A Potions Disaster
Hermione makes it to breakfast after Harry but before Theo.
“Good morning,” he smiles, wiping exhaustion from his face.
She settles on the bench across from him and conjures a cup of tea. She hadn’t slept well. Tom’s diary had been whispering to her more than it ever had before. She dreamed of the chamber and tried to make sense of the parseltongue that swirled through her mind, always different. Always demanding.
“Isn’t it amazing? Like the castle just knows what we need,” Harry says, digging into a rather hefty plate of eggs and potatoes.
She doesn’t correct his assumption that the castle had sent the tea. She’ll have to broach the subject of house elves with him at some point. She’s certain he’ll hate it. Creatures forced to serve magical families for all time. Hermione wasn’t exactly a fan herself. The difference being that Harry would likely want to help the house elves. Whereas Hermione has long given up on changing the status quo. Centuries of wizards at the top of the food chain have left the wizarding world an unfair place.
Hermione has accepted that. One day, Harry will have to as well.
“Settling in alright?” She asks, wanting to know how he’d managed with Draco and Blaise as roommates.
He shrugs in response.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks, not looking up from his plate.
“Of course,” she answers. He can tell her whatever he likes. She’ll make no promises to keep them. Besides, she has already seen inside his mind. She knows his secrets.
“The hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor.”
Fine, so she hadn’t known that, but it isn’t a surprise.
Case in point, here he is sharing a very private piece of information to a practical stranger.
“Both of your parents were in Gryffindor, so that isn’t much of a surprise,” she says, sharing something that Lucius had told her was a weakness. A reason to look down on the Potters.
“I wanted to be with you and Theo,” he says, a flash of guilt.
“Harry, your parents wouldn’t have cared what house you were in. They would be proud of you just for getting here.”
He gives her a confused look and she decides that this is as good a time as any to talk to him about his bruises.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something, but I don’t want to upset you.”
Now he looks really confused.
“Upset me?”
“You should tell Se- Professor Snape,” Hermione says quickly, ripping the bandaid.
Except Harry would rather play it obtusely.
“Tell him what?”
Hermione should approach this with more tact. Afterall, from what she had glimpsed in his mind, no one is aware of the pain he has suffered.
“Well, about your wrist to start,” she says.
He pulls his wrist close to his stomach and asks, “What are you talking about?”
She can’t exactly tell him that she looked into his mind. That skill is one of the many Lucius ordered her to keep secret.
“I saw how you winced everytime you picked up your dinner fork. Professor Snape should know. Or Madame Pomfrey, she could heal it for you.”
He pulls at the sleeve of his shirt, covering the bruised skin.
“I fell. Caught myself on it. It’s fine.”
Lies. Bad ones.
She knows them well. Ordinarily, she doesn’t care about the lies people tell her. They are usually harming themselves more than others. And they are usually deserving of that harm.
“You didn’t. Harry, you need to tell someone. An adult. Someone who can help you. Please?”
She hates to ask anyone for anything.
Harry just stares at his lap.
“My… guardian. He uses a switch sometimes. When I displease him.” She says it so softly she isn’t sure Harry hears her.
Harry turns a surprised face towards her.
“I’m not telling you for sympathy. Only, you should know that I can see it in you for a reason.”
“Because you are like me.”
Hermione doesn’t think that is true. Lucius had never hit her in the heat of a moment. Nor had they forced her to serve them breakfast, lunch, and dinner all without allowing her to eat.
“Telling someone helps,” she says, insinuating without outright lying about the fact that no one knows about Lucius’s preferred form of discipline. Besides, who would she tell? Who would do anything against Lucius Malfoy.
“I’ll think about it,” Harry says softly. “But- But promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”
“I promise,” she nods, hoping that he comes to the right conclusion on his own.
Or she will have to break her promise.
“Thanks. I just don’t want to become a freak here too.”
Her chest pinches. He’s never had friends. Or family.
“You know, I think we were meant to be in the same house,” she says, thinking once more of her own miserable childhood.
“What, like destiny?”
She swallows.
“Maybe.”
“I’m not sure I believe in destiny, Hermione.”
“Me neither,” she says.
Their lives are intertwined. Things will only get more complicated.
“Morning,” Theo greets them both, distracting her from thoughts of the suffering she might force upon Harry one day.
Their first class is Potions. So Hermione excuses herself from breakfast early, hoping to speak with Severus before the rest of the students arrive.
Hermione waits a beat before entering the potions classroom. She isn’t sure what Severus will say to her now that she has been sorted into his own house.
She isn’t naive enough to think that he might be happy, but a small part of her thinks pride may be somewhere deep inside him.
“Miss Granger,” Severus greets her, swooping around a corner in his pitch black robes. He looks so different here in the dungeons. More severe.
“Professor,” she replies, using his honorific for the first time in years.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
He’s asking a hundred questions with this one cryptic sentence.
Does Hermione want to live for seven years with those who hate her for her birth?
Does she want Lucius to find out that she is befriending Potter?
Does she want to ignore the directives of her benefactor?
And most importantly.
Does she want to push back against what Tom wants from her? For her?
“I am certain.”
He gives her a long look and then nods.
“I’ve set aside a variation for you,” he tells her, indicating a cauldron closest to the potions store. There is a thin stack of parchment resting there.
Hermione exhales and thanks him, straightening her spine and letting the pride wash over her.
She knows that Draco is in this class and after a quick scan knows that he only put out one variation.
“Find a seat,” Severus snaps at the door and Hermione is certain a Gryffindor first year has arrived.
Hermione grabs a quill and a piece of parchment from her bag and watches from the corner of her eye as the student- a boy- sits at a table closer to the front.
Soon, other students begin to trickle in, a quiet chatter filling the air.
Theo slides into the seat beside her and sets his bag down on another chair for Harry, who hasn’t made an appearance yet.
Hermione worries about Severus and Harry. How he’ll treat the son of his first love and his biggest enemy. Hermione isn’t afraid of using her magic to show Severus that Harry Potter is off limits.
“I got lost,” Harry says, stumbling over and pulling his chair out loudly.
Hermione watches as Severus grits his teeth while glaring at Harry.
“Hush up and pay attention,” she scolds gently.
Theo and Harry both give her a strange look but they do straighten up a bit.
“There will be no silly incantations or wand waving in this class. As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However,” Snape starts speaking, casting a quick look right at Hermione for a half second before moving on to glare some more. “Those select few who possess the predisposition; I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”
His gaze finally rests on Harry. Hermione can hear him thinking about the surprise Slytherin.
Harry just stares back before lowering his gaze to the table in front of him.
Severus begins to instruct on safety protocol, but Hermione can’t stop looking at Harry.
He looks so sad. Discouraged from one look. So used to the adults in his life showing nothing but distaste.
Hermione thinks again of telling Severus what she saw. She never should have promised Harry. Not that promises mean all that much to her. But it would take a lot of rebuilding his trust should she betray his confidence.
“What’s his problem with Harry?” Theo asks, his voice not quite low enough for Hermione’s taste.
“He doesn’t like any first years. None of us know anything yet.”
“Miss. Granger,” Severus interrupts her half defence of him to Theo. “Tell me, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”
It is an easy question. One that she knew the answer to three years ago.
He isn’t asking because he doesn’t think she knows the answer.
Hermione isn’t going to be the first student to show themselves to be a know-it-all.
“I don’t know, Sir,” she answers quietly, pretending as though she has been cowed by his attention.
His already irritated gaze hardens into frustration and she thinks for a moment that he is going to take points.
“If you aren’t going to pay attention, you should leave,” he says, daring her.
What had he said to her during their last lesson?
You’ll always have to prove yourself in this world.
He’s going to regret pushing her.
From what she’d heard so far all he is going to do is lecture about some basics and a cure for boils.
A complete waste of her time. Even if he had set aside a variation for her.
She pushes her chair back, relishing the scrape of the legs against the stone.
He doesn’t say a word as she puts her bag over her shoulder and leaves without a glance over her shoulder.
Several of her classmates gasp and whisper but he silences them by slamming the door of the classroom shut.
Hermione grins to herself and decides to find the library.