Chapter 7
"Who could it be? Who's the Heir?" Hermione scribbled on a scrap parchment. She slipped the note to Ron, beside her. He glanced at it and-making sure that Professor Binns didn't notice-scrawled an answer.
"Guess."
Hermione gave him an exasperated look and shook her head, turning back to the ghost teacher and attempting to concentrate on the frightfully dull lecture he was giving.
"In 1882 Erik Roderique, an ambassador for the wizards, visited the goblin leader, Saronim the Scraggle-toothed, and drew up a treaty between the two warring peoples."
Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Ron scribbled on another scrap of parchment. He folded it and tossed it unobtrusively to where she sat, mind wandering from the lecture.
"Who do you know who hates Muggle-borns?" the note read.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, and scribbled a reply.
"You don't mean Malfoy, do you?"
Ron nodded slightly as he read the note, mouthing 'I do.'
Hermione bent her head to write another note, when Professor Binns cleared his throat loudly. "The young lady with the brown hair-,"
"Hermione Granger, Professor-,"
"Yes, well, could you take a moment from your engaging conversation with this young man to tell me the name of the goblin hothead who began the First Revolution?"
Hermione blushed furiously. "Er-Ferisiat the Fool, sir?" she stammered.
Binns frowned slightly. "Please pay more attention in class, Miss Garland. Ferisiat the Fool began the Second Revolution. Can anyone tell me who began the First?"
Nobody volunteered the information, and Professor Binns went back to his lecture with a frown.
Hermione tossed Ron another note as soon as Binns was safely deep into the lecture once more.
"Meet me after class, in the Common Room-I have an idea."
* * *
Ron dropped his bag onto the floor and sank into an armchair. "What's your great idea?" he asked Hermione, who had taken a seat beside him.
"Shh-not so loud," she cautioned, looking uneasily at the other students clustered throughout the large circular common room. "I agree with you about Malfoy, but we can't be sure, unless we ask him."
Ron laughed incredulously, his face a mask of disbelief. "Ask him?" he said, forgetting to whisper. "Are you mad? Really, Hermione, I didn't expect you to joke around like this."
"No, really, Ron," she replied calmly. "Remember that potion Snape told us about a few days ago-the Polyjuice Potion? It can turn you into someone else, at least for a little while."
"D'you think I've got nothing better to do in Potions that listen to Snape?" Ron muttered, but Hermione ignored him.
"The only problem is that it's in a book in the Restricted section. I don't know who will sign a permission slip for us. Definitely not Snape."
"Could we steal it?" Ron asked, half to himself.
Hermione shook her head. "Wouldn't work," she replied. "I've read about the protective spells on the Restricted section in Hogwarts, a History-there's no way an ordinary student could get a book from there, only teachers, and Madame Pince."
Ron frowned. "Can you think of anyone-anyone-who'd sign the slip for us? C'mon, think, Hermione."
"I'm thinking," Hermione replied crossly. "And no, I can't think of a single one."
Ron brightened suddenly. "What about Hagrid? He might do it, if we explained it to him."
"No," Hermione shook her head. "Hagrid's not a teacher-he's not authorized to remove books from the Restricted section."
"Professor Aracidia?" Ron said doubtfully, thinking of the strange, aloof teacher.
"Not likely," Hermione said gloomily. "We'd have no good reason to present to him for wanting it."
"Make one up?" Ron asked hopefully.
Hermione shook her head. "Oh, forget about it," she said wearily. "There's no way we can take that book out-Madam Pince wouldn't allow us near there without a signed note."
Ron stood and yawned. "It's probably time to start to Potions," he said gloomily. Hermione nodded, sighed heavily, and picked up her bag to follow him through the portrait-hole and down the many flights of stairs to Snape's dungeon. They arrived late, and received a hot glare from Snape and five points each from Gryffindor.
The lesson was a dull one, preparing a standard sleeping-draught. Ron and Hermione worked together at Hermione's cauldron, working mechanically as they prepared the ingredients. Beside them, Draco Malfoy worked with Dilo Niles, a burly Slytherin boy with squinty eyes and a permanent sneer.
"Working hard, aren't you, Weasley?" Malfoy hissed out of the corner of his mouth when Snape had his back turned. "Hoping to be able to sell it for a few Knuts?" Niles sniggered sycophantically and dumped the acras roots he had been shredding into the cauldron, turning the potion a brilliant, sizzling green.
Ron reddened, and Hermione had to step on his foot as Snape turned around once more. Reluctantly Ron turned back to the cauldron, muttering angrily. Snape cast him a suspicious glance, but swept past in silence to the cauldron where Neville Longbottom worked with Seamus Finnigan. Their potion was fizzing madly and quickly turning a sickly purple. Neville, ashen- faced, was dumping acras roots and fruit fly antennae into it crazily, trying to reverse the sudden change. He stopped instinctively when Snape stopped to tower over him, a mocking sneer on his face.
"Mister Longbottom," he said loudly, "Any first-year student should know that the powdered newt skin goes in before the acras roots or the potion would be useless."
"But s-Sir, I-," Neville began, terrified, but Snape cut him off.
"Finnigan, why didn't you tell him that the newt skin went in first?"
Seamus paled. "I-I was preparing the dragonsteeth, sir," he stammered.
Snape sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor, for poor work on the part of Longbottom," he snapped, "And another five for negligence on the part of Finnigan." He moved away, leaving Seamus and Neville gaping in horror.
"Miss Patil, Miss Brown, what is this?" Snape stopped once more to peer threateningly into the murky gray depths of their slowly bubbling draught.
"I-I don't know, sir," Parvati whimpered. Lavender shrank away from Snape's cold stare, pressing herself against the damp stone wall.
"Clearly, you did not bring the water to a full boil before adding the pokum flowers. That will be another two points from Gryffindor for hastiness." Snape smiled and glided off to Malfoy's cauldron, inspecting the bright green potion with satisfaction. Malfoy smirked at Ron as Snape praised the quality and color of his sleeping draught (and giving five points to Slytherin for "a job well done") before he moved on to where Ron and Hermione worked. Hastily Ron shoved the acras roots in and their potion, too, turned green and began to bubble furiously, but Snape took a point off nevertheless for a drop that splashed to the floor, burning a small hole in the stone floor and filling the dungeon with a slightly sulfury odor.
Ron muttered angrily under his breath as they left the dungeon. Hermione walked in stony silence, eyes burning with fierce anger. "That wasn't fair," she said finally to Ron. "Our potion was perfect-and Malfoy spilled more than we did."
Ron blew out his breath in exasperation. "Yeah," he said. They quieted once more as they passed a group of first-years going to Transfiguration, and did not resume conversing in low voices until they had left the castle and were crossing the grounds to where Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, waited. "Greenhouse Three today, chaps," she said cheerfully when they had all arrived. She led them down to the end of the row of greenhouses and entered one with a large silver 3 painted over the doorway. Murmuring excitedly the class followed her-they had never been in Greenhouse Three before, having worked only in One and Two.
Inside they all peeled off their heavy cloaks and scarves, setting them by the door and out of the reach of the many inquisitive carnivorous plants inhabiting the greenhouse. Professor Sprout gestured to a long table covered with earmuffs of all different colors and sizes and asked each student to take a pair. When the scramble had passed-each student tried to avoid being left with one pair which was pink and fluffy-she pointed to a large, leafy plant and outlined the lesson for them.
"Today we will be repotting Mandrakes again," she said authoritatively. "I'm going to show you how it's done again. Please put on your earmuffs until I give the thumbs-up signal. I know you've done this, but if something would go wrong-these Mandrakes have become very precious to the school."
Each student did as she directed, some looking bored or rebellious at having to re-do a rather boring job. Professor Sprout carefully put her own earmuffs on and slid the pot towards her. With a swift motion she pulled the plant up from the soil it was potted in to show a grubby green baby squalling at the top of its lungs. Without hesitation she placed it in the second pot and covered it until, once more, nothing but the leaves was showing. Wiping the dirt off her hands, she gave the thumbs-up signal and took off her own earmuffs.
"Four to a table," she said briskly when they had all followed her example. Ron moved towards Hermione and they found a table where two other students, both Hufflepuffs, were already pulling clay pots toward themselves. For a moment they were all busy readying the new pot; then the earmuff signal was given and they-as quickly as possible-shifted the Mandrakes from one pot to the next.
When all the Mandrakes had been repotted, Professor Sprout gave the thumbs- up signal and everyone took off their earmuffs. "Good work, class. Next lesson we'll work with the Mandrakes again.we need to have as many in good shape as possible, as soon as possible. In the meantime, read up on their healing properties please, and have a full page of notes for me by next week. Now go-you don't want to be late for Transfiguration."
Students, after picking cloaks back up and discarding earmuffs once more, streamed through the small doorway of the greenhouse. Hermione lingered hesitantly inside the doorway, with Ron calling irritatedly for her to come, when Professor Sprout noticed her and asked her what she wanted.
"Er, Professor," she said cautiously, "I was wondering where you could find the recipe for a Mandrake draught. Not that I'd make one," she added hastily, "But-er-,"
"Background reading?" Professor Sprout suggested helpfully. "Well."
"Yes?"
"I suppose that I could let you see it. But you must not try it, Miss Granger-it is serious magic. The book with the potion is in the Restricted section, but I suppose I could sign the note for you if you promised not to try it, and to return the book to Madam Pince after two days."
Rummaging in her cloak, she pulled an official-looking parchment and a large quill from its folds and proceeded to write the name of the book and to sign the permission slip. Hermione, looking over her shoulder, turned white and looked at Ron, eyes wide.
She nearly snatched the permission slip from Professor Sprout when she had finished, thanking her breathlessly as she pulled on her cloak and ran outside to where Ron stood, waiting.
She pulled him along until they were several greenhouses down, and then showed him the note. Her hands shook so much that he took it from her and stared, puzzled, at it.
I, C. Sprout, hereby give permission to the underage student, Hermione Granger, to retrieve Moste Potente Potions from the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts School library. Signed,
C. Sprout
"Moste Potente Potions?" Ron asked. "What's so special about that?"
"That's the book with the Polyjuice Potion in it," Hermione said reverently.
"Oh-that," Ron said carelessly, giving the note back to Hermione. "Well- yeah, it's cool," he said finally as she looked at him angrily, "But I thought you had something-well-you know-,"
"No, I don't know," Hermione said frostily. "Don't you realize what we can do with this?" she waved the note in front of him again for good measure. "Don't you realize?"
Ron pushed it away. "Yeah, well, you do know that we'd be breaking about a hundred school rules if we did do this?"
Hermione stared at him coldly. "Well, I guess if bad grades are worse than attacks on Muggle-borns, you don't have to come," she said, and turned away.
"Wait!" Ron called, running after her. "Fine, fine, I'll do it. I never thought I'd see you persuading me to break rules, though," he added.
Hermione glared at him and marched off, the precious note clutched tightly in her closed fist.
"Who could it be? Who's the Heir?" Hermione scribbled on a scrap parchment. She slipped the note to Ron, beside her. He glanced at it and-making sure that Professor Binns didn't notice-scrawled an answer.
"Guess."
Hermione gave him an exasperated look and shook her head, turning back to the ghost teacher and attempting to concentrate on the frightfully dull lecture he was giving.
"In 1882 Erik Roderique, an ambassador for the wizards, visited the goblin leader, Saronim the Scraggle-toothed, and drew up a treaty between the two warring peoples."
Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Ron scribbled on another scrap of parchment. He folded it and tossed it unobtrusively to where she sat, mind wandering from the lecture.
"Who do you know who hates Muggle-borns?" the note read.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, and scribbled a reply.
"You don't mean Malfoy, do you?"
Ron nodded slightly as he read the note, mouthing 'I do.'
Hermione bent her head to write another note, when Professor Binns cleared his throat loudly. "The young lady with the brown hair-,"
"Hermione Granger, Professor-,"
"Yes, well, could you take a moment from your engaging conversation with this young man to tell me the name of the goblin hothead who began the First Revolution?"
Hermione blushed furiously. "Er-Ferisiat the Fool, sir?" she stammered.
Binns frowned slightly. "Please pay more attention in class, Miss Garland. Ferisiat the Fool began the Second Revolution. Can anyone tell me who began the First?"
Nobody volunteered the information, and Professor Binns went back to his lecture with a frown.
Hermione tossed Ron another note as soon as Binns was safely deep into the lecture once more.
"Meet me after class, in the Common Room-I have an idea."
* * *
Ron dropped his bag onto the floor and sank into an armchair. "What's your great idea?" he asked Hermione, who had taken a seat beside him.
"Shh-not so loud," she cautioned, looking uneasily at the other students clustered throughout the large circular common room. "I agree with you about Malfoy, but we can't be sure, unless we ask him."
Ron laughed incredulously, his face a mask of disbelief. "Ask him?" he said, forgetting to whisper. "Are you mad? Really, Hermione, I didn't expect you to joke around like this."
"No, really, Ron," she replied calmly. "Remember that potion Snape told us about a few days ago-the Polyjuice Potion? It can turn you into someone else, at least for a little while."
"D'you think I've got nothing better to do in Potions that listen to Snape?" Ron muttered, but Hermione ignored him.
"The only problem is that it's in a book in the Restricted section. I don't know who will sign a permission slip for us. Definitely not Snape."
"Could we steal it?" Ron asked, half to himself.
Hermione shook her head. "Wouldn't work," she replied. "I've read about the protective spells on the Restricted section in Hogwarts, a History-there's no way an ordinary student could get a book from there, only teachers, and Madame Pince."
Ron frowned. "Can you think of anyone-anyone-who'd sign the slip for us? C'mon, think, Hermione."
"I'm thinking," Hermione replied crossly. "And no, I can't think of a single one."
Ron brightened suddenly. "What about Hagrid? He might do it, if we explained it to him."
"No," Hermione shook her head. "Hagrid's not a teacher-he's not authorized to remove books from the Restricted section."
"Professor Aracidia?" Ron said doubtfully, thinking of the strange, aloof teacher.
"Not likely," Hermione said gloomily. "We'd have no good reason to present to him for wanting it."
"Make one up?" Ron asked hopefully.
Hermione shook her head. "Oh, forget about it," she said wearily. "There's no way we can take that book out-Madam Pince wouldn't allow us near there without a signed note."
Ron stood and yawned. "It's probably time to start to Potions," he said gloomily. Hermione nodded, sighed heavily, and picked up her bag to follow him through the portrait-hole and down the many flights of stairs to Snape's dungeon. They arrived late, and received a hot glare from Snape and five points each from Gryffindor.
The lesson was a dull one, preparing a standard sleeping-draught. Ron and Hermione worked together at Hermione's cauldron, working mechanically as they prepared the ingredients. Beside them, Draco Malfoy worked with Dilo Niles, a burly Slytherin boy with squinty eyes and a permanent sneer.
"Working hard, aren't you, Weasley?" Malfoy hissed out of the corner of his mouth when Snape had his back turned. "Hoping to be able to sell it for a few Knuts?" Niles sniggered sycophantically and dumped the acras roots he had been shredding into the cauldron, turning the potion a brilliant, sizzling green.
Ron reddened, and Hermione had to step on his foot as Snape turned around once more. Reluctantly Ron turned back to the cauldron, muttering angrily. Snape cast him a suspicious glance, but swept past in silence to the cauldron where Neville Longbottom worked with Seamus Finnigan. Their potion was fizzing madly and quickly turning a sickly purple. Neville, ashen- faced, was dumping acras roots and fruit fly antennae into it crazily, trying to reverse the sudden change. He stopped instinctively when Snape stopped to tower over him, a mocking sneer on his face.
"Mister Longbottom," he said loudly, "Any first-year student should know that the powdered newt skin goes in before the acras roots or the potion would be useless."
"But s-Sir, I-," Neville began, terrified, but Snape cut him off.
"Finnigan, why didn't you tell him that the newt skin went in first?"
Seamus paled. "I-I was preparing the dragonsteeth, sir," he stammered.
Snape sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor, for poor work on the part of Longbottom," he snapped, "And another five for negligence on the part of Finnigan." He moved away, leaving Seamus and Neville gaping in horror.
"Miss Patil, Miss Brown, what is this?" Snape stopped once more to peer threateningly into the murky gray depths of their slowly bubbling draught.
"I-I don't know, sir," Parvati whimpered. Lavender shrank away from Snape's cold stare, pressing herself against the damp stone wall.
"Clearly, you did not bring the water to a full boil before adding the pokum flowers. That will be another two points from Gryffindor for hastiness." Snape smiled and glided off to Malfoy's cauldron, inspecting the bright green potion with satisfaction. Malfoy smirked at Ron as Snape praised the quality and color of his sleeping draught (and giving five points to Slytherin for "a job well done") before he moved on to where Ron and Hermione worked. Hastily Ron shoved the acras roots in and their potion, too, turned green and began to bubble furiously, but Snape took a point off nevertheless for a drop that splashed to the floor, burning a small hole in the stone floor and filling the dungeon with a slightly sulfury odor.
Ron muttered angrily under his breath as they left the dungeon. Hermione walked in stony silence, eyes burning with fierce anger. "That wasn't fair," she said finally to Ron. "Our potion was perfect-and Malfoy spilled more than we did."
Ron blew out his breath in exasperation. "Yeah," he said. They quieted once more as they passed a group of first-years going to Transfiguration, and did not resume conversing in low voices until they had left the castle and were crossing the grounds to where Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, waited. "Greenhouse Three today, chaps," she said cheerfully when they had all arrived. She led them down to the end of the row of greenhouses and entered one with a large silver 3 painted over the doorway. Murmuring excitedly the class followed her-they had never been in Greenhouse Three before, having worked only in One and Two.
Inside they all peeled off their heavy cloaks and scarves, setting them by the door and out of the reach of the many inquisitive carnivorous plants inhabiting the greenhouse. Professor Sprout gestured to a long table covered with earmuffs of all different colors and sizes and asked each student to take a pair. When the scramble had passed-each student tried to avoid being left with one pair which was pink and fluffy-she pointed to a large, leafy plant and outlined the lesson for them.
"Today we will be repotting Mandrakes again," she said authoritatively. "I'm going to show you how it's done again. Please put on your earmuffs until I give the thumbs-up signal. I know you've done this, but if something would go wrong-these Mandrakes have become very precious to the school."
Each student did as she directed, some looking bored or rebellious at having to re-do a rather boring job. Professor Sprout carefully put her own earmuffs on and slid the pot towards her. With a swift motion she pulled the plant up from the soil it was potted in to show a grubby green baby squalling at the top of its lungs. Without hesitation she placed it in the second pot and covered it until, once more, nothing but the leaves was showing. Wiping the dirt off her hands, she gave the thumbs-up signal and took off her own earmuffs.
"Four to a table," she said briskly when they had all followed her example. Ron moved towards Hermione and they found a table where two other students, both Hufflepuffs, were already pulling clay pots toward themselves. For a moment they were all busy readying the new pot; then the earmuff signal was given and they-as quickly as possible-shifted the Mandrakes from one pot to the next.
When all the Mandrakes had been repotted, Professor Sprout gave the thumbs- up signal and everyone took off their earmuffs. "Good work, class. Next lesson we'll work with the Mandrakes again.we need to have as many in good shape as possible, as soon as possible. In the meantime, read up on their healing properties please, and have a full page of notes for me by next week. Now go-you don't want to be late for Transfiguration."
Students, after picking cloaks back up and discarding earmuffs once more, streamed through the small doorway of the greenhouse. Hermione lingered hesitantly inside the doorway, with Ron calling irritatedly for her to come, when Professor Sprout noticed her and asked her what she wanted.
"Er, Professor," she said cautiously, "I was wondering where you could find the recipe for a Mandrake draught. Not that I'd make one," she added hastily, "But-er-,"
"Background reading?" Professor Sprout suggested helpfully. "Well."
"Yes?"
"I suppose that I could let you see it. But you must not try it, Miss Granger-it is serious magic. The book with the potion is in the Restricted section, but I suppose I could sign the note for you if you promised not to try it, and to return the book to Madam Pince after two days."
Rummaging in her cloak, she pulled an official-looking parchment and a large quill from its folds and proceeded to write the name of the book and to sign the permission slip. Hermione, looking over her shoulder, turned white and looked at Ron, eyes wide.
She nearly snatched the permission slip from Professor Sprout when she had finished, thanking her breathlessly as she pulled on her cloak and ran outside to where Ron stood, waiting.
She pulled him along until they were several greenhouses down, and then showed him the note. Her hands shook so much that he took it from her and stared, puzzled, at it.
I, C. Sprout, hereby give permission to the underage student, Hermione Granger, to retrieve Moste Potente Potions from the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts School library. Signed,
C. Sprout
"Moste Potente Potions?" Ron asked. "What's so special about that?"
"That's the book with the Polyjuice Potion in it," Hermione said reverently.
"Oh-that," Ron said carelessly, giving the note back to Hermione. "Well- yeah, it's cool," he said finally as she looked at him angrily, "But I thought you had something-well-you know-,"
"No, I don't know," Hermione said frostily. "Don't you realize what we can do with this?" she waved the note in front of him again for good measure. "Don't you realize?"
Ron pushed it away. "Yeah, well, you do know that we'd be breaking about a hundred school rules if we did do this?"
Hermione stared at him coldly. "Well, I guess if bad grades are worse than attacks on Muggle-borns, you don't have to come," she said, and turned away.
"Wait!" Ron called, running after her. "Fine, fine, I'll do it. I never thought I'd see you persuading me to break rules, though," he added.
Hermione glared at him and marched off, the precious note clutched tightly in her closed fist.