Severely Deluded
Scene 2
Charms had been canceled. Professor Flitwick was missing; Madam Pomfrey suspected a case of Vanishing Sickness.
Hermione darted off while Harry and Ron were still milling, with the rest of the Gryffindors, around the note on Flitwick's locked door, and went straight to the library. She collected every book the library owned on Love Potions and set herself to compiling an exhaustive list of their symptoms.
It's merely a matter of scientific observation, Hermione told herself. Match up two columns of facts and bingo, you have your diagnosis.
Insomnia.
Vertigo.
Trembling in the extremities.
Increased body temperature and heart rate.
Feelings of physical attraction (especially if irrational).
Preoccupation with the subject, to the detriment of normal activities.
Just then Hermione thought she heard the voice of the Potions Master and she dropped her quill, unaware of the ink dripping onto the desk. She peered over the railing and was rewarded with the sight of Snape's greasy head passing almost directly below her on the way to Madam Pince's desk. Hermione leaned over as far as she dared but still, unfortunately, could not see the gleaming titles of the six or seven books Snape had banged down on the desk. Nevertheless, she hung over the balcony, heedless of the twenty-foot drop, until Snape had gathered up his books, snarled something at Madam Pince, and made his customary theatrical exit. Hermione, with a sigh, returned to her desk and her list, and reread the last item.
What am I missing? she thought.
Then she realized that she was about to be late.
For class.
With Snape.
For once, Hermione could not remember, and did not care, whether running in the halls was expressly forbidden in Hogwarts, a History (but suspected it was). Luckily, the sight of the Head Girl sprinting down the hall was sufficiently unusual that no one tried to stop her.
"Where have you been?" Ron hissed as she dropped into the chair next to him. "You're all red in the face."
"I ran," Hermione said, settling her hair back onto her shoulders.
Snape made his entrance sans books. He must have left them at his quarters, Hermione thought, and could not suppress a brief fantasy about the contents of the books.
"Instructions are on the board," Snape said, causing a rattle of cauldrons and ingredients. "Carry on."
It was time for phase two. Hermione flattened out a fresh roll of parchment, readied her quill and then turned her attention to her potion. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Neville was also down with Vanishing Sickness and Hermione was the odd one out.
She started a fire under her cauldron and poured in half a bottle of fig juice. Snape was getting closer, pausing occasionally to snipe at other students' potions. Hermione's hands were shaking. She reached for her quill.
"Do you think," Snape said, his hands flat on the table, "you can handle the potion without Mr. Longbottom to help you?"
"Of course I can," Hermione snapped.
"That remains to be seen. Why, Miss Granger, do you think you need a piece of parchment to make it?"
"I'm taking notes, sir."
Snape sneered at the blank parchment.
"I was about to. For Neville, sir."
Snape leaned in and said, "Mr. Longbottom is a lost cause. Surely you can find something more potentially rewarding on which to waste your time."
"Neville isn't that bad, he passed his O.W.L.'s --"
Hermione knew she was doing nothing to improve Snape's opinion of Neville, thanks to the damn potion, which was giving off waves of heat as well as impairing all her higher brain functions.
"Perhaps I was wrong," Snape said, only a little louder than her boiling fig juice. "Perhaps Mr. Longbottom is the object of your misguided affections."
She should have just finished the miserable pumpkin juice. "I am not in love with Neville Longbottom," Hermione hissed.
Snape straightened up. "Then you have better taste than I ever expected."
"And you have no business making unfounded assumptions about my --"
"You didn't have to ask my advice," Snape said, looking triumphant. "You could have gone digging in those musty old books you seem to find so appealing, instead."
I suppose you find them useless, she was about to say when Snape turned to go and added, "But this way might be more entertaining."
The moment he was well away Hermione began scribbling.
Nearly passed out – very unusual for the dungeons to be so warm.
Trembling in the extremities.
Pulse approximately double resting rate.
Normal self-possession severely reduced – check properties of boiling fig juice.
"What was that all about?" Ron said.
"What?"
"What d'you think? Snape."
"Wanted to know what the parchment was for."
"Well, what is it for?"
Hermione stopped writing and glared at Ron.
"Sorry," he said. "By the way, are you planning on making the potion anytime soon?"
"Oh no." The scene with Snape had completely distracted her from the potion. At least it seemed to have had a similar effect on Snape.
Cannot concentrate on potion.
Mind wanders in alarming directions when otherwise unoccupied – best not discussed.
Even Ron noticed something was going on.
Temperature of dungeons still far above normal.
Lowest grade in Potions yet – will fail if this keeps up.
"Give my regards to Mr. Longbottom," Snape said as Hermione stuffed her parchment into her bag. "Perhaps he'll turn up before next lesson, and you can concentrate on your classwork instead of your raging hormones."
"You mean my Love Potion," Hermione said, glaring at him.
"Think what you like," Snape said. "But let me tell you this: if your symptoms persist after two weeks, either you are in love or you were dosed by a Master of Potions."
"You wouldn't have."
"No," Snape said. "But I might have, if I'd known the results would be this amusing."
Unable to think of anything sufficiently horrible to say, Hermione snapped her bag shut and stalked out of the room. New possibilities of humiliation during the next two weeks were opening up before her eyes.
At least she had been able to record, in a scientific and detached manner, her symptoms, all of which indicated the presence of a Love Potion. Now all that remained was to brew the antidote and she would be free of her chemical bondage forever.