A/N JK Rowling made up herbology. I made up slugs made out of custard.
The flickering light of a single candle illuminated the toil of two women, each engrossed in their tasks. Either side of them, leafy plants emitting their own phosphorescently green light and fully a head high, stretched away in all directions but one. The air was fetid, stirring only as the two women passed. Professor McGonagall pulled another reddish pellet-like object from the underside of a leathery leaf and dropped it into a box. On the narrow end, a peeling label showed a picture of something strappy with a sky scraper heel and peep toe.
"They have matured extremely quickly, Pomona," commented McGonagall.
"I added thestrals pizzle to the manure this year," replied Professor Sprout, "the plants are almost climbing the walls to get away from it!" She laughed heartily at her own joke, then suddenly pointed her wand at the arching brickwork forming the roof, "gastropodia dessicata!" A thin flash of red light shot from her wand and hit a foot-long, pink blancmange slug climbing the wall. The magic crazed across its length, sizzling and snapping until eventually the form dropped to the ground and exploded in a cloud of powdered debris.
"Crop should be ready for Poppy in a week or so," Sprout said happily. "I think she has perfected the drying spell now, if I can just keep these filthy beasts off the flower buds…"
"How are they getting in?"
"Leftovers from last years experiments with the crowns Hagrid bought from a man in a pub, trying to recreate the rhubarb triangle under controlled conditions. Over a thousand pints of custard disappeared before we realised what was happening." She zapped another slimy individual, yellow this time. "Tell me if you see a brown one, it might be chocolate and they make the best cocoa you have ever tasted."
McGonagall pulled a face, "I think that's all of them," dropping a last addition into the box and allowing herself a small smile as the pellet twitched in irritation when it hit the bottom of the box. She shook it so that they were spread evenly over the bottom of the box and wrestled the thin cardboard lid into place.
"How is Cedric getting on?" McGonagall asked airily, broaching the delicate subject that drove her to the underground greenhouse as much as collecting the ingredients for her next lesson.
"He has his work cut out for him," Sprout said fondly, "but he always did like a challenge. I thought one of the Beauxbatons might have been a better match. Fleur came highly recommended, but Olympe said that she was inseparable from her sister – it wasn't a deal breaker, but we are British."
"How much do you know about Hermione Granger?" queried McGonagall.
"What you have told me of course. "Exceptional student in my classes, diligent, driven, over achiever. Excellent hair." She tucked her wand behind her ear and folded her arms. "Olivander asked me for a reference before he accepted her for the Summer. On his recommendation, I have let her take Arboreal Herbology this year, although strictly speaking it's for sixth formers and upwards, Whomping Willow, dryads and all that stuff. He says that she is gifted and that the Guild would be interested in sponsoring her further studies."
"Or the Guild would be interested in studying her further. There hasn't been a female wand maker in forever."
Professor Sprout frowned, "sorry, I don't follow."
Professor McGonagall threw an arm about her colleagues shoulder, "how much do you know about vines."
Professor Sprout threw her head back and her laugh bounced off the exposed brickwork of the walls and the oddly curving roof, then said completely seriously, "how long have you got?"
"Perhaps I need to be more specific," replied McGonagall. "About Vines that make wands."
"They are banned, Minerva, you of all people should know."
A heavy silence fell between them.
"One chose Hermione. Severus says it's already sentient."
"Does she know what that means? Did he tell her about your…no he wouldn't I'm sure. What species?"
McGonagall mutely shook her head, "I don't know, I don't think so and I have no idea if it's the same. There's a small reference in 'Hogwarts, A History,' but everything else is in the restricted section, or your study. Dumbledore said that the Ministry extracted…"
Professor Sprout hawked and spat at the ground. "The Ministry couldn't find its arse with both hands. How do you find what you don't know hmmm? In a book perhaps? Ever see that girl without one? It's her bludgeon of choice for the two boys she shepherds, not that they appreciate her dedication to the task I'm sure." She laughed wryly. "Time and tide, Minerva," said Sprout briskly. "Hermione sent her first apprentice piece back this morning and Olivander sent another cube by return. I thought that was fast, but not if the Vine is helping her. Not if it's what I think it is."
Sprout hauled open the door and with it a gust of chill evening air invaded the cavernous interior. McGonagall stepped outside and waited for Sprout to refasten the door with a charm that made the woodwork shimmer and shift. A figure passed in the distance, outlined by moonlight. They both watched the square set of his shoulders disappear ahead of them on the path to the school. A deep red spot glowed briefly at head height before falling to the ground in a shower of sparks.
Sprout scratched her chin, "he's early, wonder why. Shouldn't be smoking in school grounds either, especially if he is not getting them from me," she tutted to herself.
"Will you warn Cedric?
Sprout peered at her colleague with a surprised air, "where's the challenge in that?"
0.0
Longbottom knocked timidly on Professor Snapes door. The inhabitants disinterested tone bid him enter and he shuffled inside. He was surprised to find Hermione leaning against one wall with her arms crossed and a look of determination on her face.
"Oh there you are, haven't seen Trevor have you?" Neville asked Hermione woefully.
Hermione shook her head impatiently. Snape raised his gaze to study Longbottoms attire. He gestured to the back of his study with a jerk of his head. "Barrel in the corner. Entrails on the left, skins on the right. Get on with it."
"Again, Miss Granger. See if you can get at the Potion reference in my head at the same time," Snape drawled, leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk and twirling his wand between his hands. Easily he broke through her defences, seeing once more his own face from her perspective when she realised that he had been dancing with her. The same scene played again and he grunted in boredom.
Neville tugged the lid off the barrel and whimpered.
"Dig in Mr Longbottom, I haven't got all night," snapped the Professor. "Pathetic Miss Granger, at least try and keep me out." He pinched his nose to ease a headache centred there, a bilious feeling rose with the additional smell of the barrel contents.
Hermione gripped her own arms above her elbows, the front cover of Crutchingtons Practical Potions swam into view and the number 893 flashed briefly before she was stunned by a torrent of visions that were not her own, racing through her mind. "I am," she whispered.
"And why exactly does the episode in the hallway fascinate you so much."
"I've never seen you enjoy anything before, you're a great dancer," she said softly, trying to make sense of black and white images played out, skipping frames. Snape twirling a blonde girl in a new dress under the Willow in the school grounds, he must have been Cedrics age or thereabouts. The girl pushing her hair over one shoulder and turning her back to him, clutching school robes to her chest. Large hands on her zipper. Her hand reaching behind to cover his, a vine bracelet around her wrist snaking out to circle his too. Her gaze steady as she let the robes fall. Hermione flushed, turning her face away from Snape, although the vision played on.
Neville sniffed loudly and gagged behind them, his knees bumping the sides of the barrel as he scooped out more of the contents. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him wipe his tongue on the shoulder of his robes. The uneven splatter of something large and solid followed by something smaller alternately hitting a tray filled the room with the cadence of an odd heartbeat.
"I loathe dancing," Snapes voice dripped with contempt, his stomach dropped with the remembrance of loss and it sharpened his tone. "Lets see if Cedric was adequate shall we?" he was rewarded with the replay slipping for a second. He found himself at one end of a long corridor with doorways at regular intervals either side, but the doors along it slammed shut one after the other. The vision jerked like a cloth pulled from a table and he was presented with his own face yet again.
Snape pulled back from his desk, gripping the ornate handle of his wand, "Show me," he demanded, redoubling his efforts and cursing the ache that was splitting his skull in two.
Cedrics amused expression overlaid his own, lively grey eyes and an appreciative grin, but the face was too small and looking away, too much distance and the wrong angle for a dance partner to have. Hermione growled angrily, Snape felt a sharp shove and his vision blackened for a moment. He offered a grim smile, revelling in the ability to taunt a student at their own behest.
"Again."
It was getting harder for him to access even the image of himself. He smiled to himself and goaded her further, just because the Forest games were not spoken of did not make them unknown and surely she knew Cedric was competing, which reminded him, he had places to be. Her reaction to the previous question walked the fine line between love and hate. Remembered jealousy made his tone take an edge of bitterness. "The Forest is a dangerous place this time of night," he said darkly. This time the shove was hard enough to made one end of his wand make contact with the desktop.
Hermiones jaw dropped at the sight of the girl in Snapes arms, relaxed in repose. Too relaxed. The girls lifeless hand dropped from an orb fixed to the tip of a wand, a wand where her other hand was trapped under Snapes own larger, fervent grasp.
He ran the rod through a closed fist, the ornate handle rasping harshly against his palm. Love had made him keep his wand, even after the deed, hate had cursed a gift that should have kept him safe his whole life, rendered useless by his own hand.
"Again," Snape spat, the pain in his skull was enough to make him want to chop his own head clean off.
This time the image of himself was that of his younger self, face etched with horror as reflected in an unseen persons eyes. Snape drew a shuddering breath, he remembered those eyes, eyes that had once looked upon him with kindness and he had dared to hope for more. He glanced at Hermiones wrist, the vines free end swayed under his gaze like a viper at the pipe and he had a sudden rush of hatred that Hermione might have shared his moment of weakness
"Vine!" whispered Hermione.
"Enough!" The chair he was using crashed to the floor with the urgency of his motion. "Out. Take Longbottom with you." Abruptly the pain in his head abated. Longbottom stumbled past the desk with his arms held away from his sides. He had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, but was splattered in gore to the shoulder and a small amount of froth had collected on his chin.
Snape followed Longbottom wavering path. "Toads," Neville said weakly, "you made me disembowel toads." Whatever compassion Hermione might have felt was erased in that moment, more so when Snape leaned down to open a drawer in his desk and placed a petrified toad on his blotter.
"You should take better care of your Familiar," Snape hissed.
Neville snatched up the rigid beast and gingerly touched his tongue to its back. "Trevor!" he wailed, tripping over his own feet to get to the door. Hermione followed him without a word or backward glance.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Snape set a ward, took a deep breath and disapparated.
0.0
Neville slumped against the wall of the corridor, "you 'ave to 'elp me. I didn't finish the barrel and he'll make me do it if I melt another cauldron in Potions."
Hermione rested her hands on her hips, she felt strangely alive, twitchy in her own skin almost. It was getting late, but there was no chance of sleeping. She told herself it had nothing to do with someone proving themselves an idiot to another idiot, in front of a bunch of idiots. The mysteries of Snapes history feathered her memory – that and the familiar props and scenery of Snapes unguarded memories. She stuffed it behind a door in her mind and labelled it with a glyph of the Whomping Willow.
"Accio paper towels," Hermione said sternly, catching a pile of the neatly folded napkins as they dropped into existence. She scrubbed at the worst of the slime encrusting Nevilles arms, pulling a face and disappearing the soiled results in rapid succession. Neville stood meekly under her ministrations, swapping his rigid toad from hand to hand whilst she worked around him.
"Get Trevor to McGonagall before he dries out and meet me in the Prefects bathroom on the Fifth Floor. No-one will be using it this time of night and if you are going to set yourself alight, we had better have some water handy."
She stood back and eyed her handiwork. She could always get him to shower before she started working with him. Nevilles mournful face made her want to shake him, why wasn't he moving already?
"Now?" she prompted him, gritting her teeth at how unfeeling it sounded. Ginny could do sympathetic, when she tried it herself it always came out directive. Neville nodded miserably and teetered off, she watched him until he was swallowed by the shadows.
The vine tickled her wrist, bifurcating itself many times and winding around each and every digit of her wand hand until it looked like a glove. She wondered how many toads Neville had licked and how he was keeping his eyeballs straight.
"This is new," she said to the Vine, wriggling her fingers. It gave her a gentle squeeze in return. She smiled in appreciation and made for the staircase thinking that now might be just the time to practise going up by making the stair treads move themselves like a Muggle escalator.
0.0
Cedric let himself back into the school via the underground passage way that led to the Hufflepuff common room, the entrance this way was guarded by a honey badger and he was extremely careful with the manner in which he extended his hand into a painting of a semi-arid landscape with a stand of saplings, grown up either side of a the rotting trunk of a much larger, fallen comrade. The door swung open silently and he passed through into the darkness beyond.
He scraped his hand through his hair and then sniffed it delicately, he reeked of cigarette smoke and his clothes grated against the rime of dirt coating his torso. What he could really do with now he thought, was a shower. He wondered what it would take for the girl in the glass to join him.
A/N If the shoe fits, buy it in every colour.
There really is a rhubarb triangle
Some toads exude toxins through their skin under stress, this explains why kissing them can make you see princes.
Honey badgers are technically polecats, I know. They are also the meanest mf out there, so appropriate, no?
Thank you for reading.
Psst I turned off the login until the weekend. If you are so inclined to review, fill your boots.