Chapter Fourteen
BASIC HEALING CREAM POTION
A beginner-level remedy designed to soothe minor burns, abrasions or cuts.
Ingredients:
- 4 drops of Murtlap Essence
- 56 grams of Aloe Vera Gel
- 3 crushed Dittany Leaves
- 1 pinch of Ground Flobberworm Mucus
- 2 drops of Lavender Oil
- 1 drop of Salamander Blood (optional) – Boosts magical potency for more severe burns (caution advised).
Equipment:
- Cauldron (small size)
- Stirring rod
- Pestle and mortar
- Measuring spoons
- Glass jar for storage
Instructions:
- Prepare the Base:
- Add 56 grams of Aloe Vera Gel to the cauldron and gently heat on a low flame. Stir clockwise until it becomes smooth and warm (about 2 minutes).
- Add Murtlap Essence:
- Carefully add 4 drops of Murtlap Essence while stirring counterclockwise. Wait until the mixture turns a pale blue color.
- Incorporate Dittany Leaves:
- Crush the Dittany leaves into a fine powder with a pestle and mortar, and sprinkle them into the cauldron. Stir three times clockwise and let the mixture simmer for 3 minutes.
- Thicken with Flobberworm Mucus:
- Add a pinch of Ground Flobberworm Mucus. Stir vigorously until the potion thickens and turns creamy.
- Enhance with Lavender Oil:
- Add 2 drops of Lavender Oil. Stir gently and allow the mixture to cool for 5 minutes.
- Optional Salamander Blood:
- For a stronger burn cream, add 1 drop of Salamander Blood. Stir once clockwise and once counterclockwise to stabilize the potion.
- Cool and Store:
- Remove the cauldron from the flame and let the potion cool completely. Then, pour it into a clean glass jar and seal it tightly.
Application:
Apply a small amount directly to the burn. The potion will create a soothing, tingling sensation and start healing immediately. To maintain adequate potency, the potion should be stored in a cool, dark area.
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Hermione ran a finger down the list of ingredients and the brewing process, looking at everything she’d require. Before beginning, she retrieved what she could from her potions kit and everything else from the potions store room. She carefully cut up her ingredients, measuring them twice to be sure she had the right amount whilst her cauldron warmed up over the fire.
Hermione became absorbed in the process, feeling the burden of the last few weeks disappear. Potions-brewing was cathartic for her. It always made her feel grounded. It didn’t matter how chaotic the world was outside of the classroom or what Hermione was going through, in here—with her cauldron and ingredients—there was a quiet relief found; an assurance that everything would be alright.
Time slipped away as she brewed, and once the potion was finished, she took it off of the flame to cool down, using the time to clean up her workstation. Once finished, she transferred her completed potion into glass jars and handed them to Professor Snape for assessment.
Around her, the other students had completed their potion, all with varying degrees of success: some were too thin and watery, others too thick and almost hardened, and a few rather perfect for their first try of the potion. It wasn’t long till class ended, and so they too had handed in their potions and cleaned up their stations.
Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder when the bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. She was eager to head down to the library before dinner but was interrupted by Professor Snape calling out, “Miss Granger. A moment.”
Hermione tensed, wondering if she’d failed her potion badly enough for him to need to pull her to the side. After all, the man was notorious for his harsh criticisms, and while Hermione usually did well in Potions, the potential for scrutinisation from him made her nervous.
“We’ll wait outside,” Daphne told her.
Hermione approached Professor Snape’s desk cautiously, hand tightening on the strap of her bag. “Is something the matter, Sir?”
“I was quite impressed by the outcome of your burn cream, Miss Granger.”
Professor Snape’s words took her by surprise. She certainly hadn’t been expecting praise. Hermione merely blinked at him for a moment. Surely he must be joking. And yet, she caught the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes. “Thank you, Professor,” she managed to get out eventually.
Professor Snape opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out two familiar vials: the unicorn blood and hair that they’d harvested from the dead unicorn during detention. “I believe these belong to you.”
Hermione stared down at the thick silvery blood and impossibly thin, shimmery hair in wonder and confusion. “Apologies, Professor… I’m afraid I don’t understand. These are highly regulated by the Ministry, aren’t they? I assumed that you’d handed them in.”
“They are, yes, but there are ways around that. Legally, of course,” he added, “Myself and Professor Kettleburn are approved traders due to the nature of our careers, and Professor Kettleburn spoke with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creature’s Anti-Poaching Taskforce and got approval from them for you to retain control of what happens with these particular ingredients considering the nature of how they were harvested.”
Hermione was reeling at his words. These weren’t just any potion ingredients. They were incredibly rare for anyone to ever have in their possession, and because of their extraordinary properties in healing and potions brewing, they were one of the most regulated and protected ingredients in the magical world. And yet, here Professor Snape was handing them to her, an eleven-year-old, on a silver platter to decide what should be done with them.
There were so many things that could be done with the ingredients, and yet only one decision seemed right to Hermione. “I’d like to donate them, Professor. I’ve heard that unicorn blood can be used for healing dark curses or illnesses. That seems like a better use for them than being kept in my potions kit.”
Professor Snape nodded. He stood and retrieved a pipet and a vial. He showed her how to carefully retrieve some of the blood before stoppering the vials. “You should keep some for yourself, Miss Granger. The unicorn gave them to you for a reason. As for the other vial, I will take them to St Mungo’s with my next batch of potion deliveries, and let them know who donated it. I’m sure you’ll be receiving a thank-you letter from them in return. As for the hair, I’ll pass it along to Ollivander.”
Hermione carefully tucked the small stash of unicorn’s blood into her bag. “Thank you, Professor.” She shucked her bag further up her shoulder before heading for the door.
At the door, Professor Snape called out to her once more. “Your generosity was not lost on me, Miss Granger. Many in your position would have fallen victim to the prestige of possessing such a rare, coveted ingredient. That you thought of the people who could benefit from it more than yourself speaks to your values. Twenty points to Slytherin, and another five for a well-brewed burn cream.”
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The Great Hall was awash with the flickering glow of hundreds of floating candles, their golden light casting playful shadows across the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the stormy autumn sky above. The scent of spiced pumpkin, roasted meats and other delectable treats filled the air of the Halloween Feast, mingling with the hum of laughter and chatter of students.
Despite the festive atmosphere, Hermione’s eyes were fixed on Harry at the Gryffindor table. He was the only one who didn’t seem to share the enthusiasm of the other students. Hermione didn’t blame him, considering today was the anniversary of his parent's deaths. He poked at his food but made no move to eat, staring blankly at the table, seemingly unaware of the conversation around him. Ron and Neville were both sending Harry concerned looks—the latter of whom probably had a decent idea about what Harry was feeling, considering what had happened to his parents—and their attempts to draw Harry into the conversation proved fruitless.
“Hermione.” Adeline’s voice broke through Hermione’s thoughts, pulling her attention back to the Slytherin table where her friends were discussing Muggle horror movies. “You alright? You’ve been staring at the Gryffindor table for ages.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said quickly, though it was clear that Adeline didn’t believe her.
“I need to use the loo. Wanna come?”
Hermione hesitated for a moment, glancing once more at Harry, before nodding. “Alright, let’s go.”
The bathrooms were blissfully empty; a stark contrast to the loud feast. Hermione quickly did her business and washed her hands, waiting for Adeline, who did the same.
“Are you sure you’re alright, ‘Mione?” Adeline asked, rubbing soap between her hands.
Hermione sighed. “I’m alright, I’m just worried about Harry. He looks like he’s struggling because of, you know, his parent's anniversary.”
Adeline ran her hands under the sink, washing away the soap. “Yeah, I noticed. I don’t blame him—this time of year sucks for a lot of people, myself and Neville included.”
“Because of your parents?” Hermione asked gently, leaning against the sink.
Adeline nodded. “They were arrested in the first week of November after they were caught torturing Neville’s parents for information about where Voldemort had fled to. Andy told me that they were supposedly entirely delusional at that point and had killed their house elf and left me to die in my cot in their manor while they searched for Voldemort. I’d been alone for two days at that point before Aurors raided their manor and found me. Lucius was under arrest and Narcissa under investigation so they gave Andy temporary custody of me until an outcome was decided by a judge at a later date because there were so many trials happening,” she said all of this in a very detached, clinical way, like none of it bothered her, but Hermione noticed the harshness with which she dried her hands on a paper towel as if wanting to wipe away any evidence of belonging to her parents.
“Addie, I’m so sorry…” Hermione said helplessly, unsure what else she could say. “Thank you for telling me.”
Adeline shrugged.
“We could go back to the common room if you’re not up for the feast?” Hermione suggested.
“No, I’m alright, I promise,” Adeline assured, “Let’s just go before Alana and Daphne eat all the food.”
Hermione laughed and went to follow her out of the bathroom when they were hit by a truly atrocious, acrid smell. They began to gag immediately, covering their noses as their eyes watered uncontrollably.
“Oh my God, what is that?” Hermione choked out.
Hermione’s eyes watered as she covered her nose. “Oh my God. What is that?”
Adeline’s face was contorted in horror. “Myrtle better not of flooded the boys’ toilets again!”
“Let’s get out of here before I pass out or end up with the stench on my clothes,” Hermione said, closing her hand around the handle to open the door.
Just as she started to pull the door open, Adeline’s hand shot out, gripping her arm tightly. "Hermione," Adeline whispered, her voice trembling. "No sudden movements."
Hermione froze immediately, heart skipping a beat at the tremor threading through Adeline’s words. She slowly looked up, following her friend’s gaze. Her breath caught in her throat at what stood before them.
Before them, towering in the dimly lit hallway, stood a troll. Hermione’s blood ran cold, recognising it from her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, though the image in her mind didn’t do justice to how truly horrifying it was. Its hulking figure cast a monstrous shadow across the stone walls, its rough, grey skin looking more like weathered rock than flesh, and its massive, lumpy body seemed more like a boulder than a creature. Its small, misshapen head swivelled as it sniffed the air, and in its clawed hand, it dragged a massive wooden club that scraped against the floor with a grating sound.
Hermione’s legs felt like they were made of lead, her body frozen in place, but at Adeline’s direction—"Back up, very slowly”—Hermione nodded, and began to inch backward. But it was already too late. As soon as they moved, the troll’s enormous head snapped around, its eyes locking onto them. For a moment, time seemed to freeze.
Then, with a deafening roar, the troll charged.
Hermione and Adeline scrambled backward into the bathroom, desperate to put distance between themselves and the raging creature. They shoved themselves into the stall furthest into the back of the bathroom, closing the door behind them and crouching low. But it was no use. The troll was already upon them, and its enormous club swung wildly, crashing into the walls with a force that rattled the entire bathroom. Tile and wood splintered across the floor with the force of a bomb, leaving Hermione and Adeline exposed in what had once been a row of stalls, their ears ringing at the troll’s deafening rage.
“Move!” Hermione screamed, and the two girls scrambled madly over broken wood and glass, trying to stay low and out of the troll's sight.
The only place to hide was beneath the porcelain sinks, considering the troll stood between them and the door. Hermione and Adeline huddled close together, waiting for the inevitable blow as the troll’s footfalls shook the floor as it advanced on them. It rose its club high above its head. Hermione held her breath, bracing for impact and turning her face away from the blow and toward her equally terrified friend and cousin.
Just as the club headed for them, the door to the bathroom burst open. The professors had come in the direction of destruction. Snape, leading the charge, spotted them first. Snape moved like a shadow, positioning himself between the girls and the troll. Wand drawn and expression cold, his black eyes narrowed as he fired spell after spell at the creature, joined by spells from McGonagall, Dumbledore and Professor Kettleburn. It was a dangerous dance, the troll swaying and roaring louder, but it was no match for the combined strength of the professors. Eventually, it ended with the incapacitation of the troll, who fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Professor Kettleburn immediately cast an unknown binding charm on the creature, ropes of magical light coiling around the troll’s limbs, securing its arms and legs to its body like super glue.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the professors’ laboured breathing.
Snape turned to face the girls, his expression unreadable. "Are you both all right? Are you hurt?"
Hermione couldn’t speak. The words lodged in her throat, as if they couldn’t find their way past the wave of fear still clinging to her like a second skin. Her heart thudded in her chest, her body trembling from the adrenaline. Her knees ached, and she winced as she looked down to find them scraped raw, blood seeping out of cuts in her tanned skin. The same went for her hands, which were shredded from crawling over broken glass. But it was nothing compared to what could have been.
"We’ll get you to Madam Pomfrey," Snape said, his tone softening just slightly as he helped them both to their feet. Hermione clutched her side, feeling bruises form from where she’d been hit by flying wood.
Before they could leave, Quirrell stumbled into the room, face pale and clammy. He took one look at the troll and promptly collapsed onto a nearby toilet, muttering incoherently. Hermione felt a flicker of contempt as she watched him—this was supposed to be his area of expertise, yet here he was, useless.
Snape’s eyes narrowed at the presence of Quirrell but said nothing as he guided the girls out of the wrecked bathroom and out into the corridor, where Professor Sprout stood guard against any curious students who might come investigating at all the noise.
The halls down to the Hospital Wing were entirely devoid of life, which Hermione liked considering the mess she was sure she looked like. Madam Pomfrey greeted them in the small waiting room/foyer outside the Hospital Wing, her sharp eyes immediately began assessing them for injuries. She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when she saw that although they were injured, they were conscious and walking. She led them to two beds, instructing them to take a seat.
Hermione barely registered the sting of Madam Pomfrey cleaning her cuts and bruises. She was still trapped in that bathroom with the troll, body trembling at the memory of its roar. She took the potions given to her without fuss, appreciating the calm wave that washed over probably from a Calming Draught. She covered their wounds in a balm to ensure their cuts wouldn’t get infected from any of the glass or wood they’d been cut by before putting some adhesive dressing over the top.
“All done, my dears,” she told them, “I won’t use any healing spells as we don’t want to trap any debris or bacteria inside, so I’d like you to keep the adhesive on until tomorrow and then you can take it off. Come and see me if you notice any swelling or signs of infection, okay?”
By the time they were on their way back to the common room with Professor Snape, the adrenaline had depleted entirely from Hermione’s body, and she felt dead on her feet.
They were instantly enveloped in hugs from Alana and Daphne when they arrived, the other Slytherin first-years standing unsurely nearby.
“I was so worried!” Daphne cried into Hermione’s shoulder, arms so tight around her that Hermione felt the sharp sting of the bruise forming on her ribs.
“Ouch, Daphne,” Hermione yelped at Daphne’s rib-crushing hug, which aggravated the bruise forming on her ribs.
“Sorry!” Daphne said sheepishly, pulling away. “Are you both alright?”
“Potentially traumatised but otherwise fine,” Adeline said, looking just as tired as Hermione felt.
“Off to bed with all of you,” Professor Snape interrupted, ushering them all upstairs to the dormitory after giving Adeline and Hermione both bottles of pain-relieving potion in case they needed it.
Hermione didn’t argue. She was rather thankful for his interruption, the night having taken every ounce of energy from her. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep for as long as possible. Tomorrow, she could process what had happened, and consider how she’d go about telling her Mum what had happened.
Hermione showered quickly, wanting to get the scent of troll off of her clothes and body, and didn’t bother even drying her hair more than towelling it off before climbing into bed. She lay awake for a long while, unable to fall asleep. It meant she was awake when Adeline crawled into her bed, seeking some comfort.
They lay side by side, holding hands and relishing in one another’s presence. Eventually, the steady rhythm of one another’s breathing lulled them both to sleep.