Chapter Five: The Potions Master
Friday mornings laid claim to double potions. This took place in the dungeons, in the classroom that was adjacent to Snape's office. It was a cool room, with jars of pickled creatures lining the walls. Hecate chose a seat in the shadows at the back of the room. It soon became evident that this class was shared with the Gryffindors, as a chattering group settled at the table in front of her and she noticed among them Harry Potter and the fluffy-haired girl from the train. The Slytherins occupied the other side of the room, and no one joined Hecate at the back. The room silenced as the black-robed potions master swept in, surveying the room with a scowl before lifting the register from his desk. He read quickly down the list, raising an eyebrow at Hecate when he spotted her in the back, not pausing until he came to Harry Potter. He sneered at the boy, and said softly "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity," Draco and his gang sniggered as Snape went through the rest of the list.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," his voice was low and enthralling - Hecate hung on every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron and its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Hecate rolled her eyes at the obviously-excited Gryffindor girl in front of her. There were many ways of proving that one wasn't a dunderhead, and sitting on the edge of the seat looking eager to show off wasn't one of them. "Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hecate doodled in the corner of her exercise book, a smoking flask labelled with the words Draught of the Living Death. In front of her, the Gryffindor girl waved her arms in the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Sneering, Snape turned on the boy. "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything. Lets try again. Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Hecate was getting irritated by the other girl's enthusiasm now. Her next doodle was a goat, an arrow labelled 'bezoar' pointing to a black mark on the stomach. Again, Potter replied "I don't know, sir." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" There was a slight pause. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" By now, Hecate was sure that the girl would wet herself from excitement as she bounced off the edge of her seat and stood, stretching for the ceiling. In the margin, a third doodle appeared, containing the word NONE. "I don't know, " Harry Potter almost whispered. " I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
As Snape gave the answers (exactly what Hecate had thought) and ordered them to write them down (Hecate thought her doodles were adequate) she wondered why her head of house had it in for Harry Potter. She also marvelled that this was the same man that had told her he would be there for her if she needed it. A third idea drifted into her head, and she began to pen a letter to her grandfather.
In the rest of that lesson, they were set to mix a simple potion to cure boils. He made them partner up (though the odd number allowed Hecate to remain alone. As he walked past her, he muttered "What did I say about friends, miss Aiwe?" She shrugged and he turned to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was just stewing his slugs. Suddenly, acid green smoke filled the air and Snape turned sharply around. Neville, who had obviously gotten his wish and become a Gryffindor, was standing beside a mangled cauldron, covered in boils. Snape then rounded on Harry again, as Neville was led off to the hospital wing.
By the end of the lesson, almost everyone had brewed the potion to an adequate standard. Hermione had preceded to look gloatingly at her housemates when her potion was finished flawlessly. Had she turned around, she would have noticed that Hecate's potion was already brewed, bottled and packed away by this point, which had earned the raven-haired girl a rare smile from her head of house. As she prepared to leave the classroom, Hecate was stopped by Snape. "I meant what I said about friends, miss Aiwe." The girl's eyes blazed as she turned on her professor. "With who, Malfoy? He's got the whole house against me." "That would have nothing to do with Old Norse curses, would it?" The older man asked, the faintest twinkle in his eye. Hecate had the good grace to blush at the comment, muttering "he deserved it." "I thought so. Please refrain from scaring your dorm-mates or I will have to dock points." "Yes, sir."
Before she went to lunch, Hecate finished the letter to her mother's father and went to the Owlery, picking up a school owl and tying the parchment to it. The letter read:
Dearest Grandpa, I have missed you. If I have judged correctly, you will understand, since I recently received a most unusual letter, and realised something that happened a long time ago was not a mistake. Do you have any
explanation for this?
Love your favourite granddaughter, Hex xxx
Looking at the name that she had signed, she rolled her eyes. "And I don't know any. that shall have to be rectified."
There was no time for daydreams in Transfiguration that afternoon, but her last period was with Quirrel, the stuttering, turban-clad idiot who would jump at his own shadow (her first thoughts on meeting him were: He's hiding something.) and so she began her plan her weekend. As soon as the bell went, Hecate ran towards the library.
Saturday morning dawned fresh and bright, and taking advantage of the fact that none of her housemates would be up for at least two hours (and many would not appear until nearly lunchtime) Hecate went, still in her nightie, down to the common room and claimed her usual corner, which Malfoy had lovingly started calling 'the nest' since the nickname he derived after Herbology had stuck. The night before, she had ensured that all her homework was complete, as well as the 'revision essay' she had set herself after potions concluding that the work Snape had set was far too easy (potions being her favourite and best subject), so as to leave the whole weekend free to work on her 'plan'. Thus, she settled in her chair, legs crossed beneath her, and spread her Standard Book of Spells on the table in front of her. Also on the table were her wand and an Eagle-feather quill. "Sod getting ahead." and she picked up her wand, pointing it at the quill. After several careful practices of the 'swish and flick' motion, she finally spoke the incantation. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Slowly the feather rose off the desk. By the time people had started moving about in the dormitories, Hecate had mastered the basics of the spell, and retired once more to her room. Noting the open hangings on her roommates' beds, she quickly dressed and left the dungeons - she did not want her housemates to know what she was doing. By lunchtime, Hecate could levitate almost any item in the empty charms classroom that she was taking shelter in. When she went to bed on Sunday, she had moved on to a slower imitation of the demonstration that Professor Flitwick had given in their first lesson.*
Over the next week, lessons continued as before. She continued to impress all her teachers (including Snape), and handed in all homework perfect and on time. She rarely got less than 100% in anything. After classes, she did homework, self-set revision essays and worked through the simple charms, perfecting each one and not moving on until the relevant motions and incantations were second nature. Hecate spent every hour from dawn until she was forced into bed late in the evening writing essays, translating runes or working on her plan. The only times she stopped was for meals, which she frequently skipped, and even when she did show there was usually a large book propped up in front of her plate. But at least, for a time, she forgot.
By Thursday afternoon, her work-till-you-drop lifestyle was beginning to show. Her long, usually sleek and shining, raven hair had become lank and greasy; her dark eyes seemed to have sunk into her face beneath the grey- blue bags and her previously clear, white skin was pasty and sallow. Her first flying lesson was the first time she had been outside (barring the short walk to and from Herbology) since the first of September.
Malfoy was quick to notice when her broom didn't respond to her the first time she said "up", and he turned to her, smirking. His own had, reluctantly, jolted into his hand with little hesitation. Talking to Crabbe and Goyle, who were obediently flanking him, and making sure that Hecate heard though Madame Hooch did not, he said "Oh dear! Can't the birdie fly?" His tone was so sickly and full of fake pity that Hecate had to restrain herself from hitting him. Instead, she gave him a glare that would have made him shake in his boots (had he been looking at her) and muttered many things to herself, including, on several occasions, the word donkey.
Across the lawn, Neville Longbottom saw the glare that Hecate gave Malfoy and quivered, dropping the remembrall. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite remember. He was still trying to place it when Madame Hooch told them all to mount their brooms. He was preparing himself to kick off when his eyes became wide with realisation. Before he realised what he was doing, his feet had hit the ground and he was soaring upwards, towards the castle.
Madam Hooch shouted something, but Neville couldn't hear the words - he was too high up. He tried to look down at the rapidly shrinking class and with a gasp he felt his grip on the broom lessen and found himself hurtling towards the ground. As he landed, there was a nasty *crack* and an incredible pain blossomed in his wrist, spreading outwards into his hand and arm. Madame Hooch was bending over him, face white and worried, surveying the damage.
"Broken wrist. come on, boy - it's all right, up you get." She turned to the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of here before you can say 'Quidditch'." She turned back to Neville. "Come on, dear."
Malfoy and the other Slytherins began picking fun at the incident as soon as Madam Hooch was out of earshot. Pansy snapped "Shut up, Malfoy" but Hecate decided, from the pallor of her dorm-mate, that it was more because she was squeamish over the injury than any pity she felt for Neville. Suddenly, Malfoy bent down and retrieved a shiny, glass ball from the ground. As he held it to the light, Harry Potter stepped forward. "Give it here, Malfoy."
All chatter ceased. Everyone was watching the confrontation. Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect - how about - up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry yelled. Malfoy quickly mounted his broomstick and kicked off. Looking determined, Potter grabbed his own broom. The fluffy- haired Gryffindor - Hermione - yelled after him: "No! Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll got us all into trouble."
Hecate watched as Harry chased Malfoy into the air, before executing a perfect dive, catching the small ball before toppling onto the grass with a slight *thud* ball in hand.
There was a shout from towards the castle and Professor McGonagall came running towards the class. After stuttering in shock for a few moments, she led Potter back towards the castle.
Malfoy was too busy gloating about getting Harry into trouble to bother any more with Hecate.
*************************End of Chapter Five*******************************
A/N: Hope you like it ( I think it is obvious that I snitched a lot of this chapter from JK, and if you can't spot the bits that I did then you have to re-read PS/SS.
Please someone review me! I'm feeling exceptionally unloved at the moment, and I really would appreciate someone telling me how good/bad/boring/stupid etc. this is.
Also, I am looking for someone to beta me - if anyone wants to volunteer, email me. Thanks,
Hex. * making things whiz round the room - in her first lesson, this was Malfoy's hat.
Friday mornings laid claim to double potions. This took place in the dungeons, in the classroom that was adjacent to Snape's office. It was a cool room, with jars of pickled creatures lining the walls. Hecate chose a seat in the shadows at the back of the room. It soon became evident that this class was shared with the Gryffindors, as a chattering group settled at the table in front of her and she noticed among them Harry Potter and the fluffy-haired girl from the train. The Slytherins occupied the other side of the room, and no one joined Hecate at the back. The room silenced as the black-robed potions master swept in, surveying the room with a scowl before lifting the register from his desk. He read quickly down the list, raising an eyebrow at Hecate when he spotted her in the back, not pausing until he came to Harry Potter. He sneered at the boy, and said softly "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity," Draco and his gang sniggered as Snape went through the rest of the list.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," his voice was low and enthralling - Hecate hung on every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron and its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Hecate rolled her eyes at the obviously-excited Gryffindor girl in front of her. There were many ways of proving that one wasn't a dunderhead, and sitting on the edge of the seat looking eager to show off wasn't one of them. "Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hecate doodled in the corner of her exercise book, a smoking flask labelled with the words Draught of the Living Death. In front of her, the Gryffindor girl waved her arms in the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Sneering, Snape turned on the boy. "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything. Lets try again. Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Hecate was getting irritated by the other girl's enthusiasm now. Her next doodle was a goat, an arrow labelled 'bezoar' pointing to a black mark on the stomach. Again, Potter replied "I don't know, sir." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" There was a slight pause. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" By now, Hecate was sure that the girl would wet herself from excitement as she bounced off the edge of her seat and stood, stretching for the ceiling. In the margin, a third doodle appeared, containing the word NONE. "I don't know, " Harry Potter almost whispered. " I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
As Snape gave the answers (exactly what Hecate had thought) and ordered them to write them down (Hecate thought her doodles were adequate) she wondered why her head of house had it in for Harry Potter. She also marvelled that this was the same man that had told her he would be there for her if she needed it. A third idea drifted into her head, and she began to pen a letter to her grandfather.
In the rest of that lesson, they were set to mix a simple potion to cure boils. He made them partner up (though the odd number allowed Hecate to remain alone. As he walked past her, he muttered "What did I say about friends, miss Aiwe?" She shrugged and he turned to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was just stewing his slugs. Suddenly, acid green smoke filled the air and Snape turned sharply around. Neville, who had obviously gotten his wish and become a Gryffindor, was standing beside a mangled cauldron, covered in boils. Snape then rounded on Harry again, as Neville was led off to the hospital wing.
By the end of the lesson, almost everyone had brewed the potion to an adequate standard. Hermione had preceded to look gloatingly at her housemates when her potion was finished flawlessly. Had she turned around, she would have noticed that Hecate's potion was already brewed, bottled and packed away by this point, which had earned the raven-haired girl a rare smile from her head of house. As she prepared to leave the classroom, Hecate was stopped by Snape. "I meant what I said about friends, miss Aiwe." The girl's eyes blazed as she turned on her professor. "With who, Malfoy? He's got the whole house against me." "That would have nothing to do with Old Norse curses, would it?" The older man asked, the faintest twinkle in his eye. Hecate had the good grace to blush at the comment, muttering "he deserved it." "I thought so. Please refrain from scaring your dorm-mates or I will have to dock points." "Yes, sir."
Before she went to lunch, Hecate finished the letter to her mother's father and went to the Owlery, picking up a school owl and tying the parchment to it. The letter read:
Dearest Grandpa, I have missed you. If I have judged correctly, you will understand, since I recently received a most unusual letter, and realised something that happened a long time ago was not a mistake. Do you have any
explanation for this?
Love your favourite granddaughter, Hex xxx
Looking at the name that she had signed, she rolled her eyes. "And I don't know any. that shall have to be rectified."
There was no time for daydreams in Transfiguration that afternoon, but her last period was with Quirrel, the stuttering, turban-clad idiot who would jump at his own shadow (her first thoughts on meeting him were: He's hiding something.) and so she began her plan her weekend. As soon as the bell went, Hecate ran towards the library.
Saturday morning dawned fresh and bright, and taking advantage of the fact that none of her housemates would be up for at least two hours (and many would not appear until nearly lunchtime) Hecate went, still in her nightie, down to the common room and claimed her usual corner, which Malfoy had lovingly started calling 'the nest' since the nickname he derived after Herbology had stuck. The night before, she had ensured that all her homework was complete, as well as the 'revision essay' she had set herself after potions concluding that the work Snape had set was far too easy (potions being her favourite and best subject), so as to leave the whole weekend free to work on her 'plan'. Thus, she settled in her chair, legs crossed beneath her, and spread her Standard Book of Spells on the table in front of her. Also on the table were her wand and an Eagle-feather quill. "Sod getting ahead." and she picked up her wand, pointing it at the quill. After several careful practices of the 'swish and flick' motion, she finally spoke the incantation. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Slowly the feather rose off the desk. By the time people had started moving about in the dormitories, Hecate had mastered the basics of the spell, and retired once more to her room. Noting the open hangings on her roommates' beds, she quickly dressed and left the dungeons - she did not want her housemates to know what she was doing. By lunchtime, Hecate could levitate almost any item in the empty charms classroom that she was taking shelter in. When she went to bed on Sunday, she had moved on to a slower imitation of the demonstration that Professor Flitwick had given in their first lesson.*
Over the next week, lessons continued as before. She continued to impress all her teachers (including Snape), and handed in all homework perfect and on time. She rarely got less than 100% in anything. After classes, she did homework, self-set revision essays and worked through the simple charms, perfecting each one and not moving on until the relevant motions and incantations were second nature. Hecate spent every hour from dawn until she was forced into bed late in the evening writing essays, translating runes or working on her plan. The only times she stopped was for meals, which she frequently skipped, and even when she did show there was usually a large book propped up in front of her plate. But at least, for a time, she forgot.
By Thursday afternoon, her work-till-you-drop lifestyle was beginning to show. Her long, usually sleek and shining, raven hair had become lank and greasy; her dark eyes seemed to have sunk into her face beneath the grey- blue bags and her previously clear, white skin was pasty and sallow. Her first flying lesson was the first time she had been outside (barring the short walk to and from Herbology) since the first of September.
Malfoy was quick to notice when her broom didn't respond to her the first time she said "up", and he turned to her, smirking. His own had, reluctantly, jolted into his hand with little hesitation. Talking to Crabbe and Goyle, who were obediently flanking him, and making sure that Hecate heard though Madame Hooch did not, he said "Oh dear! Can't the birdie fly?" His tone was so sickly and full of fake pity that Hecate had to restrain herself from hitting him. Instead, she gave him a glare that would have made him shake in his boots (had he been looking at her) and muttered many things to herself, including, on several occasions, the word donkey.
Across the lawn, Neville Longbottom saw the glare that Hecate gave Malfoy and quivered, dropping the remembrall. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite remember. He was still trying to place it when Madame Hooch told them all to mount their brooms. He was preparing himself to kick off when his eyes became wide with realisation. Before he realised what he was doing, his feet had hit the ground and he was soaring upwards, towards the castle.
Madam Hooch shouted something, but Neville couldn't hear the words - he was too high up. He tried to look down at the rapidly shrinking class and with a gasp he felt his grip on the broom lessen and found himself hurtling towards the ground. As he landed, there was a nasty *crack* and an incredible pain blossomed in his wrist, spreading outwards into his hand and arm. Madame Hooch was bending over him, face white and worried, surveying the damage.
"Broken wrist. come on, boy - it's all right, up you get." She turned to the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of here before you can say 'Quidditch'." She turned back to Neville. "Come on, dear."
Malfoy and the other Slytherins began picking fun at the incident as soon as Madam Hooch was out of earshot. Pansy snapped "Shut up, Malfoy" but Hecate decided, from the pallor of her dorm-mate, that it was more because she was squeamish over the injury than any pity she felt for Neville. Suddenly, Malfoy bent down and retrieved a shiny, glass ball from the ground. As he held it to the light, Harry Potter stepped forward. "Give it here, Malfoy."
All chatter ceased. Everyone was watching the confrontation. Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect - how about - up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry yelled. Malfoy quickly mounted his broomstick and kicked off. Looking determined, Potter grabbed his own broom. The fluffy- haired Gryffindor - Hermione - yelled after him: "No! Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll got us all into trouble."
Hecate watched as Harry chased Malfoy into the air, before executing a perfect dive, catching the small ball before toppling onto the grass with a slight *thud* ball in hand.
There was a shout from towards the castle and Professor McGonagall came running towards the class. After stuttering in shock for a few moments, she led Potter back towards the castle.
Malfoy was too busy gloating about getting Harry into trouble to bother any more with Hecate.
*************************End of Chapter Five*******************************
A/N: Hope you like it ( I think it is obvious that I snitched a lot of this chapter from JK, and if you can't spot the bits that I did then you have to re-read PS/SS.
Please someone review me! I'm feeling exceptionally unloved at the moment, and I really would appreciate someone telling me how good/bad/boring/stupid etc. this is.
Also, I am looking for someone to beta me - if anyone wants to volunteer, email me. Thanks,
Hex. * making things whiz round the room - in her first lesson, this was Malfoy's hat.