I decided to be nice. Here's the eighth chapter, too. I so excited about The Guiding! Ever notice that nobody gets along with Snape???

Quote of the Update: "Morning is almost here. Don't you want your friends to see it?" –Eriol, MotC, Vol 5

Disclaimer: Don't own. Do care.

Jaded Angels and Silken Blossoms

Chapter 8: Potions

***

            When we woke up the next morning, Hermione and I exchanged a glance and smiled. The night had been productive.

            "That was fun," I said.

            "It sure was."

***

            The only class remaining that week was Potions, and it was the only new class we would take. Well, besides the three flying lessons we'd have with Madam Hooch starting next week, but they didn't really count for much. You weren't exactly graded on how well you flew in three days.

            Owls flew into the room that Friday morning, and Sakura was in the lead. She dropped three envelopes on the table, two addressed to me and one addressed to Hermione.

            "My parents are very pleased," Hermione smiled. "They said they're glad I made a friend."

            "Mine, too," I smiled. "And David. He said to tell you you're cute. Sakura, I'll let you rest for a little while, all right? You go get some rest, I'll see you on Sunday."

            Sakura hooted and flew away.

            "It's like the two of you were made for each other," Hermione said. "Your eyes are so much alike."
            "I know, isn't it a bit strange, though?"

            "I don't think so."

            "If you say so," I sighed. "Let's get to the dungeons. This is not going to be pretty. I've heard Snape favors his own House."

            "Me, too," Hermione sighed. "Let's go."

            Hermione and I arrived in the dungeons and were greeted by a vast empty classroom. Snape was nowhere in sight, and there weren't any other students early to this class.

            We waited the fifteen minutes till class was to start, and students began to show up. Noticeably avoiding us were Harry and Ron, but in addition to them was my dear cousin and his little friends. The combination between being ignored and the heated atmosphere of the cruel dungeon was enough to make anyone feel depressed.

            And then he came in.

            Snape was a slimy man before I ever even saw him. The instant he crashed into the dungeon and slammed the door, I got a sinking feeling that I would regret coming here at all. When I saw him, my fears were realized. Snape was a man of extremes. His hair was extremely greasy and long, his nose was nearly as much, his face was extremely pale, and he was cloaked in black robes that nearly smothered him. His voice was a whispered howl, quiet to the ear, but loud in the resounding dungeon in which he held his classes.

            Snape took roll, just as Flitwick had, and just as Flitwick had, he paused at my name. Unlike Flitwick, he did not smile. Also unlike Flitwick, he did not welcome me. On the contrary, he was moody about it.

            "Angel Indigo. The American," he said, his voice silky and far from sweet. He walked over and leaned on my desk, staring me straight in the eyes. My face heated up and I leaned away from him as much as I could. His eyes were the darkest pits of brownish murk I'd ever seen. Snape had seen much; perhaps too much. "I will do my best…to make sure…that you fail."

            Fail? Why would he want me to fail?

            "I won't," I said, my voice stubborn. "I will be the best Griffindor First Year in Potions this year. You kin bet y'ur bottom dolla' on it, sah." My Southern accent had taken over, and that meant only one thing. It meant that I was very angry.

            "We'll see."

            He drew back, like a retreating soldier on a war-torn battlefield. He would be back, but I can tell you that he would not win the war. Snape straightened out his list of names and continued down the list. He reached Harry's name and also stopped.

            "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity. We've a team, ladies and gentlemen." The Slytherins all laughed. Draco laughed the loudest of them all.

            "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is Potion-making," said Snape. "As there is little foolish wand-waving, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep in human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—if you aren't as much a group of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

            This man really had a way with words. He'd just brought up everyone's hopes and then dashed them to pieces with a tad of pure poetry. Too bad he was a jerk.

            "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" he asked the question so rapidly, I wasn't sure I'd caught the question myself. Hermione's hand shot into the air, however. She clearly knew the answer.

            "I don't know, sir," Harry answered.

            "Tut, tut, clearly…fame isn't everything," said Snape. Then he rounded on me. "Indigo! A question from our lesson today, I might add. If I was making a cure for boils, when should I add the porcupine quills? Before or after I took the cauldron from the fire?"

            "After," I said, with confidence. Any idiot would know that! It was a simple cooking rule that you don't add ingredients over a true flame.

            "Very good," he slithered like a serpent. "But another question. What's the difference between monkswood and wolfsbane?"

            I knew what wolfsbane was, but what was monkswood? Monkswood, monkswood, monkswood. Oh…great. "I'm not sure what monkswood is, sir."

            "You know wolfsbane, then?" he smirked. He was trying to catch me in a lie!

            "Yes, sir," I said. "It's a plant used to keep werewolves under control. It's also called aconite and something else."

            "That 'something else' is monkswood," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Clearly, you didn't read as well as you thought you had. Potter, another for you. Where would I look for a bezoar?"

            I knew that one! But I decided to let Harry have it, if he knew. After all, it was he who had been asked the question. Hermione was jumping out of her seat trying to answer.

            "I don't know, sir," Harry said, looking red in the face. "I think Hermione knows, why don't you ask her?"

            "Sit down, you silly girl," Snape snapped at Hermione. She did, looking taken aback. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it's known as the Drought of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat and can save you from most poisons. Well?! Why aren't you all writing that down?"

            While I had already been taking notes on his words, because I was used to taking notes anyway, most of the class scrambled to get parchment, quills, and ink out to write it down before they forgot. That did not include my dear cousin.

            As Snape had promised, we were making a potion to cure boils today. He paired us all off and most were doing poorly. Hermione and I were trying to follow the directions correctly, even while Draco and Crabbe were jeering at us. Goyle had been paired up unhappily with Neville, and I saw the results very quickly. An explosion rocked the dungeon and Neville and Goyle were covered in warts.

            "You put the porcupine quills in while it was on the fire," Snape said coldly. "Get up to the hospital wing, both of you. Detention tonight at six o'clock. You'll be making up for the mess you created here. Ten points from Griffindor."

            He said nothing about Slytherin.

***

            Two weeks into the semester on a Thursday was to be our flying lessons, with the Slytherins. Throughout that time, Harry and Ron seemed to totally ignore Hermione and I. Neville wasn't quite as adamant about eating exactly like me anymore, but he still woke up early with us. This morning, everyone seemed to be early. When the owls flew in, Neville got a package from his gran.

            "A Remembral," I said, smiling. "Cool."

            "Yeah," he said, grinning. "It'll help me a lot, I'm always forgetting things. Oh, no…" The Remembral had suddenly turned red, which meant Neville had forgotten something already.

            "Well, look here, fellas," Draco said, taking the globe from Neville's hands.

            "Give it back, Malfoy," Harry said, standing up.

            "Or what?"

            "Is something wrong here?" asked Professor McGonagall.

            "Malfoy's got my Remembral, Professor," Neville said.

            "Just looking," Draco said and gave it back. He walked away in disgust. Sakura flew into the building in a hurry and nearly hit Professor McGonagall.

            "I'm sorry, Professor, she's just a little—"           
            "Not to worry, I had to train up my Snowy the same way," she said and walked off. Tied to Sakura's leg were a package and an envelope.

            Dear Angel,

            Just thought you'd like some treats for you and Hermione and anyone else you wanna share it with. I know you don't get to have a lot of soda or candy, so I sent some. There's also a special surprise!

                                                            Love, David

            I opened the package to find a bunch of Muggle candy and two cans of Pepsi. There was also a notebook of some sort, reminding me of a photo album. It read "Angel's Scrapbook" on the front. Inside were some pictures David had taken of me and him and our parents before I'd left. But they were moving like the portraits in the school!

            A small note fell out of the album.

            I found a store in the Kansas Magical Shopping Center just for Muggles with wizard family. Mom bought a photo solution that you can use yourself to make pictures move. Cool, huh? Now you can fill up your album with all your drawings and stuff. When you get done with your first year, send it back. That way, I get to find out what happened all year long!

            "Aw, what a sweetie!" I smiled. "Hey, Hermione, want some candy?"    

***

            Three-thirty came and we all marched out onto the field. Madam Hooch was waiting for us. The Slytherins outnumbered us twelve to nine. As I was already well versed in broomstick handling, I was ready and waiting patiently for the commands. Hermione looked like she was on the edge of her life and Neville looked even worse. I was prepared to fly after them if anything happened. Several of the Slytherins also looked the same way.

            "Well, what is everyone waiting for? Step up to your wand hand's side of your broom and stick your wand hand over your broomstick like so," said she. Her short gray and wild yellow eyes watched us all like a hawk. It was quite obvious she'd had years of training to be the school broom teacher and Quidditch coach and referee.

            "Say 'UP'. With feeling!"    

            The moment I said "UP!" the broom flew gently into my hand. Hermione looked nervously at her broom, which had barely rolled over. Neville was worse off, his hadn't moved at all. Harry was the only other Griffindor to have the broom in his hand the first time. The Slytherins had one, another girl whose name I did not know. Draco's had also rolled over.

            Then she showed us how to mount the brooms. I was delighted to find that I had it right and Draco had been doing it wrong for years. I wonder what would have happened if we had the right kind of crosswind…

            "Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, hard. Rise a few feet, then lower down gently by leaning forward. On my command. One…two…"

            Neville, probably so nervous that he couldn't hear or see straight, rose off the ground before the whistle. He started whimpering the moment he left the ground and didn't stop rising.

            "Boy, get down here!" commanded Madam Hooch.

            "He ain't comin' down," I said, my Southern accent creeping again. "Not 'less you go up an' git 'im." Neville's broom rose faster, and since Madam Hooch had no broom of her own, I made quick action.

            "Hang on!" I shouted and kicked off the ground, too.

            "Girl! Girl, we don't need two up there, get back here."

            "Back in a jiff," I smiled and raced after him. The broom I was on was leaned slightly to the left and I took advantage of that and dove to the right just a little. I grabbed Neville's broom handle in my hand and stopped it short.

            "Kid, ya really got to learn," I said, shaking my head. "Come on, down we go."

            "I'm scared," Neville whimpered. He wasn't as fat as he had been at the start of school, but his chubbiness hadn't gone away yet.

            "I know, so was I the first time," I said. "Now just carefully put the nose down. Force yourself to think. You ain't stupid like Draco, you're smarter than you think." He nodded and took a deep breath. "Grip the handle. You're in charge. This is your story to write, and your gonna write."

            "You'll help me, right?" Neville asked.

            "Of course. Come on. Slow as she goes," I said. "See? Nothing to it. Now bring it down. Slowly…good!" Neville coasted down to a stop about two feet from the ground in front of the nineteen others. The Griffindors cheered us both.

            "Well done, Ms. Indigo, well done," said Madam Hooch. "Your judgment was right on, this time." I laughed and shrugged.

            "I just remembered how scary it was to fly for the first time, is all," I said. "Empathy is a good thing to have. Right, Neville?"

            He grinned.

            "Now, let's continue, shall we?"

***

            At supper that night, Professor McGonagall walked past the table and dropped a quick note on my plate. She also dropped one in Harry's plate. When I opened the note, exchanging a quick glance with Hermione, I gave a double take.

            Meet Wood and I in my classroom. I have a proposition.—Professor McGonagall.

            Who on Earth was Wood? Why meet her in her classroom?

            "I've gotta go, Hermione," I said. "Professor McGonagall wants to see me. I'll see you upstairs for our homework session."

            "Okay, see you."

            "See ya."

            Taking one last swig of pumpkin juice (which I'd taken to liking a great deal), I headed out into the hall. Harry was also walking there. For a moment, I thought it was coincidence, but when he started heading for Professor McGonagall's classroom, too, I grew suspicious.

            "Did you get a note from McGonagall, too?" I asked.

            "Yeah. No explanation. You, too?"

            "Yup. I wonder who Wood is?"

            "No clue. You were spectacular, by the way."

            "It's no big deal," I shrugged. "Me and Neville have a little in common, so I knew something like that was going to happen."

            "Huh? How could you and Neville have a lot in common?"

            "You didn't listen too well when I was giving my little health lesson, did you?" I asked, chuckling. "I used to be bigger then he is, kid."

            "Kid?"

            I shook my head roughly. "Sorry, you remind me of someone I used to nickname that. Sorry."

            "Who?"

            "My little brother," I grimaced. "He's a lot like you, only two years younger. Of course, he doesn't quite have your aura."

            "Aura?"

            "You're really one for one-word questions, ain't ya," I grinned. His face tinged slightly pink, but he didn't say anything else. "I'm actually kind of surprised that you weren't chosen to be in the Eastern Magic course. Eriol must have seen that you had something special like the six of us."

            "Something special?" Harry repeated.

            "I'll explain later," I said. We had arrived at McGonagall's classroom.

            "There you two are, come in," said McGonagall as we walked into the classroom. With her was a burly fifth-year student with tousled brown hair. He was really cute, but only in looks. He seemed a bit obsessive even before he was introduced. "This is Oliver Wood, the Griffindor House Captain."

            And?

            "Unfortunately, our Quidditch team hasn't been quite up to speed these past seven years," said McGonagall. "I pleaded with Professor Dumbledore to scope out the first years this year for students who were willing and able to play on this year's team."

            "You mean, he gave the go-ahead on revoking the first year broom rule?" I asked, my mouth gaping. Just how lenient were the rules at this school? It was a small rule, yes, but still.

            "Yes, he did, Ms. Indigo," said McGonagall. "I watched your performance yesterday. Splendid, both of you."
            "But Professor, I didn't do anything," Harry said.

            "You were on your broom, ready to assist Indigo and Longbottom if the need were there," McGonagall said. "And I'm quite sure that the two of you will make excellent Quidditch players."

            "Quite right, Professor," said Wood. "Potter's built just like a Seeker. Lean and light…and Indigo would make a good Chaser, or even a Keeper if I were knocked out of commission again. They'll need good brooms. A Cleansweep 7 or a Nimbus Two Thousand, I'd say."

            "I've got a Cleansweep 7 already," I said, speaking up. "It's at the Weasleys."

            "How on Earth did it get there?" Wood asked.

            "I flew here," I said, grinning. "All the way from Wichita, Kansas, to the Malfoy mansion, I did."

            "Y-You flew…" McGonagall blinked. "No wonder you're so good. Well, thank you both. Potter, you may go, I want to speak with Indigo a few minutes…Wood, you, too."

            Both boys were gone.

            "There was another reason I chose you for this, Angel," McGonagall said, stacking up some papers. "I really did think your flying to be unique before, but Professor Dumbledore asked me to do something for you. You need to choose out at least one person from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin for your expedition in Japan."

            "I know, he explained it to me," I said. "I've already been considering the Hufflepuff representative in Heather Lionheart or Justin Finch-Fletchley."
            "That's good, because Christmas will be upon you before you know it," Professor McGonagall smiled.

***

Sorry, I've always wanted to fly! I'm a bad Seeker.