Chapter 4: Of Potions and Dragons
By: Callisto Callispi
Hermione walked very slowly from Professor McGonagall's office to her room. And despite the fact that she had her own Head Girl rooms to herself, to reach them, she had to go through the Gryffindor commons. She didn't think she could stomach facing her peers right now.
She wondered bitterly how Draco was taking all of this. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID arse!
If it weren't for him, Hermione thought angrily, I wouldn't be in this horrific mess in the first place. Now, the whole Gryffindor House has to suffer from me because of him
Detention with Malfoy and Filch. Every girl's dream. A perfect little foretaste of what hell was going to be like.
"It's not fair," she muttered.
Hermione finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She opened her mouth to say the password but hesitated. Did she really want to face the whole Gryffindor students now? She did lose one hundred points for them . . .
"Well, dear, are you going to say the password or not?"
Hermione looked up. "Oh. Um, sorry . . . about that. Pixie limbs."
The Fat Lady stared at Hermione's face. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.
Hermione sighed. "Hopefully, I will be."
The Fat Lady looked at her suspiciously but swung the portrait open.
When Hermione stepped into the Gryffindor commons, she knew that she had severely underestimated her own house's vehemence towards her. Every pair of eyes shifted coldly as she entered. And as she walked past, some of the younger girls whispered to each other. They stared at her as if she were a dead slug.
Of course this was what I should have expected. she thought ill-naturedly. What did I anticipate? Some party of congratulations awaiting me after I, for god's sakes, just lost one hundred bloody points?
She sighed and kept walking towards her room. Head Girl. Hermione wished that she had never been named the head girl.
The Head Girl's room was thankfully distant from the Gryffindor Commons and her private quarters were protected with passwords. At least she didn't have to worry about someone hexing her while she slept. Hermione entered yet another corridor, and saw the door to her room. Sweet salvation, all she wanted to do was sleep this nightmare away. But just as she was about to open the door, a hand grabbed her arm and forced her around. Looking up, she faced Harry, who wore a small grin that seemed totally out of place.
"Harry," she sighed. "I don't feel like talking now. Now if you will let me go --"
"Hermione," he interrupted, "just to let you know, no one hates you. And sorry for that detention. Having detention with those slimy gits, Malfoy and Filch, can not be fun."
Hermione sighed and let go of the door's handle. Despite her trying to keep a straight face, her eyes began to water. Hot tears made their way up to her eyes. She sniffed.
"Harry, I'm so sorry!" she whispered fiercely. "I know how much you wanted to win the House Cup. You have been trying so hard, winning those quidditch matches . . . and . . . and . . ." A sob escaped her throat. Why was she crying like this? She did not cry. Hermione willed the tears away, but she could still feel the heat between her eyes.
"Oh, Hermione," Harry said gently as he patted her shoulder sympathetically. "It's all right."
Just then, Ron appeared from the other corridor. "Hermione . . . are you all right?" he asked quietly.
Hermione sniffed and nodded but kept her head down, knowing that her eyes were red and strained from keeping her tears within her. Harry made his way towards Hermione, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
"I'm all right, Harry, Ron," Hermione whispered softly. "Please, both of you, I need some rest." Hermione turned around and ran into her room.
Ron looked as if he was about to go in after her, but Harry grabbed his robes and shook his head not to.
"We should leave her alone," Harry said, as if that explained everything that just went on.
"Oh," was the response from Ron.
X
Draco scowled as he made his way to the Slytherin commons. He was very, very angry. Angry at everyone and everything -- at McGonagall, Snape, and especially at the mudblood. How dare she? Detention? With Filch!
He shouted a string of curses in French. Then went on to curse himself in Latin. He knew many languages. Why not use them now? And, of course, he cursed the mudblood quietly in English. His favorite language.
Detention because of a mudblood. What would his fellow death eaters say about this?
Of course, Draco wasn't a death eater yet, but after his graduation and some more training in the dark arts, he would be fully prepared to receive the honor of receiving the dark mark.
Honor. Draco thought, rolling his eyes. What honor is there to serve under a maniac?
For more reasons than one, his blood boiled as he stomped throughout the Great Hall, earning glares of disapproval from ghosts.
Unlike Hermione, though, Draco had little to worry about when he entered his own commons. Everyone dared not tease or harass him for getting one hundred points deducted from the Slytherin house. Even the meanest of boys withered under Draco's icy glare. It helped being wealthy. And being closely affiliated with the Dark Lord.
He reached his own rooms in deep thought. He grudgingly had to admit that this whole "Voldemort's heir" thing had its certain perks.
Hermione woke up the next morning with a foreboding of doom. She wondered why at first but groaned as she remembered McGonagall swearing and what that led to. Damn. And though she wanted to remain in bed for the whole day, she forced herself to shower and dress. In twenty minutes, she was walking down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
She kept her eyes on her feet as she walked down as she didn't want to attract unwanted attention. Of course, it didn't really do much good since she could hear the Slytherins jeer at her as she passed.
Then suddenly, Hermione felt herself collide into a body and swing around. Her books flew out of her hands.
"My, my, I say, mornings are quite the time for accidents. But in your case, should I say the afternoons during quidditch practices?"
Hermione looked up, shocked and angry that someone would have the nerve to mention that embarrassing ordeal in front of her. But as she met gazes, it was Headmaster Dumbledore himself who was crouched down low, helping her pick up her books. His eyes twinkled merrily as he gazed upon her rather fondly.
Hermione blushed. "Professor, I'm sorry! That . . . incident yesterday will never happen again! I didn't mean to wreck the place. I promise!"
But the headmaster merely laughed. "Miss Granger, I accept your apologies, though they should be for those poor obliterated quidditch stands. Though, I admit, at first I was stunned by this shocking behavior . . . and from one of Hogwarts's most promising students no less!"
Hermione turned a deeper shade of red.
Dumbledore stared at Hermione. "You say that you are sorry for utterly destroying the Gryffindor stands --"
Hermione's face felt as if it were going to burst into flames.
"-- But you didn't say anything about being sorry for raging at Mister Malfoy."
Hermione had nothing to say to that. Truthfully, she wasn't sorry for her anger towards Draco at all! In fact, if she had another chance to blast him with her wand and not get into any trouble, she would do it once more, and twice if allowed!
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly. "Miss Granger, control that rage. I respect that you were following your heart, but you will learn how to control that anger of yours. Is that clear?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes sir."
Dumbledore smiled. "Well, Miss Granger, I should leave you to enjoy your breakfast now. I believe that sausages and cheese omelets are steaming in the oven. A delectable combination. I should know. I've just had a sample a few minutes ago."
Hermione smiled. She picked up the last of her books and nodded her good-bye.
The professor smiled warmly as he watched her leave. But inside, he felt a sudden wash of ice-cold anxiety. Yes, Hermione, you will need to know how to control that anger. But follow your heart, especially now, and be prepared for the dark times soon ahead.
The rest of the day for Hermione went downhill since her talk with Dumbledore. Breakfast, with the exception of the food, was utterly horrible. She couldn't even sit down in her usual spot without having half a dozen sneers tossed in her direction. Hermione wanted to scream. Hopefully, this cold shoulder ordeal would pass soon. Thank God Parvati was there. She actually seemed as if she didn't care about anything that happened and spoke animatedly with Hermione for the whole breakfast, to Hermione's relief.
After breakfast, Hermione was once again furious to find out that she had double potions . . . with . . . with Slytherins (!) scheduled next.
"WHY!" she wailed at Parvati who only offered her a hesitant smile. "Why is everything working against me?"
Hermione entered Snape classroom furiously. She ignored the sneers and sat down stiffly in her usual spot, acutely aware that Draco Malfoy (who was sitting cozily with his own house-mates -- the nerve of him!) was staring at her.
Soon following her, Harry and Ron came running in and they breathlessly took a chair nearest to them as they searched feverishly for their Advanced Potions Guide in their bags.
"Damn, Harry, you wouldn't have a spare, would you?" Ron wheezed.
"Sorry, Ron. Maybe if Snape is in a reasonable mood today, he will let us share. By the way, where's Hermione?" Harry replied.
Hah! 'If he's in a reasonable mood?' Try: when he shows up with a fat, greasy smile on his face. Hermione thought scornfully. I, the annoying Gryffindor know-it-all, am in for a month of detention, full-time, with Filch and his most treasured student, Malfoy, who will probably wreak unprecedented havoc with complete impunity. Why shouldn't he be delighted?
"Oh! Hermione! I missed you, there. You wouldn't be able to call over Ron's book, would you?" Harry asked.
Hermione sighed, saying, "Hi to you too."
She whispered a spell and in no time at all, Ron's book came flying right into this classroom. But not where she wanted it to be. It flew right into the hands of Draco Malfoy.
Hermione raised her eyebrows in exasperation and slapped her forehead. She didn't want to deal with Malfoy today more than she absolutely had to. By the looks of it, neither did Harry. But nevertheless, he walked over to the group of Slytherins, and she followed him.
"I doubt that you would have much use for that book. Why don't you hand it over, Malfoy?" Harry asked coldly.
Hermione silently cursed. How could she have been stupid enough to not direct it towards Ron? Instead, out of all of the people in the room, it just had to go to Draco. The forces were working against her.
Draco grinned. "You want it back, Potter? Why don't you get that mudblood friend of yours to retrieve it? It was her incantation, after all." Contempt dripped with every word. "Really, how pathetic can you get? Why don't you stop being such a dog for that creature. She's not worthy. Even of you."
Hermione felt heat rush up to her face, but she forced herself to keep a straight face, for she wouldn't let Draco have the satisfaction of seeing her hurt in any way.
"Clean your nasty little mouth, Malfoy."
"Clean your blood, muggle-born."
"I am muggle-born," Hermione said in a low voice. "That is true. But I don't see the problem with that. It has to be better than being a snotty, whiny git of Malfoy who possesses the most uncanny ferret-like face and voice."
Draco glared at her. Hermione glared back.
"Hermione, let it go," Harry said slowly. "He's not worth it, and you know that."
"Your right, Harry. He's not worth it." She turned away from Draco. "I won't sink to the level of a ferret."
That remark must have struck a cord inside of Draco, for he sprang up from where he was sitting, grabbed hold of Hermione's wrist, and whipped her around to face him. She gaped up at him.
"Let go!" she shrieked.
By now, everyone's attention was on Hermione and Draco.
"Let her go, you slimy git!" It was Ron.
Draco looked over at Ron then glared down at Hermione. She was suddenly scared, though she would never openly admit it, of Draco Malfoy. His face held an expression of such intensity that she could not help but flinch. She glared back at him, trying to feign an air of utter contempt.
"Listen here, mudblood," he whispered dangerously in a voice that was audible to her ears only. He threw her wrist down. "If you can learn to keep your mouth shut, maybe you'll get through this detention unscathed. Don't test my patience."
He threw the potions book at her and Hermione caught it. "You don't scare me," she said quietly. "You think you're some sort of a god. But guess what, Malfoy? You're not. We both know you aren't. So stop pretending that you are, especially in front of me."
Hermione turned around and went to her seat, knowing that he would be more angry at her, but who cared? Surely not her!
Harry sat next to Hermione, changing his seat. With a look of sympathy, he asked quietly, "Did that arse hurt you?" He examined her wrist.
"No," she answered angrily. She glared at Draco.
Ron joined them. "Do you want me to hex that bastard?"
But before she could respond, Professor Snape entered.
"Sit down, sit sown," he snarled. He smirked contemptuously in Hermione's general direction then focused back on the class. "Seeing that the lot of you have covered most of the useful potions in your textbooks, today we will do something a bit out of your league."
The class buzzed with excitement.
"We will learn how to create the not-as-well-known Polyjuice potion."
Harry and Ron snorted. Hermione kept a straight face.
Snape noticed this, however, and looked at them. "Does this sound like some sort of a joke to you, Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? I hope that you won't find this project amuses you to death since it is worth about a quarter of your potions grade this term. Ten points from Gryffindor for insubordination."
The boys immediately shut up.
Snarling, Snape began addressing the rest of the class. "Now, who here can tell me and the rest of the class what the Polyjuice Potion is used for and what it can do?"
To no one's surprise, Hermione's hand shot up.
Snape looked around the class to see there were any other alternatives, but there weren't any. He called on Hermione.
"The Polyjuice potion was used by death eaters to spy on their enemies. Though the potion was effective for the death eaters at fist, it gradually lost popularity since the effects of the potion wore off after an hour. The Polyjuice potion allows the person who consumes it to change into whomever they wish to be. Of course, the potion must contain a bit of whomever the person wishes to change into, like a strand of hair for example."
"I'm sure the class thanks you for your long-winded account of the potion," the professor remarked acidly. "In fact, merely just an answer of the potion being a solution used to entirely alter one's appearance for one hour would have sufficed. Well?" he snapped. "Have you taken all of that down?"
All students immediately scratched their quills onto their parchments.
Satisfied, the professor started again. "Now, does anyone know how long it takes to prepare this particular potion?"
Hermione's hand shot up again. Snape frowned and reluctantly called on her.
"The Polyjuice potion's preparation time varies. Some of the ingredients need to be acquired at a certain time of the month."
"Correct." Snape eyed her suspiciously, obviously wondering how a student knew so much about the Polyjuice potion, and in such detail no less. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Thankfully, Snape turned away and pointed his wand at his desk where, magically, a stack of papers appeared. "You will work with a partner in order to make the Polyjuice potion. If you fail to make one, I'm afraid your Potions mark will, forgive me, die."
The student's anxiously eyed one another.
"And no, you will not get to choose your partners; I will assign them," he said with a horrible expression on his face. "And, according to Headmaster Dumbledore, it will be inter-house. Some rubbish about attempting the houses to work together in harmony."
Everybody groaned.
"Terrence Amark, you're with Seamus Finnigan," Snape declared in an apathetic voice.
The two young men looked at each other in disgust as they moved towards a table, grabbing an ingredient sheet as they mumbled to themselves.
"Mister Thomas with Mister Crabbe."
More grumbling.
"Mister Longbottom with . . . Mister Goyle," Snape drawled.
Hermione gasped and Harry and Ron's eyes turned into slits. How could he partner up poor Neville with gorilla-like Goyle? Neville gulped and Goyle smirked, cracking his knuckles.
"Miss Granger," Snape started.
Hermione held her breath. Not Malfoy, not Malfoy, oh dear God, not Malfoy.
"You are with Miss Parkinson."
Sighing a sigh of relief, she walked over to Pansy's table, which was uncomfortably next to Draco's. She decided to avoid eye contact with him and looked at Pansy. She was glaring at Hermione. Hermione blinked, deciding to ignore her glare as well and got up to get an ingredient sheet.
As she got it, she bumped into someone and looked up to see that it was Draco Malfoy, himself.
She stared at his cold gray eyes for a second and whipped around. She stomped back to the table she shared with Pansy and sat down.
"Forget it, Granger," Pansy remarked coldly.
"Forget what?" she snapped back.
Pansy smirked and looked at Draco, who was currently paired up with Ron. From Hermione's point of view, Ron had quite of a greenish look on his face.
"Forget Draco. He's not good enough for you. Don't you dare touch him," Pansy warned.
Hermione's jaw fell open. "If you think that I want to even look at that slug, you're horribly mistaken."
After Professor Snape assigned all the partners, he instructed the class to sit down and listen as he explained how to prepare the Polyjuice potion.
"On your list there, the fluxweed will be have to picked at the next full moon for the potion to work correctly. That is in about twenty-five days. Also, the lacewings have to be stewed for at least fifteen days."
Draco raise his hand.
"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"
"You said that the fluxweed will have to be picked at the full moon. Do you mean during the night?" Draco asked.
Professor Snape nodded. "Correct. And while that day approaches, we will study the fluxweed and how to identify it, we will stew the lacewings, and we will prepare the other ingredients. Any other questions?" he asked, with a look that dared anyone to ask him anything.
And Neville of all people raised a quivering hand.
"YES, Mister Longbottom?" Snape said impatiently.
"U-um, Professor, what will we do after we create the Polyjuice potion?" Neville stammered.
"Wh-what will w-we d-do?" Snape mocked Neville. Neville's face turned red. "Well, for once, I am glad that you asked a question. After you create that potion, each of you will test it to see if you have made it correctly."
Hermione's eyes widened. So did Pansy's.
"You will split the potion in half, put a hair in it, and drink it. If you turn into your counterpart, the potion is a success."
The whole class fell silent. Morphing into one another? That was unthinkable! Ron especially looked horrified.
"Professor!" cried the students in protest.
Professor Snape shrugged. "The alternative is failing." He smiled a cruel little smile. "Your choice. And I advise you to use this time wisely to get aquatinted with your partners."
Hermione glanced at Pansy and suddenly felt sick just by looking at her. Turning away, she glanced down at her textbook, struggling not to run out of the classroom in horror. Working with Malfoy, Parkinson, and Filch all in the same day. Joy. Utter, rapturous joy.
X
Class ended minutes ago and Draco finally managed to escape the Potions classroom. He now walked in the blissfully empty halls to his next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts: without the Pansy's sulking; without the gorilla-like growls of Crabbe and Goyle; without sound, period.
Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hah! Like he would ever need it. His father had taught him the most basic dark magic and the counter-curses to most of those same dark attacks when he was only six. These simpering do-good professors were just about to make him sick. Besides, he wouldn't need to learn any counter-curses with the dark lord as his master. Master.
Draco swore. He didn't need or want a master. A person who had a master was weak. Only a fool, the puppet of another. Draco was no puppet.
His mind wandered, just as he did along these twisting halls. No, he didn't need to learn anymore defense tactics. He was fully capable of that.
Draco stopped walking and cursed. He took the wrong shortcut, and now, he had to take the long way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Draco turned abruptly and started to walk a bit faster. He still had seven minutes to get there, but he hated being tardy. And, also, the fact that his detention sentence would be extended if he were late riled his mind.
Walking along the carpeted hall ways, he turned yet another corner. But he soon stopped and turned back at who he saw. Hermione. He leaned against the wall and watched her quietly. She was currently studying a painting. Her eyes seemed so intense.
Draco opened his mouth to make smart comment but surprisingly decided against it. He sighed and scratched his head. What was overcoming him?
Hermione seemed to have heard him in one way or another. She took out her wand. "Whoever you are, come where I can see you."
Draco leaned against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, amused. Trying to be brave, eh?
"I swear I will hex you, whoever you are," Hermione said loudly.
Draco rolled his eyes. He stepped out. "Keep your shirt on, Granger. For all our sakes. It's only me."
Hermione seemed to relax a bit but then tensed up again. "Oh, it's you. I though it was some troll." She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you might as well be one." She turned away from him and continued to study the painting in deep interest.
Draco kept staring at her. After a moment of silence, Draco spoke, but his original wish to address her about that "ferret" comment died on his lips. He said instead, "Why are you so deeply engrossed with that painting?"
"It's just . . . captivating," Hermione answered wistfully.
Draco raised an eyebrow. He walked up to her to see what was so 'captivating' about this painting. He stood behind Hermione, looking above her head. He was tall, a head taller than Hermione, and he just stared at the painting, then at Hermione, then at the painting again.
It was just an oil paining of two red dragons, breathing out fire onto the heavens. The clouds glowed red, almost resembling roses. The land below was dark and blue, carpeted with turquoise trees. But all in all, it was just a nice painting done by a professional, and probably unknown, artist.
"I don't sense the captivation," he said skeptically.
"You wouldn't understand," Hermione said softly. "You probably don't have an artistic bone in your body. You can't just feel it . . . can you? Can't you feel it . . . ?"
Hermione traced the outlines of the dragon with her fingertips.
"You're starting to scare me, Granger."
Hermione snapped out of her trance and moved away from the painting and Draco. "I had better get to class," she said, her voice horribly raspy. She started down the hall. "Don't want to give the professors an excuse for lengthening the detention."
Draco followed the girl with his eyes. She was a strange one, she was. He stared at the painting again. Captivation?
"Nonsense," he said as he made his way to his next class.