"Would someone like to tell me the exact reason Malfoy is such a conceited, two-timing load of frog spawn? I mean, really, tell me one perk he has…just one!" Hermione vented, amongst the sumptuous foods that the kindly Hogwarts Elves had produced for the hundreds of students.
"'Ermynee, 'e's a rat," Ron said, muffled through garbled remains of something neither Harry nor Hermione knew its original state.
"'He's a rat'?" Hermione asked, perplexed. There were a lot of words to describe Malfoy, and she knew Ron wasn't the brightest wand in the shop, but 'rat' wasn't an adjective she would have picked.
A few moments later and some impatient finger tapping by Hermione, Ron finally swallowed his massive mouthful of food, taking a huge gulp of pumpkin juice to wash it all down. Hermione watched, disgusted, and feeling like she wanted to throw up right there. "No, Hermione," Ron started to clarify. "I said 'he's a prat,'"
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him—that's not what she'd heard—and then looked at Harry, who, although poorly contained mirth was written all over his face, clearly told her he was thinking along the same train of thought she was. Although, she supposed, they should have gotten used to Ron's antics by now, leastwise of which being his apparent inability to function gracefully when it concerned eating…or proper manners in general, come to think of it.
"Ronald Bilius," Hermione scorned, crossing her arms across her chest. "For Merlin's bloody sake—stop behaving like a two-year-old! It's rude and revolting and you—you—you just might as well be Malfoy for all your politeness!"
Ron spluttered, spitting out the rest of the sip of pumpkin juice he had just taken, looking indignant at her accusation. Harry, also at her statement, had snorted into the bowl of soup he was just about to take a bit of. They both looked at her like she had grown two heads, and though she semi-understood why, she didn't think it put any less truth in what she'd said.
"Beg your pardon?" Harry managed, as Ron seemed incapable to speak at the moment. "Are you feeling all right? I mean, okay, Ron can be rather…obscene…at times—sorry, mate—but Malfoy? Relate him to someone else than our mortal enemy, would you?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "Oh, come on, like I actually would compare your good attributes to a deranged lunatic like Malfoy?" she retorted, and she took it as her turn beckoning to feel a little offended by their supposition that she had judged Ron by, as Harry so delicately put it, their mortal enemy.
Most likely for effect than for anything else, she turned around to where the Slytherin table was placed, nearly all its occupants huddled together in little groups, scheming as far as Hermione could tell. But then again, she was quite biased, so, her rational (and at the time ludicrous) side told her they could have just been talking closely to each other. Nevertheless, even she couldn't deny there seemed only two kinds of people there—the blonde-haired, blue-eyed ones like Malfoy, or the dark-lidded, black-haired people, like Zabini—all looking snobbish, aristocratically arrogant, and self-absorbed. Under her subconscious scrutinizing of the table, her eyes found one specific platinum blonde in particular, and though most of her emotions went towards hatred, one wriggled its way forth, but she couldn't put her finger on it; instead, she did her best to suppress it.
A second later, his silvery eyes found hers, the two people so, so infinitely different—eye color being the least of it—and yet keeping the stare for several moments. Finally, as if something, logical this time, went off inside her, she turned the gaze into a vicious glare, wondering what in the world had come over her. He, seemingly unfazed, responded with his own signature smirk, an action Hermione felt more than once should have been copyrighted for how often he utilized it without shame.
"Git…" Hermione mumbled, turning back to Harry and Ron from Malfoy with impassioned frustration.
"Now there's the Hermione we all know and love," Ron commended, starting to bring his arm up, presumably to put it around her shoulders, but then shrugged it off as to reach for something over Hermione's plate, his ears tingeing red.
Hermione rolled her eyes, although her own face gaining a scarlet hue. "Oh, hush," Hermione said sternly, though it was, admittedly, half-hearted.
She turned back to her own eating, as did Ron and Harry, however, she actually noticed her silverware was beside her plate, unlike apparently Ron, who ate like he'd never been fed in his life. Hermione scoffed again, but ladled herself some soup anyway, hoping the day would get better faster than it had gotten worse already.
"So what do we have first up today?" Harry asked her, a few minutes later, after Professor McGonagall had gone around the Gryffindor table, handing the students their schedules.
"Um…" she started, turning to the parchment in her hand, the writing of which was the strict, neat, carefully scribed penmanship that was a staple of McGonagall; she'd know the writing anywhere. She groaned at seeing her first class. Harry and Ron gave her a questioning look, and she clarified. "Double Potions."
They shot her a poorly attempted look of sympathy, but then Hermione glanced at Ron and Harry's schedules as well, and felt a pang of stupidity. "You have Double Potions, too, you know!" she said viciously and they cringed, but internally she was thinking that of course they had the same class—it was all sixth year Gryffindors with sixth year Slytherins, not just Hermione.
They scowled in grudging acceptance. "Then.." Harry let out another moan, though this time Hermione didn't know why. "Then we've got Trelawney and Herbology with the Ravenclaws."
Hermione gave a grin of gloating. "Well, I have Arithmancy. An actually worthy subject," she said happily.
Ron glowered, blue eyes miserable. "Well, don't get in a rush to feel so empathetic and all…" he mumbled caustically.
"Come on," Harry said quickly, and Hermione inferred he wanted to head off another argument that was bound to ensue between her and Ron. She didn't see why—Ron was the one that always started it… "You know full well Snape will kill us if we're late."
"He wouldn't kill Malfoy," Hermione muttered, walking into step behind Ron and Harry.
Ron slowed. "What is it with you and Malfoy today?" he demanded.
She blushed. Why, she wasn't quite sure. "Nothing," she said evasively. "He's just worthy of all the crap anyone—let alone I—can say about him, isn't he?"
"Yeah, I guess…" Ron continued dubiously. "But still…"
Hermione involuntarily shivered as they descended into the dungeons, Ron and Harry's eyes turning to glimmers in the darkness, their faces appearing eerily shadowed in the spluttering torchlight. Well, you have to hand it to Snape, Hermione thought scathingly. He does have the Dungeon of the Evil Overlord thing down… Their shoes and weight echoed on the stone floors and walls, and they couldn't shake off the reminder that they were going into the Slytherin Common Room, for how much the hallways to the Potions classroom looked like it. Hermione herself hadn't exactly been all the way down there, but Ron and Harry had told her plenty about it after their escapade in their second year, and Hermione could imagine rather well what it was like. Harry opened the heavy door to their Potions class to let Ron and Hermione through, Hermione mumbling thanks and poking Ron for not doing so.
As soon as they walked through, they winced—Snape and all the Slytherins were sneering at them, the Gryffindors' expressions somewhat unreadable, though they glanced nervously at Snape. "Late again, Potter; Weasley; Granger," Snape smirked.
Ignoring Hermione's protests that they should just sit down, Harry retorted. "We're not late!" he exclaimed indignantly.
"Oh, I would have thought you could read a clock by your age, Mr. Potter, but perhaps I was wrong…" Snape said silkily, idly gesturing to the wall-mounted clock, which distinctly indicated 9:01 A.M.
Harry frowned heavily at it, turning to his own wristwatch, which he'd replaced after its uselessness since the water damage of the Second Task in the Triwizard Tournament had rendered it out of commission. Hermione peered over to it and her brows knitted as well. 8:58 A.M.
"But, Professor—" Hermione started, wanting to impress the fact that Snape was blatantly incorrect.
Hermione herself had cast the Charm that calibrated his watch to always be on the exact time it was, no matter what point on the Earth Harry was. Snape's clock was wrong. "Silence, Miss Granger," Snape said icily, smiling a twisted smirk. "So that will be twenty points from Gryffindor, I believe, for your tardiness, and just because, we'll add another fifteen for talking back to a teacher."
This was in no way fair, but Hermione knew all too well how evil Snape was, especially when it came to her, Harry, and Ron. Harry started to object, impassioned, but Hermione covertly cast the Silencio spell on him, and though he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. Ron, either from seeing this and wanting the ability to speak, or realizing that it wasn't worth it to argue with Snape, kept his mouth shut. And so, before Snap could take away any more points for some ludicrous reason, Hermione dragged Harry to a table in the back, where he sat down in resentment, arms crossed over his chest, his body nearly off the chair for sitting down so low. Hermione resisted the urge to snicker at how humorously childish he was being. Snape then started talking, and immediately Harry turned to Hermione, looking livid, but she knew it wasn't necessarily directed at her. He gestured wildly to his mouth.
"Oh, of course," she whispered. "Dissero. Sorry, Harry."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, quietly enough so Snape couldn't overhear, but glad to use his own voice again. "I swear…he's the biggest—the biggest—the most—"
"He's a bloody prat is what he is," Ron finished bluntly, to Harry's fervent nods.
"Shh!" Hermione hissed, waving them off.
The last thing they needed was for Snape to notice them talking and reprimand them more. Hermione instantaneously paid rapt attention to the board, her eyes scanning hurriedly over the potion ingredients, them widening at how difficult the directions looked. She heard Harry and Ron beside her murmured expletives, and if she weren't busy studying the constituents and procedures or it, she would have scolded them. As it was, she left them alone for now, if nothing else than to let them try and concentrate. Most of her doubted that would happen, but she still held the feeble hope that maybe, maybe their potions would resemble an actual, sanctioned concoction, and not something closer to cementing goo.
"Now, who can tell me what this, the Somnium Potion, exactly does to someone?" Snape asked, although it was almost like a demand; a challenge.
But Hermione, per usual, raised her hand, practically ignoring the stupor the class was in, none of them really knowing the answer. Snape looked around the classroom customarily before finally, rudely and reluctantly, he started to no doubt make a snide remark but then call on Hermione anyway. That was before, of course, a second hand rose into the air. There was nearly a collective gasp in the room—no one had ever seen someone interrupt on Hermione's personal glory unless it was a well-known potion, of which no one expected anyone to know besides Hermione herself. Snape smirked at Hermione, who looked over at the offensive interjector, and the color of anger and almost embarrassment rose in her cheeks. Snape cast a diabolical smile at her, then turned to the other answerer. "Mr. Malfoy…" Snape said, voice conspiratorial. "Enlighten us."
Malfoy took a dramatic breath and Hermione snorted at both this and Pansy Parkinson's dreamy sigh. "Well, you see, sir," Malfoy started with embellishment, and Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "The Somnium Potion is designed to give the user a temporary increase in a skill of their nature. That is, they usually cannot control what skill exactly it is; it can be the one they need the most help with, the one they had a use for at the time but wasn't good at whatever it was, or even just a boost in a skill they're already adept at—it all depends on how well the potion is brewed and the user's intent or determination. It's purpose is to help those that need focus on a particular area—" (Here, he sneered at Harry, who narrowed his eyes icily) "—or if they are required to learn a skill they would not have been able to learn very fast or not at all on their own. It is generally discouraged because it's easy to have it be considered illegal in the sense that it gives an unfair advantage over certain people in certain situations; sports matches or competitions, for example, although it is still in use. Side effects are fairly limited; for the most part, just over-confidence, a feat they didn't have intent to perform, though sometimes it can be dangerous if the potion is not made correctly, or if even one ingredient is mistaken or a step is missed—it can even be deadly."
Neville gulped, and Hermione, during Malfoy's relay, was in a mix between unwanted impression and scoffing. Snape smirked again. "Miss Granger, anything you'd like to add?" he asked, knowing completely well there wasn't something to elaborate on.
"No, Professor…" Hermione mumbled finally, gritting her teeth. Ron and Harry looked like they wanted to kill Malfoy, which she appreciated, but she laid a hand on Harry's arm, effectively stopping his grab for his wand again.
"I see. How disappointing," Snape said, and Hermione fumed. "Since you and Mr. Malfoy seem so eager to get started and appear quite confident, you two shall be paired in this class period—with higher expectations, of course. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I only hope you don't blow up the entire school; if you are not seriously injured, we will then have to come up with possible punishments. So do try not to endanger the rest of us."
It was Ron and Harry's turn to seethe, although they were somewhat pleased they hadn't been put with, say, Crabbe and Goyle, who were also third-partnerless since Malfoy was already taken. Still, Harry and Ron cast a look that mixed sympathy and wishing she could help them. Hermione sighed, and moved next to Malfoy, whose table was now unoccupied due to Crabbe and Goyle's switching to another workstation, two very unhappy looking Gryffindors trying not to burst into tears or a tirade. However, they also looked as sullen as Ron and Harry, though, admittedly, Hermione was more worried or Crabbe or Goyle demolishing the school than Harry or Ron, whom she trusted wholeheartedly with her life. Hermione stood as far away as possible from Malfoy, to the point where she was essentially not on the same side as he.
"You know, Granger," he drawled a few minutes later after the potion had started to be brewed, and Hermione snapped her gaze up to meet his stormy eyes, rolling her own. "There's no way we can make this potion if you don't participate."
Hermione glared, picked up a handful of the scarab beetles (now fine powder) she had been crushing violently, threw them into the potion and smirked when there was a small, low-risk explosion, with violet smoke resulting from the catalytic reaction. She looked to their Potions book sarcastically pretending to read it, then looking back up at him, who, to her pleasure, was scowling.
"Oh, that's funny," Hermione said conversationally. "I believe it says, and I quote, 'the liquid should have a shimmered element, its current state simmering with a pomegranate hue'—" (she checked inside the cauldron, which was, obviously, the right red-purple shade and just lightly bubbling) "—'with bright purpose smoke emitting and a quiet bang. Does yours say something different?"
Malfoy didn't respond, which she took as confirmation he grudgingly acknowledged she was fully right. He picked up a small tray of carefully cut roots, whose chopping instructions were detailed quite a lot in Step Three, and, taking his knife, started to scrape them off the cutting board and into the potion. Hermione saw his motions, and grabbed his hand, holding her other one under the cutting board so the roots couldn't fall into the still perfectly bubbling liquid. She tipped the board back towards Malfoy, where the roots fell harmlessly onto the table.
He glared at her for a second, then looked at her hand that was still on his wrist—which she horrifically noticed at the same time—and they both pulled away impossibly quickly. Her hand suddenly became icy from the searing heat it had just experienced, but she shrugged it off.
"What the hell, Hermione?" he hissed, then flinched as he realized his mistake.
"It's Granger to you, you ungrateful maggot," Hermione spat acidly, a small part of her brain wondering what synapse in his head malfunctioned so badly to where he actually called her by her first name. She only hoped it was a one-time occurrence. "And you cannot add roots to the Somnium Potion right after the beetles! You must wait until the simmering and smoke has stopped completely and you've swirled it fifty times clockwise, a hundred and two times counterclockwise, can't you read? If you actually paid attention and stopped acting like a deranged monkey, maybe you'd see that."
His eyes blazed, and he was about to retort, but then they neutralized and he got a smarmy, suck-up expression. She turned around to see Snape coming up, then turned to the potion, a spark of nervousness as to what his assessment would be entering her bloodstream.
"Good morning, Professor," Malfoy said happily.
Snape didn't respond, but Hermione didn't want to risk a sneer again like she knew would happen if she said something, although she felt it unfair that Snape didn't care what Malfoy did whatsoever. Snape peered judgingly into their cauldron, and Hermione was ready for some unjustified reaction, but it was impassive; whether it was because Malfoy was her partner or not, she couldn't tell. She shot a glance to Malfoy, who was rapidly glancing between the now azure-colored potion. Hermione realized with a start that he was actually disgruntled about what Snape graded him, and she recalled she'd never seen him be nervous before. She resisted a snicker, although she did surreptitiously look up at Snape. After waiting a few tense moments, he glared at the potion, set his jaw, then moved off towards Seamus and Dean's cauldron. Hermione hoped they'd done all right.
"Well, aren't we glad I impressed Professor Snape with my Potions skills?" Malfoy said with conceitedness.
Hermione laughed humorlessly. "Please," Hermione implored. "You were about to not only explode the potion, but the classroom as well. If you can actually read the words, you'll doubtlessly see in Step Four that you only add the roots after the stirring and when it's a clear turquoise color, which it is almost at, but not quite there yet. If it hadn't been for me, we'd either be dead or, if by some miracle we weren't, we'd for sure receive a zero thanks to your stupidity. You're welcome."
Malfoy was silent for a moment, to which Hermione glanced up from the potion to see if he had been Petrified or something, but he looked like he was just thinking of what to say or do. Thinking, Hermione thought laughingly. Now there's a novel thought.
His mouth remained closed, and his eyes went to the board, reading what Hermione could tell as the same line many times over, and she held back a happy smirk, though she was mildly surprised he didn't have some insult to throw at her. Trying to ignore it, she started meticulously measuring out the right amount of doxy venom, hoping there were going to be no more undesirable incidents. For some reason, however, she got the strong feeling that maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to be at least semi-civil to each other for hopefully the remainder of the period. If not, the effects of the wrongly brewed potion could be unimaginably detrimental.
Chapter two revised! This was definitely longer than before, and I hope you liked it. The potion they made will make appearances next chapter, obviously, and with luck, it'll be up soonish. Thanks!