THE EQUIPMENT CUPBOARD
Harry usually looked forward to meal times at Hogwarts. He certainly ate much better and much more freely here than he had ever done at the Dursley's. But dinner today, like everything else, seemed less enjoyable. He guessed it was the evening's detention hanging over his head, looming ever closer. The mere thought of Snape could always be relied to put a sour note on things.
Ron was chirpy as always - annoyingly so in Harry's opinion. Hermione, who had got 98 percent in her Charms homework, was still preening in delight.
"I'm sure Snape didn't say anything about how we were supposed to stir it", Harry said bitterly, pushing his food around his plate, bring his two friends' attention away from Fred and George who were no doubt plotting something.
He been complaining about the unfairness of his punishment all afternoon. It wasn't only his fault, Neville had been there as well. But, Ron had pointed out, Harry hadn't appeared in front of the Slytherins with enormous, purple, bushy eyebrows. Neville had been punished enough in his opinion.
"He didn't say anything", Hermione stated matter of factly, "Our set text tells us that all plant related potions must be stirred clockwise."
"Yeah, honestly, Harry," said Ron, taking a sarcastic jibe at her, "Some of us have actually bothered to read it from cover to cover, you know. Twice. Before the start of term."
She was well used to his remarks by now and no longer even slightly offended by them. If Ron was content to do just enough to get by, that was his problem.
"Well, Ron," she said, just as caustically, "I suppose some good will come of your version of studying. You'll be able to sell your books as 'mint condition, never opened, only used for propping up desk'."
Ron's face reddened slightly. "Oh, shut up," he snapped back, unable to think of a snappy response.
"I wonder how Neville is....," Harry pondered, not really listening to them. Poor Neville had ended up looking ridiculous. He hoped it wasn't permanent.
"He's fine," Herminone comforted, perceptive to perhaps a little underlying guilt, "Madam Pomfrey knew exactly what to do, like she always does. Said he'll be back to normal by tomorrow. She had this ointment she was going to make up. I would have liked to stayed and watched, but you heard what Snape said and I didn't want to test his good will."
"What good will?" Ron said with a grimace.
Herminone joined him in the look, "Precisely."
--
Harry found no evidence of Snape's goodwill when he arrived at detention either. The teacher hadn't even bothered to show up. Just left him a bucket, a cloth and a note full of implications concerning the horrible things he'd inflict upon Harry if the cupboard and its contents weren't spotless by the time he'd finished.
The dungeon classroom was cold and dark. There was only one torch burning in the room, and it didn't exactly give off any heat. Harry found himself shivering as soon as he stepped in there. But he didn't dare go back to his dormitory for a jumper. If Snape should come along and not find him here.....
Deciding the quicker he started, the quicker he could see about that early night Professor McGonagall had suggested, Harry headed for the cupboard. Upon opening it, however, the word 'quick' immediately erased itself from his vocabulary, as did the phrase 'early night'. The word 'sleep' was in danger of disappearing too.
He'd be lucky if he finished before he graduated.
The equipment cupboard seemed to contain everything, including the kitchen sink and then some. Cauldrons, vials, racks, tubes, tripods, burners and dozens of things he didn't recognise. One shelf was fully of boxes containing different plant extracts and parts commonly used in potions. Everything was covered in a layer of grime that looked as if it had been collecting there since the dawn of time and somebody frequently emptied a coal scuttle on it for good measure.
Maybe this was where Snape kept his goodwill, he mused. At the back, under a pile of cobwebs, labelled 'Rare Substance. Never Used'. Harry smiled at the thought - he'd never find it, of course. It would be far too small to spot with the naked eye.
For a short moment Harry felt a flash of guilt about thinking such things. Snape had saved his life last year when Quirrell had tried to knock him from his broom during his first Quidditch match. The man couldn't be all that bad. It was just a shame he seemed to feel it necessary to make the life he'd saved as miserable as possible.
Setting immediately to work at a brisk pace - hoping it would warm him up - Harry wondered how long he was expected to do this.
'Until you finish', came the response in his own head. Snape never went with half measures.
He scrubbed for all he was worth, often having to stop to change arms when the other became so tired that he could barely lift it. His knuckles were soon rubbed raw by the friction and he grimaced, hoping Hermione was still up when he finished. She was a miracle worker when it came to cuts, grazes, bumps and bruises.
Trying to finish as quickly as possible, he scrubbed a little over enthusiastically and knocked one of the boxes over. It contained a small bunch of Snap Dragon flowers. What Harry had never realised was that they were 'snap' by name and 'snap' by nature. By the time he had managed to round them up the vicious little plants, he had a number of cuts on his fingers to match the grazes.
As he cleaned what he hoped was the last thing, he had an over whelming urge never to see a wash bucket again.
Scrambling in the depths of the cupboard, checking ten times over that he hadn't missed anything - it was more than his life was worth - Harry removed his hand to find a large spider had clambered on him for a bit of an investigation.
Body the size of a milk bottle top and legs like pipe cleaners, he was a bit of a monster. Harry didn't mind, however. There had been plenty of spiders in the cupboard under the stairs and he'd gotten used to them.
He smiled briefly - maybe he should lock Ron in a cupboard with a load of spiders. Maybe that'd cure him of his fear. And if it didn't, it would certainly make Harry laugh.
Walking to the far end of the classroom, he placed his hand down on the floor and let the thing scuttle off into one of the dark corners. It'd be far happier in the relative warmth here than the chill outside.
He returned to the cupboard again and began the task of replacing all the equipment he had removed into exactly the right places. All in all it had taken him a little over three and a half hours. All that was left to do now was rearrange the plant extracts according to the faded diagram pinned inside the door.
As he worked, Harry found himself wondering what half of them did. Things in the wizard world never ceased to amaze him. Roast mudlewort? Sun-dried yandle flower? Elephant pressed hickleman leaves? If only they had a different teacher, he might have actually enjoyed Potions.
He was almost done - having made sure that he was extra careful with the Snap Dragon, who could be heard nipping their jaws in their box, wanting another go at his fingers - when he realised that one box was missing. Binding weed. He'd heard of it. Almost unbreakable and impervious to fire, it was often used to weave the straps that held Bludgers in their boxes. There'd also been some talking of it being once used to tie up dragons, but he wasn't sure he believed that. You'd have to get pretty near and work lightning quick to avoid being toasted.
Peering closer inside the cupboard, Harry noted that there was one square of shelf that was slightly dusty. Most of the surface was spotless, having been protected from the dust by the boxes. The small dusty patch was testament to the fact that the binding weed had been removed just recently.
And whoever had done it, he realised, hadn't checked it out on the list. Either they had simply forgotten - which with the threat of Snape's icy wrath was unlikely - or it had been taken without permission. It had been stolen.
For a moment, the previous thought of dragons made Harry consider Hagrid. He prayed to everyone and anyone who would listen that the giant man hadn't been foolish enough to get himself one of the things and try to contain it with the stolen binding weed.
It seemed unlikely however. As much as Hagrid wanted a dragon, he appeared to have learnt his lesson with Norbert. He was lucky to have a roof still over his head after that little fire-breathing monstrosity.
Another rational explanation would be a student had taken it for a practical joke. It would be just like one of the Slytherins to tie up some helpless first year in unbreakable twine and leave him mercilessly in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
But again, it seemed unlikely. When the victim was discovered, so would be the bind weed. Everyone would know where it came from, and even the Slytherins wouldn't push Snape that far.
Out of options and ideas, Harry's mind made a startling connection. He didn't know how or why, but he was certain that the missing bind weed had something to do with the dark hooded figure.
At Hogwarts, strange things were rarely unconnected.
Harry usually looked forward to meal times at Hogwarts. He certainly ate much better and much more freely here than he had ever done at the Dursley's. But dinner today, like everything else, seemed less enjoyable. He guessed it was the evening's detention hanging over his head, looming ever closer. The mere thought of Snape could always be relied to put a sour note on things.
Ron was chirpy as always - annoyingly so in Harry's opinion. Hermione, who had got 98 percent in her Charms homework, was still preening in delight.
"I'm sure Snape didn't say anything about how we were supposed to stir it", Harry said bitterly, pushing his food around his plate, bring his two friends' attention away from Fred and George who were no doubt plotting something.
He been complaining about the unfairness of his punishment all afternoon. It wasn't only his fault, Neville had been there as well. But, Ron had pointed out, Harry hadn't appeared in front of the Slytherins with enormous, purple, bushy eyebrows. Neville had been punished enough in his opinion.
"He didn't say anything", Hermione stated matter of factly, "Our set text tells us that all plant related potions must be stirred clockwise."
"Yeah, honestly, Harry," said Ron, taking a sarcastic jibe at her, "Some of us have actually bothered to read it from cover to cover, you know. Twice. Before the start of term."
She was well used to his remarks by now and no longer even slightly offended by them. If Ron was content to do just enough to get by, that was his problem.
"Well, Ron," she said, just as caustically, "I suppose some good will come of your version of studying. You'll be able to sell your books as 'mint condition, never opened, only used for propping up desk'."
Ron's face reddened slightly. "Oh, shut up," he snapped back, unable to think of a snappy response.
"I wonder how Neville is....," Harry pondered, not really listening to them. Poor Neville had ended up looking ridiculous. He hoped it wasn't permanent.
"He's fine," Herminone comforted, perceptive to perhaps a little underlying guilt, "Madam Pomfrey knew exactly what to do, like she always does. Said he'll be back to normal by tomorrow. She had this ointment she was going to make up. I would have liked to stayed and watched, but you heard what Snape said and I didn't want to test his good will."
"What good will?" Ron said with a grimace.
Herminone joined him in the look, "Precisely."
--
Harry found no evidence of Snape's goodwill when he arrived at detention either. The teacher hadn't even bothered to show up. Just left him a bucket, a cloth and a note full of implications concerning the horrible things he'd inflict upon Harry if the cupboard and its contents weren't spotless by the time he'd finished.
The dungeon classroom was cold and dark. There was only one torch burning in the room, and it didn't exactly give off any heat. Harry found himself shivering as soon as he stepped in there. But he didn't dare go back to his dormitory for a jumper. If Snape should come along and not find him here.....
Deciding the quicker he started, the quicker he could see about that early night Professor McGonagall had suggested, Harry headed for the cupboard. Upon opening it, however, the word 'quick' immediately erased itself from his vocabulary, as did the phrase 'early night'. The word 'sleep' was in danger of disappearing too.
He'd be lucky if he finished before he graduated.
The equipment cupboard seemed to contain everything, including the kitchen sink and then some. Cauldrons, vials, racks, tubes, tripods, burners and dozens of things he didn't recognise. One shelf was fully of boxes containing different plant extracts and parts commonly used in potions. Everything was covered in a layer of grime that looked as if it had been collecting there since the dawn of time and somebody frequently emptied a coal scuttle on it for good measure.
Maybe this was where Snape kept his goodwill, he mused. At the back, under a pile of cobwebs, labelled 'Rare Substance. Never Used'. Harry smiled at the thought - he'd never find it, of course. It would be far too small to spot with the naked eye.
For a short moment Harry felt a flash of guilt about thinking such things. Snape had saved his life last year when Quirrell had tried to knock him from his broom during his first Quidditch match. The man couldn't be all that bad. It was just a shame he seemed to feel it necessary to make the life he'd saved as miserable as possible.
Setting immediately to work at a brisk pace - hoping it would warm him up - Harry wondered how long he was expected to do this.
'Until you finish', came the response in his own head. Snape never went with half measures.
He scrubbed for all he was worth, often having to stop to change arms when the other became so tired that he could barely lift it. His knuckles were soon rubbed raw by the friction and he grimaced, hoping Hermione was still up when he finished. She was a miracle worker when it came to cuts, grazes, bumps and bruises.
Trying to finish as quickly as possible, he scrubbed a little over enthusiastically and knocked one of the boxes over. It contained a small bunch of Snap Dragon flowers. What Harry had never realised was that they were 'snap' by name and 'snap' by nature. By the time he had managed to round them up the vicious little plants, he had a number of cuts on his fingers to match the grazes.
As he cleaned what he hoped was the last thing, he had an over whelming urge never to see a wash bucket again.
Scrambling in the depths of the cupboard, checking ten times over that he hadn't missed anything - it was more than his life was worth - Harry removed his hand to find a large spider had clambered on him for a bit of an investigation.
Body the size of a milk bottle top and legs like pipe cleaners, he was a bit of a monster. Harry didn't mind, however. There had been plenty of spiders in the cupboard under the stairs and he'd gotten used to them.
He smiled briefly - maybe he should lock Ron in a cupboard with a load of spiders. Maybe that'd cure him of his fear. And if it didn't, it would certainly make Harry laugh.
Walking to the far end of the classroom, he placed his hand down on the floor and let the thing scuttle off into one of the dark corners. It'd be far happier in the relative warmth here than the chill outside.
He returned to the cupboard again and began the task of replacing all the equipment he had removed into exactly the right places. All in all it had taken him a little over three and a half hours. All that was left to do now was rearrange the plant extracts according to the faded diagram pinned inside the door.
As he worked, Harry found himself wondering what half of them did. Things in the wizard world never ceased to amaze him. Roast mudlewort? Sun-dried yandle flower? Elephant pressed hickleman leaves? If only they had a different teacher, he might have actually enjoyed Potions.
He was almost done - having made sure that he was extra careful with the Snap Dragon, who could be heard nipping their jaws in their box, wanting another go at his fingers - when he realised that one box was missing. Binding weed. He'd heard of it. Almost unbreakable and impervious to fire, it was often used to weave the straps that held Bludgers in their boxes. There'd also been some talking of it being once used to tie up dragons, but he wasn't sure he believed that. You'd have to get pretty near and work lightning quick to avoid being toasted.
Peering closer inside the cupboard, Harry noted that there was one square of shelf that was slightly dusty. Most of the surface was spotless, having been protected from the dust by the boxes. The small dusty patch was testament to the fact that the binding weed had been removed just recently.
And whoever had done it, he realised, hadn't checked it out on the list. Either they had simply forgotten - which with the threat of Snape's icy wrath was unlikely - or it had been taken without permission. It had been stolen.
For a moment, the previous thought of dragons made Harry consider Hagrid. He prayed to everyone and anyone who would listen that the giant man hadn't been foolish enough to get himself one of the things and try to contain it with the stolen binding weed.
It seemed unlikely however. As much as Hagrid wanted a dragon, he appeared to have learnt his lesson with Norbert. He was lucky to have a roof still over his head after that little fire-breathing monstrosity.
Another rational explanation would be a student had taken it for a practical joke. It would be just like one of the Slytherins to tie up some helpless first year in unbreakable twine and leave him mercilessly in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
But again, it seemed unlikely. When the victim was discovered, so would be the bind weed. Everyone would know where it came from, and even the Slytherins wouldn't push Snape that far.
Out of options and ideas, Harry's mind made a startling connection. He didn't know how or why, but he was certain that the missing bind weed had something to do with the dark hooded figure.
At Hogwarts, strange things were rarely unconnected.
