Chapter four: Potions and pasts

"The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past."

William Faulkner

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"I wish you would come in with us."

She tilted her head up towards the plea, hand resting as a makeshift visor against the southern sun, "I'm fine here."

"I know you're fine here; I just wish you'd come in with us."

"I have to finish this."

"I know for a fact you've read that one already."

"I've read it. I haven't outlined it yet."

"Why didn't you do that when you read it?"

"I wouldn't have grasped it as a whole then." She responded instantaneously, as if that were the most evident thing in the world, "Besides, it's easier now that I know what he's talking about."

"Whose 'he'?"

"Edwin Gersh. Genius at potions."

"And you have to memorize everything before the term even starts?"

"I need to be prepared." Hermione offhandedly laughed, "Especially in potions."

"And potions would be exactly-?"

"Hermione squinted her eyes in thought, "Sort of like chemistry times ten."

"Ah. This stuff never ceases to boggle my mind." Her father replied with a soft smile at his studious daughter, "and you're sure about the water?"

"Positive."

She watched resignedly as her father turned around and joined her mother in the salty sea water. She looked back down to her loquacious large book, and went back to outlining it, and everything that got in chapter nine's path. She still had one of Snape's essay's left to do. Hermione had told Ron in a letter, that it was because she was dreading it. She glanced conspiratorially at how to use Limeweed to prevent the effects of a stinging curse. She smiled as she reviewed how to prepare it, and the unfortunate disadvantage of only lasing a week. She realized it was the absolute opposite.

She had always liked to save the best for last. That's why History of Magic went first. She grimaced in disgust. 'Why Thyne rebellions will never work out', was a particularly pointless task, she remembered dismally. She could preach all she wanted to her less then studious cohorts about the value of learning one's past; but there were some areas where this certainly didn't apply. Thynes were a near microscopic breed of fairies that were more pompous then twenty centaurs. Apparently, they spent their lives mercilessly mad at the Wizarding population for imploring the term globalization. Yearly it seemed, they staged a revolt to reclaim some land. Shockingly every single one of those times have been remarkably unsuccessful.

She started a new outline for '50 different prevention potions'. She didn't particularly want to use it, but if push came to shove and she somehow found herself running short, she could always add it in the middle as a last resort. She explained to her paper how to cut it; a frustratingly and tedious task of cutting the already narrow beige stalks lengthwise. After cutting the strip into twelve pieces, you were supposed to slowly stir it counterclockwise sixteen times in a solution of boiling Boly brains; a curiously shaped flower that held an odd liquid filled bubble above it's flower, which was regarded as their main functioning system, as each one shrieked upon de-bubbling it, and promptly disincarnated.

She started to try and find out what was significance of each step; something she tried to make sure she knew, so she could understand why to do each step, and therefore not forget a single step. The Boly brains were easy, it was the same base 40 percent of protection potions were. Easily obtainable, cheap, and a natural blocker, it was always an easy choice. She wondered distractedly what the brains would protect against if you just heated them without adding anything. She made a swift scribble at the side of her spiral. The Limeweed is to target the central nervous system, she found out referencing 'Herbs for the everyday potion maker'. The eight lengthwise cuts however, was a bit of a challenge. She tried taking out '300 weird ways witches use weeds'. A few pages into it Dorothy Dunkid delved into it.

"Limeweed has the unique ability to infuse itself within the very nerve endings of ones person," She read out loud to her towel and virgin Shirley Temple, "This property has hundreds of potential uses, particularly in protection potions where the given curse targets the nerve endings. In 1584 Rubes Glitchon experimented with adding it to gorilla's milk, which creates an elasticity to rebound of the nerve, after 2 months of constant observation at a steady temperature. Why he would try that particular combination is still being researched today, as it might prove an insightful look at several compulsive disorders."

Hermione transferred that tidbit tediously into large protection potion outline, making a special column for gorilla's milk. She would research that particular base latter, she concluded hesitantly. She consulted the next paragraph.

"Cutting it lengthwise enables the Limeweed to create a physical barrier separating the nerve from any number of different harmful effects. Cutting it in four strips protects against heat, six cold, eight inflation, ten shrinking, twelve stinging, and fourteen burning."

Hermione filled it all down on her chart, then picked up the original Gersh book again. She happily returned to her reading, jotting down one protection plant here, crossing of another potion there.

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"Why can't I go?" Ron asked again, angry now.

"Whining is not going to work. And you just can't." Affirmed Mrs. Weasley, too distracted with preparing diner to come up with a real excuse to placate him.

"Oh sure, but it was all right for Ginny to go."

"Ginny left when Bill left, which was before I came home. And she returned ages ago, as soon as I got home, because had I been here, she would have never left either."

"But that's not fair! He's my friend!" Ron heedlessly hollered.

"What? And he's not your sisters?"

"That's not what I meant." Ron waved his hand exasperated.

"Really." Mrs. Weasley replied dully.

"I'm his best friend."

"Imagine that." Mrs. Weasley continued to cook, unaffected by her youngest son's outrage.

"It's not fair." Repeated Ron resoundingly.

"You're not going over to that horrible house. Ginny should never had gone, and she very well knows that. Harry is coming over here anyways. You'll see him then."

"Yea, like Dumbledore is going to let that happened." Murmured Ron caustically.

"Professor Dumbledore is going to do whatever can most protect him. There's nothing you can do about that. Why don't you try something productive for a change and start some of your essays."

"That's ages away." Scoffed Ron.

"I bet Hermione has them done."

"I bet Harry doesn't."

"Follow Hermione's role then."

"She doesn't count; she likes doing them." Reasoned Ron, "And I know for a fact she hasn't even started Snape's yet."

"Just think. You could beat her too it."

"Not happening." Assured Ron.

"Pity to think that she'll come over with all her essays done, and you'll have them all to do when you three could be outside with each other." She piped in offhandedly.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught him rolling that around in his mind, and she couldn't help the sideways smile that slid onto her face. Ron left, and Molly felt confidant for one of the first times, that Ron would not only finish all his homework; but finish early.

She turned around as she heard someone apparate in. She glanced over her oldest son's lanky form. "Anything new? Has he budged?"

Bill looked furious. "I don't know what sick game he's playing at. It's obvious that his shoulder was broken at least a week ago, he's severely dehydrated, exhausted, and the areas of skin that you can see that's not covered up with a shirt eight sizes too big for him is spotted with bruises. He's be sending him to his death keeping him there."

Her own growing frustration stopped her from chiding Bill about speaking about his old headmaster that way.

"He's not staying there." She resolute firmly, "This is getting ridiculous. The Dursleys will stay here for all I care, he's not being alone with them again. I'm through with Harry coming back each summer lost of all the strength and happiness he left Hogwarts with."

Bill looked thoughtful for a second. "You know, he may be willing to hear that out. It satisfies the blood relative requirement without condemning him to a different evil."

Bill promptly popped out.

"Yes, all you need now is to get them to agree." She added wearily, then turned to her cooking.

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Stressed, Moira leaned her forehead against her clasped hands; elbows relentlessly resting rigidly against the amber toned table, in complete denial about what the man in front of her was asking. Five fruitful, confidant years were apparently just a ruse. He could tear her hardened, wisdom-saturated mind apart. It figured; he always could.

"Surely the mere thought doesn't create that much physical discomfort." He iterated sarcastically, gracefully taking a delicate sip of his tea after making the toneless observation.

She lifted her head slightly, in amazement. She let her fisted hands fall with a dull thud against the thick oak. "Don't you dare try to take that tone. Demanding-"

"Hardly a demand." He interrupted coldly.

"No, you're exactly right. More of an ultimatum."

"You're being ridiculously American." His face contorted to emulate the abhorrence his voice held as her took another meticulous sip.

"What? For calling the facts as they are?"

His tea slammed to the table in a swift, uncharacteristic outburst. His voice didn't divulge his fury, however. Years of ignorant, pompous, bigheaded brats assured him that much dignity at least.

"For exaggerating a simple request, all the while acting like a spoiled two year old. You're supposed to be, what? Twenty eight?"

"You know how old I am Severus." She snapped flippantly. "You made it quite the point."

"Indeed." He snapped right back conceding, feeling the very age he had just accused her of, "And you can be completely assured, if I had saw this side of you-"

"Rich of you Severus. Aren't you a little old to make empty threats? It's over. For five years. I don't need to hear your sniveling, snide, backhanded, bitter attempts to try and insult me enough to refuse."

"Really Moironna. How are you ever going to convince anyone this is a sane country when you sprout such vivid imaginative paranoia to every old friend offering employment? Obviously I wouldn't be here if my intentions weren't to bring you back with me."

Moira eyed the infuriating man, edging back her growing annoyance. He uttered the pristine sentence intended to chide her effortlessly, and somehow managed to interject the very opposite in every encompassment of his demeanor. What he really said was, of course he was insulting her, and he had absolutely no intension of ever breathing a word to her after today. Moira rolled her eyes. Time certainly didn't change stone.

"That act doesn't hold up for a second. You're here because he told you to be here-- and you fussed, and you grumbled, and scowled. But in the end; he told you to come here, to ask this of me. So here you are. I never would have imagined that the most genius mind turns to lap dog at one man's biding."

She knew what buttons he didn't like pushed, and she effortlessly pushed all of them purposefully. If he was going to play that game he'd better be ready for her to throw fire right back at him. She wasn't the naïve, compliant girl he had encountered just a half a decade back ago. He wasn't allowed to waltz in here for free. She had traveled thousands of kilometers to get away from him. Cost her a big chunk of happiness that she had once taken for granted of, not to mention a whole, disgusting lot amount of chocolate. Cost her a job she had positively adored, around people she had known her whole magical life. Her only aspiration every year in that enchanted school was to stay there for ever. And he had ripped that away from her. It sure as hell was going to cost him a few bitter words.

"I informed you as to why I have come." He ground out, "The headmaster merely agreed upon my suggestion; a suggestion, I'll have you know, which never would have been-"

"You're repeating yourself now. We've already covered this. And nothing on this earth, you lying snake, would make you be here unless the all-knowing headmaster asked you to be here."

"It's a yes or no answer Moironna. There's no need for all this American drama you've seemed to become quite keen upon." He retorted abruptly.

"Yes, go back or have you demonstrate to ten year olds what the dark arts are. Not much of a choice, you must admit, if I had any hope for any of the future generation."

She saw him shiver and a slow smile drew across her features.

"Perhaps I was mistaken. I forgot your hatred of anybody with the last name of Weasley. And to think of him in control of all your precious potions." She drawled mischievously.

"That is quite enough." Suddenly Severus stood up and deposited a few coins reluctantly on the table. "I shall tell the headmaster that the idea was a failure, and to go ahead and send an owl to Mr. Weasley."

Moira laughed, amazed. Just when you thought the ostentatious jerk couldn't get worse. That was really it?

"You fool, sit down. We're not done scrutinizing this. It is so much fun."

"No, we are quite through. I'm not going to sit in somebody's warped attempt of what a proper tea shop should be-"

"The tea's fine Sev." She recklessly laughed.

"And swap words back and forth to see who can add the last syllable. It's ridiculously pointless." He pushed in his chair and she rolled her eyes up waiting for it.

"I'd win." He affirmed haughtily a few moment latter, backing away form the table finally.

"Then of coarse; go right ahead. Bon voyage and best of luck on your trip home, and all that civil stuff exes should be able to civilly say to each other. Though personally, I think Dumbledore will find it particularly strange when he receives your reputable report; then finds me on his doorstep, so to speak, two days latter."

"You're not seriously considering it." He edged out stochastically, managing to fill it with his discomfort and plain despise of the situation.

"Careful. It would almost seem as you don't want me." She advised acerbically.

He scowled in returned, which oddly added a weird normalcy to their interaction. "Well, are you coming or not?" He uttered the words exasperatedly, after a few moments.

"You are the most infuriating man I have ever met. There are things I need to take care of. Tell Dumbledore I accept his generous request, and I'll arrive Monday around noon."

"Splendid." He concluded flagrantly. "Hogwarts will await you're arrival."

She watched him stiffly leave. "Yes, and theirs too." She whispered.

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Special thanks to Crimkid for putting up with me and everyone who wrote in their two cents to the comments page. Makes me feel so loved, and urges me to sneak a spiral into work so I can write more. This chapter was way too long for me to want to upload it all at once (I hate editing) so I split it up. Good news is that the next one's done, and just needs major spell check work, so I'll have it up in a few days. I promise to keep the updates coming!