Saving the World, One Potion at a Time
"Hermione," Neville whispered, his voice urgent. "Can you help me?" He stared woefully down at his cauldron. His Pepper-Up potion was purple instead of the requisite orange.
Hermione scurried over. Her eyes widened as she looked at Neville's concoction. "How many pinches of Bicorn Horn did you add, Neville?"
He bit his lip. "Erm, one, I think? I don't—I don't remember," he said miserably.
She shook her head, causing her bushy hair to appear even bushier. "You were supposed to add two pinches," she told him, not unkindly.
"Miss Granger," Professor Snape drawled from just behind them, "I will have to ask you to keep an eye on your own cauldron. Mr. Longbottom is clearly beyond help, and if your potion suffers because of his ineptitude, I will not be merciful."
Neville hung his head and blinked hard to keep the tears from falling. Though he was used to the Potion Master's cruel nature, the thought of Hermione's grade suffering because of him was too much to bear. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't want you to fail because of me."
Hermione squeezed his arm gently. "Just add another pinch of Bicorn Horn and see what that does. I'll be back in a moment."
Neville watched as she hurried away. He was so grateful that she was willing to help him, even at risk of ruining her own potion. His thoughts drifted to the upcoming Yule Ball. He wasn't so naive as to hope that she fancied him, but maybe she liked him enough to go with him as friends.
She returned a minute later, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "All right," she said briskly, peering into his cauldron once more. The potion was now a bright teal. "I suppose you should heat it a little longer. Five seconds should do it."
Neville did as she said, holding his breath as he did so. His brew turned orange — a little on the pale side, but he would take it.
"Congratulations, Mr. Longbottom," Professor Snape sneered. "Thanks to Miss Granger's meddling, you now have a perfectly average potion. However, you still have the second part to screw up, and I have no doubt that you will."
"Well done, Neville!" Hermione whispered.
He flushed. It was now or never. "H—Hermione?"
"Yes?" She looked at him expectantly, and he swallowed nervously.
"Would you—do you want to go to the ball with me?" he said quickly.
Her face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry, Neville. I'm already going with...someone." She glanced over at Harry and Ron as she said this, but her friends were too focused on their own cauldrons to hear her.
"That's fine," Neville muttered, training his gaze on his feet. "I hope you have fun."
Hermione's smile seemed almost pitying. "You'll find someone to go with, don't worry. Maybe you can ask a third year? Not many of them are going, so you'll have your pick."
Neville nodded and turned back to his potion. He was disappointed that Hermione had turned him down, but glad that someone else had noticed her brilliance, though that someone clearly hadn't been Harry or Ron. He would worry about his own date later. For now, he had a potion to concentrate on.
Word count: 540
