Author's Notes: Almost 450 reviews -- And that's a lot of reviews
For the record, there's the reference at the end of this chapter to "Joselyn Bisset" -- an OC who appears in another series which might be posted someday (if I ever feel she's worthy enough of public scrunity -- She's been slightly tempermental over the past couple months)
Chapter Twenty-Three -- On the Horizon
"Tom, are we almost done?"
The damp heat of the room was beginning to weigh all of the students down. They had been steaming monkshood since 1:00 that afternoon. The process was tedious: Heat up gallons of water in a bronze-plated cauldron, put leaves of monkshood into a net, hold it directly above the water and wait . . . and wait . . . and wait . . . Harry Potter glanced at himself in a near-by looking glass (which, magically, remained unsteamed) -- His clothes hung in loose folds around his body (and had attained a charming mildew-smell) and his hair was plastered to his face. "Charming," he sighed, removing yet another batch of monkshood and putting it to the side. Thirty minutes and it would be steamed again -- three times for each batch.
"Complicated procedure, I know." Tom Riddle flipped one of the nets upside down and watched as a gloppy mass fell into the jar. His nose crinkled in distaste. "However, this is the primary ingredient in which potion, Miss Granger? I know you've been reading up on your medicinal magic."
"The Heal-All Potion," Hermione proclaimed, taking the jar from Tom and labeling it. "But don't they market this? It's primarily used for cuts and bruises."
"The kind you buy off the shelf at Slug and Jiggers is a bit different than this," Tom said, preparing another batch of monkshood to be steamed. "This is far more potent. It instantly cures minor wounds and . . ." A cough, invoked by the steam. " . . . A couple of gradual doses will take care of major wounds -- including some potentially fatal ones. Remember children, you should always have at least one dose of Heal-All Potion on you at all times."
They set another batch of leaves on the cauldron to steam. Tom Riddle sighed, taking off his pair of leather gloves and throwing them onto the worktable. "I'm going to step out for a moment. Put the last batch on in fifteen minutes. That should take . . . about two hours. Make sure that everything is packaged and shelved. Clean up and then meet me outside on the Quidditch pitch."
"Where do you think you're going?" Harry asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.
"Oh, nowhere."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
"I can't believe he just left like that," Ron groaned, taking the last batch of monkshood off the steamer. "Couldn't even stay to finish his own project. Instead, he just leaves us to suffer. Dean, could you wash up the cauldrons?"
"Right on it," Dean said. He poured a jug of cold water into the cauldron and watched as steam-heat came hissing out of the vessel. "Wicked."
"Everything is packaged and shelved," Hermione confirmed, putting down her quill and washing any ink stains off of her fingers. "Neville, package the remaining monkshood -- the unsteamed monkshood. I think we're going to donate all of that to the potions laboratory. And then all we have to do is wash up the tables and we're done."
"And without managing to destroy the potions laboratory in the process."
Severus Snape stood at the back of the classroom, appraising what the students were leaving in their wake. Harry shuddered unconsciously. It had become difficult -- being in Severus Snape's presence. They had become too . . . involved. Potions class had become an almost painful experience.
"Who assigned this project? Professor Riddle?"
"Yes, sir," Hermione answered. "Medicinal magic." She carefully shelved the final jar of steamed monkshood. "We thought that you had a bit too much on your hands -- with the preparations for the war and all. So we decided to take care of some of the preparatory work -- like steaming the monkshood. If you want, we could probably finish the potion . . . We're probably going to need a lot of it, sir."
"Thank you, Miss Granger. That is very helpful of you -- all of you." Severus' lips twisted into an attempted smile. Anyone else might call it a "mockery of a smile" but Harry knew that it was sincere. "Run along now. I believe I saw Professor Riddle out on the Quidditch pitch."
"I don't even know if I want to see that git," Ron muttered. "He ran off and left us in the middle of a batch."
"Oh, I think he'll make it worth your time, Mister Weasley," Severus said, sweeping into his office and shutting the door behind him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
The students trudged out onto the Quidditch pitch -- robes damp, faces sweaty. Ron was the first one to see exactly what Professor Snape was talking about. Out on the Quidditch pitch were enough magical sweets to feed a small village. Boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, buckets of Fizzing Whizbees and Pepper Imps, containers of Acid Pops (although Ron would make it a point to stay away from those -- bad memories and the lot), Licorice Wands and Sugar Quills, a barrel of Chocolate Frogs and, oh!, chocolate! Slabs and slabs of chocolate! More candy than any child could eat on a stormy April afternoon. And it was all there -- spread out before them in an astronomical feast.
Tom Riddle staggered out from the broomshed -- his arms wrapped around a gigantic vat of treacle fudge.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Tom exclaimed, struggling under the weight of the container. "Would you mind giving a hand?" No response. Tom sighed and began the trek across the Quidditch Pitch. Immediately, a swarm of children ran over to assist him. After a buzz of "thank you"s, the treacle fudge was taken up and deposited near the rest of the sweets.
"Where did you get all of this?" Harry asked in a state of awe.
"Stopped by Honeydukes," Tom smiled. "Figured that you all deserved a little something after all your hard work. Now, don't eat all of this at once . . ."
"Is that possible?" Ron asked, boggled by the sheer magnitude of sweets.
"Perhaps," Tom laughed. "Whatever you don't eat today is going to be stored in the pantries. I want to keep some of this for when the war starts -- especially the chocolate." Tom gave a little warning glance to Neville who had already launched into the chocolate. "Harry, could I have a word or two?"
"Sure," Harry shrugged and the two of them started off towards the broomshed together.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later and a word had yet to be spoken.
Harry, always somewhat sentimental in the afterglow, curled up against Tom. "Sex in the broomshed, how romantic."
"Actually, it's quite common," Tom murmured absently, brushing Harry's hair out of his eyes. The boy gave an indignant snort and shoved Tom playfully.
"And how would you know?"
"Joselyn Bisset, my first girlfriend," Tom said nostalgically, looking over towards the racks of brooms. "You see that Tinderblast -- third from the right? That was Joselyn's broom. I was in my fifth year at Hogwarts when I started dating her. I was very . . . confused and had absolutely no idea what I wanted from life. I knew that I wasn't like the other students. At the same time, I wanted to be 'normal.' I was having a difficult time embracing the sheer magnitude of my power. During this little identity crisis, I met Joselyn. She was . . . something else. Ravenclaw, sixth year, Prefect."
"Sounds perfect," Harry grumbled.
"Oh, don't get jealous," Tom laughed. "I was young and impulsive . . . Well, I've always been impulsive . . ." He paused for a moment. "Besides, you were dating Cho Chang. So try and make me feel guilty about my childhood sweetheart."
"Childhood sweetheart?" Harry smirked. "You can be so dated sometimes. What ever happened to Joselyn?"
"She became an Auror."
"How fitting."
"I wonder if I'm going to see her again," Tom sighed, stroking Harry's shoulder with an uncanny tenderness. "With a war on the horizon . . . She could be one of the Aurors sent to defend Hogwarts. It would be . . . interesting to see her again."
"Whatever you say," Harry sighed, kissing the corner of Tom's mouth. "Just remember that you belong to me now."
"Of course."
They lay together, sprawled out together in the broomshed -- watching the sun disappear behind the branches of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for a new day to come.
For the record, there's the reference at the end of this chapter to "Joselyn Bisset" -- an OC who appears in another series which might be posted someday (if I ever feel she's worthy enough of public scrunity -- She's been slightly tempermental over the past couple months)
Chapter Twenty-Three -- On the Horizon
"Tom, are we almost done?"
The damp heat of the room was beginning to weigh all of the students down. They had been steaming monkshood since 1:00 that afternoon. The process was tedious: Heat up gallons of water in a bronze-plated cauldron, put leaves of monkshood into a net, hold it directly above the water and wait . . . and wait . . . and wait . . . Harry Potter glanced at himself in a near-by looking glass (which, magically, remained unsteamed) -- His clothes hung in loose folds around his body (and had attained a charming mildew-smell) and his hair was plastered to his face. "Charming," he sighed, removing yet another batch of monkshood and putting it to the side. Thirty minutes and it would be steamed again -- three times for each batch.
"Complicated procedure, I know." Tom Riddle flipped one of the nets upside down and watched as a gloppy mass fell into the jar. His nose crinkled in distaste. "However, this is the primary ingredient in which potion, Miss Granger? I know you've been reading up on your medicinal magic."
"The Heal-All Potion," Hermione proclaimed, taking the jar from Tom and labeling it. "But don't they market this? It's primarily used for cuts and bruises."
"The kind you buy off the shelf at Slug and Jiggers is a bit different than this," Tom said, preparing another batch of monkshood to be steamed. "This is far more potent. It instantly cures minor wounds and . . ." A cough, invoked by the steam. " . . . A couple of gradual doses will take care of major wounds -- including some potentially fatal ones. Remember children, you should always have at least one dose of Heal-All Potion on you at all times."
They set another batch of leaves on the cauldron to steam. Tom Riddle sighed, taking off his pair of leather gloves and throwing them onto the worktable. "I'm going to step out for a moment. Put the last batch on in fifteen minutes. That should take . . . about two hours. Make sure that everything is packaged and shelved. Clean up and then meet me outside on the Quidditch pitch."
"Where do you think you're going?" Harry asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.
"Oh, nowhere."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
"I can't believe he just left like that," Ron groaned, taking the last batch of monkshood off the steamer. "Couldn't even stay to finish his own project. Instead, he just leaves us to suffer. Dean, could you wash up the cauldrons?"
"Right on it," Dean said. He poured a jug of cold water into the cauldron and watched as steam-heat came hissing out of the vessel. "Wicked."
"Everything is packaged and shelved," Hermione confirmed, putting down her quill and washing any ink stains off of her fingers. "Neville, package the remaining monkshood -- the unsteamed monkshood. I think we're going to donate all of that to the potions laboratory. And then all we have to do is wash up the tables and we're done."
"And without managing to destroy the potions laboratory in the process."
Severus Snape stood at the back of the classroom, appraising what the students were leaving in their wake. Harry shuddered unconsciously. It had become difficult -- being in Severus Snape's presence. They had become too . . . involved. Potions class had become an almost painful experience.
"Who assigned this project? Professor Riddle?"
"Yes, sir," Hermione answered. "Medicinal magic." She carefully shelved the final jar of steamed monkshood. "We thought that you had a bit too much on your hands -- with the preparations for the war and all. So we decided to take care of some of the preparatory work -- like steaming the monkshood. If you want, we could probably finish the potion . . . We're probably going to need a lot of it, sir."
"Thank you, Miss Granger. That is very helpful of you -- all of you." Severus' lips twisted into an attempted smile. Anyone else might call it a "mockery of a smile" but Harry knew that it was sincere. "Run along now. I believe I saw Professor Riddle out on the Quidditch pitch."
"I don't even know if I want to see that git," Ron muttered. "He ran off and left us in the middle of a batch."
"Oh, I think he'll make it worth your time, Mister Weasley," Severus said, sweeping into his office and shutting the door behind him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
The students trudged out onto the Quidditch pitch -- robes damp, faces sweaty. Ron was the first one to see exactly what Professor Snape was talking about. Out on the Quidditch pitch were enough magical sweets to feed a small village. Boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, buckets of Fizzing Whizbees and Pepper Imps, containers of Acid Pops (although Ron would make it a point to stay away from those -- bad memories and the lot), Licorice Wands and Sugar Quills, a barrel of Chocolate Frogs and, oh!, chocolate! Slabs and slabs of chocolate! More candy than any child could eat on a stormy April afternoon. And it was all there -- spread out before them in an astronomical feast.
Tom Riddle staggered out from the broomshed -- his arms wrapped around a gigantic vat of treacle fudge.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Tom exclaimed, struggling under the weight of the container. "Would you mind giving a hand?" No response. Tom sighed and began the trek across the Quidditch Pitch. Immediately, a swarm of children ran over to assist him. After a buzz of "thank you"s, the treacle fudge was taken up and deposited near the rest of the sweets.
"Where did you get all of this?" Harry asked in a state of awe.
"Stopped by Honeydukes," Tom smiled. "Figured that you all deserved a little something after all your hard work. Now, don't eat all of this at once . . ."
"Is that possible?" Ron asked, boggled by the sheer magnitude of sweets.
"Perhaps," Tom laughed. "Whatever you don't eat today is going to be stored in the pantries. I want to keep some of this for when the war starts -- especially the chocolate." Tom gave a little warning glance to Neville who had already launched into the chocolate. "Harry, could I have a word or two?"
"Sure," Harry shrugged and the two of them started off towards the broomshed together.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later and a word had yet to be spoken.
Harry, always somewhat sentimental in the afterglow, curled up against Tom. "Sex in the broomshed, how romantic."
"Actually, it's quite common," Tom murmured absently, brushing Harry's hair out of his eyes. The boy gave an indignant snort and shoved Tom playfully.
"And how would you know?"
"Joselyn Bisset, my first girlfriend," Tom said nostalgically, looking over towards the racks of brooms. "You see that Tinderblast -- third from the right? That was Joselyn's broom. I was in my fifth year at Hogwarts when I started dating her. I was very . . . confused and had absolutely no idea what I wanted from life. I knew that I wasn't like the other students. At the same time, I wanted to be 'normal.' I was having a difficult time embracing the sheer magnitude of my power. During this little identity crisis, I met Joselyn. She was . . . something else. Ravenclaw, sixth year, Prefect."
"Sounds perfect," Harry grumbled.
"Oh, don't get jealous," Tom laughed. "I was young and impulsive . . . Well, I've always been impulsive . . ." He paused for a moment. "Besides, you were dating Cho Chang. So try and make me feel guilty about my childhood sweetheart."
"Childhood sweetheart?" Harry smirked. "You can be so dated sometimes. What ever happened to Joselyn?"
"She became an Auror."
"How fitting."
"I wonder if I'm going to see her again," Tom sighed, stroking Harry's shoulder with an uncanny tenderness. "With a war on the horizon . . . She could be one of the Aurors sent to defend Hogwarts. It would be . . . interesting to see her again."
"Whatever you say," Harry sighed, kissing the corner of Tom's mouth. "Just remember that you belong to me now."
"Of course."
They lay together, sprawled out together in the broomshed -- watching the sun disappear behind the branches of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for a new day to come.