Potions, I don't care about Potions, and I don't care about Potions professors."
"Ron!" scolded Hermione. "That's a horrible thing to say!" She turned to Harry. "Where do you think Snape is, Harry?"
Harry thought quickly. He didn't want to tell his friends about the conversation he had had with Professor McGonagall yet, so he couldn't say McGonagall had told him Snape was ill.
So he said, "Erm, I don't know. Maybe he's on Order business?" he added in a low voice. "You know, like Dumbledore might be," he said, referring to the fact the man had been absent since Monday, though Snape had still been teaching then.
Hermione frowned. "Yes, maybe," she agreed.
Ron snorted. "That's stupid. Maybe he's a real Death Eater and he'll just tell them all of the Order's secrets, all of Dumbledore's plans."
"It's only a 'maybe,'" Hermione reminded him. "He could be on family business—"
Ron interrupted at once. "What, Snape has a family?" he said. "I feel sorry for them, having to put up with him. Unless they are as mean as he is, then I hate all of them." He looked at Harry. "What do you think?"
"I don't know," said Harry, after a slight pause. "Maybe he is on family business, maybe he's doing things for the Order, maybe he's ill—"
"The greasy git ill?" said Ron with a snort. "Don't be silly, Harry. He's probably away, that's all."
"Oh, but—" began Harry, but the classroom door was opened and a cheerful voice called, "Come in, class!," just as the bell rang.
"But what?" whispered Ron as they walked in and slipped into their usual seats.
"Never mind," said Harry hastily. "It's nothing." He looked away from Ron and looked properly at the teacher. The teacher was a man with short blond hair that had bits of gray in it, twinkling blue eyes, a slightly plump body, and rather short legs. Harry rather liked the look of him.
The man cleared his throat. "Right then," he said. "Please settle down. I am Professor Jimson, and I will be filling in for Professor Snape until he is back."
A girl from Slytherin with brown hair and pale blue eyes raised her right hand. Harry had never spoken to her before, and couldn't remember what she was called. "Sir?" she said.
"Yes, Miss—?" Jimson paused and looked enquiringly at her.
"Davis, sir," said the Slytherin girl.
"Yes, Miss Davis?"
"Where's Professor Snape?" she asked.
"I do not know, Professor McGonagall didn't tell me," said Jimson. "She called me and asked if I would like to teach for a little while because Professor Snape couldn't, and I was happy to accept as I will get a reasonable amount of money. Not a lot, but reasonable."
Davis nodded. "Thank you, sir," she said.
Malfoy sneered slightly. "Did you come to Hogwarts?" he asked without raising his hand.
Jimson turned to look at him. "Yes," he said, "and I would prefer it if you addressed me as "sir" or "Professor", Mr—?"
"Malfoy," said Malfoy, his sneer now clear for all to see. "My father's very important."
"Ah . . . Lucius Malfoy's son, then?" said Jimson. Harry hoped he wouldn't decide to treat Malfoy better just because he was Mr Malfoy's son.
"Yes, sir," smirked Malfoy. "That's my father."
"Very well," nodded Jimson. He turned back to the rest of them. "Let's get on. Today, we will be doing some theory work, then perhaps we will brew—but I doubt we will have enough time.
"We will be learning about a potion called the 'Deflating Draught,'" explained Jimson. "It will be slightly more complicated than any other potion you have ever brewed before in class, I should think, unless Professor Snape has already decided to test the capabilities of this class?"
When no one answered, Jimson continued, "Right, so . . . Deflating Draught." He picked up a piece of white chalk. "You may take notes if you wish—and I advise you to. During the time I am here, there will be pop quizzes, and anyone who doesn't get an 'A' will get a detention or have points taken away from your house—or both."
The class exchanged horrified and disgusted looks behind Jimson's back as he began to write. Pop quizzes?
Harry was rather pleased, however. "Great!" he whispered.
Hermione looked surprised. "You like pop quizzes, Harry?" she said, frowning slightly in confusion.
"Well, when I know a teacher will give us pop quizzes, I study and do my homework properly," admitted Harry, blushing a little. "I actually don't hate studying or doing homework, it's just . . . well, I just needed to clear my head from the Voldemort business in first year; then in second year, there was the Chamber of Secrets and everyone thinking I'm Slytherin's—you know; and I thought someone was trying to kill me and found out this person had killed my parents in third year—though I know Snuffles is innocent now, of course; then fourth year, there was . . . you know . . ." Harry trailed off uncomfortably. Cedric's death still haunted him, and then there was the fact Ron had been very bitter and jealous in the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament.
Hermione was quick to rescue him. "So . . . you actually don't mind studying?" she delightedly asked.
"Well, yeah, I don't," said Harry, and Ron shot him a betrayed look.
"Great, we can review and do homework together, and hopefully, aside from Umbridge, you won't have to deal with anything too stressful this term and can learn properly," said Hermione, and would probably have said more if Jimson hadn't turn around.
Harry, who wasn't against studying but wasn't as studious as Hermione, grinned at Ron, who grinned back, and they both rolled their eyes slightly at Hermione's over-studious personality.
Then Jimson clapped his hands together. "Right, so if you would please take a moment to copy these down."
Harry looked at the board.
Deflating Draught
- antidote for Swelling Solution
- brewing time: around 2 hours
- ingredients:
water
Wood Sorrel
Haliwinkle Shells
Sagebrush
Aloe
Galangal
- OWL level potion
Hurriedly, he got out some parchment and a quill—Hermione frowned at him for not having them out already, but then turned to Ron, who was staring rather blankly at the board. Harry grinned to himself as Hermione scolded Ron in a fierce whisper, copying down what Jimson had written as he did so.
For the next ten minutes, Jimson explained the entire brewing process, answering questions when asked.
"Now," he said, "there is not enough time left for you to brew the potion, so I will continue with the theory part."
He looked around at the class. "This is an OWL level potion, rather harder than any potion you will have brewed in this class, I should think," said Jimson, "so I think it would be a good idea if you learned about the many mistakes others have made when brewing this potion.
"Hm—so . . . Who can tell me, what happens if you let the potion simmer for more than one hour without stirring?"
Hermione's right hand punched the air at once (she had been waiting all lesson). "Sir," she said eagerly, "it will turn yellowish-brown, then orange, and possibly explode."
Jimson nodded. "Very good, Miss—?"
"Granger, sir," said Hermione politely.
"Very good, Miss Granger, but next time please wait until I call on you. What house are you in, Miss Granger?"
"Gryffindor, sir." Hermione blushed a bit.
"Very well, five points to Gryffindor," said Jimson briskly, and immediately, Harry noticed, several Gryffindors sat up straighter in their seats, wide-eyed and looking rather pleased, looking more eager and attentive.
The rest of the lesson continued in much the same way with Jimson asking questions as to why the potion would react in a way and explaining the theory behind the potion thoroughly by the time the bell rang.
"Alright," called Jimson. "For homework, please write me an essay on the Deflating Draught and the common mistakes made when brewing it. Give me reasons for why the potion reacts in a way, please," and several people groaned. Jimson frowned and said, "Come now, you should find this essay quite easy as I just gave you plenty of material during this lesson.
"Now clear out of the classroom. Be sure to do my homework, or I will give you detention or take away house points!" warned Jimson. "Now go, I have work to do!"
Harry turned a beaming smile on Hermione as the three of them finished putting their things into their bags and hurried out of the classroom. "I think, if Snape stays away forever, I will get an 'E' at least on my Potions OWL," he said. "And even if I don't, I will enjoy Potions so much more."
"Mm," said Hermione, noncommittally.
Ron groaned. "C'mon, let's head to lunch," he said, turning and walking ahead of them towards the Great Hall.
Harry shrugged. "I'm not hungry," he said. "I'm worried about Snuffles." He thought about Hedwig turning up injured with Sirius's letter "Today, same time, same place" and felt forebodings creep up his back. What if Umbridge – or anyone who shouldn't have – had attacked Hedwig and read the letter? And they couldn't possibly warn Sirius either . . .
Harry felt slight panic creeping into his mind when he thought of what could happen if Umbridge had read the letter. Maybe she would lie in wait for Sirius to appear in the fireplace, maybe she would inform the Ministry, maybe it wasn't Umbridge who had attacked Hedwig and it was Malfoy, who would tell his father or—
Hermione frowned slightly. "I am too," she agreed. "Harry, what he's going to do—if he's caught—" she cut herself off. "Anyway, it won't be pretty. But you have to eat, Harry. Siri—I mean Snuffles—will only be worried about you and start trying to visit you even, maybe, and we can't have that."
Harry sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go before Ron eats all of the food."
Hermione laughed and the two hurried after their other best friend.