Potions and Plans

Disclaimer: It belongs to J.K.Rowling. Enough said.

Thanks for 796 reviews goes to: Red Magic Marker (x2), Hayden's girl (x4), Angel: da Newsies fan, Rebecca, ScarletDeva, Siobhan, Akira Gown (x2), Flexi Lexi(x2), angel-kisses, KrystyWroth, Deimos, hyper-shark(x2), MysticalStormz, CrysMaul, mya14 (x2), ~* paper star *~ (x2), P.L.S., Eleanor, Wormmon ABC, KAOS, Queen Li, The Elfin Child, Joynspirit, Andiavas (x2), Hp1fan, Tom felton's babe, draconas (x2), lollylips3, Ardent Entity (x14) Ivy Crane (x2), kei-chan, Gabie (x2), willowfairy, MoonDancerCat, xXMidnightKissesXx (x2), feanne, Eleanor, Cassie, ElvinLioness,  reminisces, mutsumi, angkat14, Lindsey, Saotoshi (x3), Purple People Eater, some1, babydoll52, Morigan Riddle, The katt, Dove6987, heavengurl899 (x3), Dragon Bad Faith, willowwiccantara, The Floor Boards,  SolaStar (x3), Girl Enigma, Sushinase, Sparkle-eyed Dreamer, aku-neko (x3), V.

A/N: As soon as I've posted this I'm going to have to slam my ears in the oven door like Dobby. If I apologised half as much as I want to and listed the reasons why I've been prevented from updating (everything apart from Armageddon itself it seems!) I'd have no room left for the story. And none of you would be that interested anyway.

As its now the holidays, I should be able to write more. And I may try to squeeze in an extra chapter if I have time – no promises though!

Good news: My birthday was a few weeks ago (celebrate!!!). Also, the Russian translation of Fire and Ice won Fic of the Month for March at www.potter.ru! Thanks and hugs to my wonderful translator, Immensity, who is even now translating this one!

And thank you a thousand times to everyone who's shown me their support while I've been having problems. Couldn't have done it without you :)

~*~

'I have not translated it wrongly.' Draco protested, before frowning at the sentence. 'Have I?'

Hermione sighed. 'Yes, you have. Look, you've mixed up the subject of the main clause with the subject of the ablative absolute clause…

'The what?' Ron interjected, perplexed.

Hermione waved a hand at Ron irritably. 'It would take too long to explain. Draco, haven't you learned about ablative absolutes? We have a test on them in a fortnight!'

Hermione, Draco, Ron and Harry were sitting around their usual table in the library, doing homework or in the case of Ron, doodling on the corner of a piece of parchment.

'Do we?' Draco asked with a frown.

'Yes!'

'Drat. I didn't know about that.'

Hermione rolled her eyes before digging a stack of parchment out of her bag and pulling out some notes in her meticulous handwriting. 'Here.' She passed them to Draco. 'Ablative absolutes, everything you need to know.'

'Thanks.' replied Draco, and the table lapsed into silence again. It was strange: so little had changed since Hermione told her lie. They still acted just like friends: chattered and did homework and argued and laughed. Nothing had changed.

Except that… once or twice, Hermione had looked up to find Draco giving her a thoughtful, appraising look, as though he were trying to puzzle out a situation. Or, indeed, as though he was puzzling her out. But what was there for him to puzzle out? He knew about her: she was the one who had forgotten him.

But for now, they sat in the library, parchments being gradually filled with ink as the amber sunshine caught the silent dance of the dust in its glowing rays, the moment hanging in time and stretching into forever.

~*~

I don't know why I'm writing this. If anyone ever found it there'd be hell to pay, and if I had any sense I'd put this quill down and burn the parchment into ashes. But I haven't yet, and I don't think I will now that I've started. Why not burn it when I'm done writing? What difference will it make if there's more ink on the page…

That said, I still don't know why I'm writing things down. It's a danger to commit anything to paper. Thoughts are private, and spoken words vanish as soon as they are made – magical interference excepted, of course. But written words can live on, remain for centuries. Verba volant, scripta manent.

Hermione said once – when I asked her why anyone would consider keeping such an idiotic thing as a diary – that people liked to write thoughts down. I suppose it is that, in a way. Writing things on paper makes them… tangible, makes them more solid than thoughts. Thoughts have infinity to entangle themselves, while words are confined to the boundaries of ink and parchment, and however much they twist and turn they still must have some semblance of order.

But of course this is getting off the point. It's no good writing down why I'm writing this accursed thing and then not actually writing it.

I've been trying all day to figure out what Hermione's trying to do. Why she lied…but the only reasons I can come up with for doing that kind of thing are all cruel, malicious, Slytherin kinds of things. And Hermione's not like that. The only reason I can see is pity, and that wouldn't be a good enough reason for her… then again, she's changed. Everyone does, all the time, but losing memories and regaining them is bound to produce a rather drastic change…Perhaps she isn't even lying. Perhaps she meant it, and I'm just being paranoid.

I can't think of a reason. I've been thinking about it constantly, and I can't think of one…it's driving me insane.

I'm going to play along. Pretend I don't know anything about it… pretend I believe her. That way I can see what happens… maybe figure out why she lied. Nothing much has happened so far, after all. And if I didn't pretend to believe her, I'd have to tell her that I knew.

I hate this. I have to lie to Hermione, and she's lying to me for reasons I can't understand. Life was never meant to be as complicated as this, as though the whole thing were some kind of giant soap opera.

I hate my father.

~*~

Five minutes later, the parchment was on the freshly lit fireplace, the edges smouldering and curling until finally the whole thing caught alight.

The blond Slytherin watched, his face blank and revealing nothing whatsoever, eyes reflecting nothing but the firelight.

~*~

Almost all of the Gryffindors were in their common room that night, apart from the Quidditch team, who were practicing, a few of their friends who were huddled in the stands watching, and people serving detentions or in the library. The cosy room rung with the sound of voices and laughter, of quills on parchment as homework was done, and the occasional minor explosion.

Hermione sat on a small crimson armchair close to the fire, curled into a ball with the usual thick book on her lap. She seemed nervous, checking her watch every few minutes, reading the same page over and over.

To complete the Genitive Potion, Hermione read, the roots of a grapevine must be ground to a fine powder and added carefully to the cauldron, stirring continuously, until the potion turns pale blue. On no account add the powder in excess, as the results can be explosive. When the potion has reached the correct shade, allow it to simmer gently for five to ten minutes, after which time the object should begin to float on the surface and the name of its owner should appear (if it is light enough. If not, a simple levitation charm should raise it above the surface of the potion and allow the name to be read).

Hermione read through the instructions again, biting her lip as she did. She and the three boys were meeting in – she checked her watch – forty three and a half minutes to finish the potion, and then…

Then they'd know who M.B. was. And what then? She doubted they could go to a teacher on such a flimsy piece of evidence as that, but they could be on guard against her, they could collect other more damning evidence…

She sighed, her eyes flicking down the page again, making sure she had the instructions memorised. As though this were some examination, she thought wryly. The powdered grapevine root was already in their hiding place, in a little paper bag near the cauldron. And all that was left now was to finish it…

Her train of thought was cut short when a tapping on the window near her caused conversations close by to falter, and she turned, puzzled, to look out of the window. A large owl was perched on the window ledge in the dark night outside, and she dimly recognised it as Draco's.

Frowning, she opened the window wide enough to let the bird in, sending a freezing draught of air over the room that made people shiver in protest. It looked around almost arrogantly, holding out its leg for Hermione to take the letter before flying away again.

She closed the window and sat back down in the armchair, opening the parchment. She recognised it instinctively as Draco's handwriting, although few of her current memories knew it.

Hermione,

            I cannot say everything I want to here: I fear it would be too dangerous if this owl were intercepted. All I can say is that you are in grave danger, far worse and more immediate than we previously thought.

I am waiting for you just outside the Hogwarts gate, where it should be safe to talk. The school is too dangerous until we know exactly who our enemies are. Come and meet me there, I am certain there will be no danger waiting on the way tonight. My father expects you (and therefore me) to cling to the school and Dumbledore for safety, and will not expect us to venture outside of it.

Come as quickly as you can, there is much I have to tell you, and when we are finished we still have to return to the school in time to meet with Ron and Harry and finish the potion. Time is of the essence.

Draco.

Hermione flicked her eyes through the letter again, almost disbelievingly. But it was Draco's handwriting and Draco's formalised style of letter, and the urgency was clear.

She folded the letter into quarters and, standing up, went to her room to fetch her warm winter cloak. She folded the letter into quarters and left it on her pillow, in case Ron and Harry came looking for her and wondered where she was. Then she wrapped the warm cloak around her and left the room.

~*~

'Good practice, team!' called Fred as they came in to land. He and George had been voted joint captains by the Gryffindors that year, an appointment which had ended up with quite a few of the team suddenly finding Filibuster's Fireworks in their broomsticks at one notorious practice.

Harry landed by the edge of the field, wiping his forehead of sweat despite the icy weather. 'What time is it?' he asked Ron. 'We need to meet Hermione in the common room at ten to…'

'We've got quarter of an hour then.' Ron replied amicably. 'Can we get inside? I'm freezing and I swear I'm getting frostbite.'

'Ron, you're wearing at least two Weasley jumpers on top of each other.' Harry was quick to point out. 'Bit unlikely.'

'Well I'm only wearing one pair of socks.' Ron replied. 'I could get frostbite in my feet.'

'What if you had to have them amputated because of frostbite?' Harry asked thoughtfully, already walking towards the school with his Firebolt tucked under one arm. 'You'd have to go around in a wheelchair… you'd have nothing to walk on.'

'Or get wooden legs.' Ron replied cheerfully.

'Two wooden legs? You'd never be able to balance, you'd fall over.'

Ron thought about this. 'Could use a walking stick.'

'Two walking sticks.'

And in such a line of conversation, they reached the Gryffindor tower, cheeks flushed and teeth chattering from the cold, looking forward to discovering the identity of the mysterious M.B. As soon as they found Hermione.

'Can you see her anywhere?' Harry asked Ron, frowning.

'No, nowhere… maybe she went ahead?' Ron theorised.

'But she said she'd meet us here… maybe she's in her dormitory.' Harry replied, frowning. 'We should at least look.'

They wound their way through the haphazard chairs and sofas, through the continuous babble of conversation, until they reached the staircase and climbed the steep stairs, their muscled already aching before they were halfway up.

Harry knocked on the door of the dormitory before going in. 'Hermione, are you there?' he asked. There was no reply.

'Look inside.' Ron prompted. 'She might have, I dunno, fallen asleep or something…'

Harry cautiously opened the door, peering round. 'Nothing there.' he said. 'She must have gone on without us… wait, I think there's something on her bad.'

'Might be a note.' Ron said, going into the room and picking up the parchment.

'Are you sure you should be reading that?' Harry asked, as Ron read through the letter. Harry hovered in the doorway, not sure whether to enter or not.

'I think she left it here for us to find…' said Ron, looking worried. 'It explains where she is… read it, it sounds important.'

Harry read the letter with an increasing frown. 'What do you think is wrong?' he asked. Ron shrugged. 'Oh well, at least she's safe.' He folded the letter with a crackle of parchment, and put it back in his pocket.

'Lets go, they'll be waiting.'

~*~

Draco waited in the semi-darkness, keeping an eye on the cauldron, which was obeying the laws of mysterious potion and going 'gloop' occasionally.

'Where are those Gryffindors…' he said in a half-whisper, brushing his fine hair out of his face and sitting down on the floor, leaning on the rough wall. 'Trust them to be late!' he said, with none of the malice of former years but with a kind of half-amused amicableness.

An entire minute later, Ron and Harry burst through the door.

'Sorry we're late, took us ages to figure out where you were, Hermione, and what…' Ron said, before looking round the room. 'Where's Hermione?' he asked, puzzled.

'She was supposed to be coming with you.' Draco replied

'But it said in your letter…' Harry began, before a sudden feeling of dread gripped Draco.

'What letter?' he asked sharply.

'The one you sent to Hermione…' Harry replied, beginning to catch on that something was wrong.

'What did it say?' Draco asked, getting swiftly to his feet. 'What did it say?'

Wordlessly, Harry pulled the letter out of his pocket, handing it to him. Draco read it, his face paling.

'Oh, no…' he whispered. 'Hermione, you fool…'

~*~

A/N: Sorry. I'm evil, I know, and I will boil my fingers in tomato soup as soon as I've used them to write the rest of the story.

The usual bits of Latin: Ablative absolutes are irritating bits of Latin grammar that don't appear in English. For example: 'The battle having been lost, the survivors went home.' The bit in bold is an ablative absolute. They're my Latin teacher's favourite clause, so Ms. Holden, this is for you!

'Verba volant, scripta manent' A Latin proverb: Words fly, writing remains. I have this on a magnet!

So, what will happen next… Where is Hermione? If Draco didn't send that letter, who did? Are we ever going to find out who M.B. is???

Yes, we will… next Wednesday, and if I don't update, you have full permission to send packs of slavering wolves to hunt my down and tear me to shreds!