Potions Gone Wrong

Chapter 8: Potions Gone Wrong

Hermione watched Snape closely on Monday morning, looking for any indication that the potion he'd made on Saturday had been successful. There was no difference in his demeanor or attitude from any other day she had worked with him. He had been bent over his cauldron when she'd arrived that morning, and that was where he had been for the last three hours. Curiosity was driving Hermione mad, even though the potion was not one that she had any part in making.

Finally, she turned around to look at his back and cleared her throat. "Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Did you have any luck with the potion on Saturday?"

He turned around to face her. "I don't believe that is any of your business, though I should have known asking for your help would be a waste of time. It was foolish of me to think that a young girl would be able to tell me something I didn't already know."

Hermione pressed herself into the counter behind her to keep her balance in the face of his insults. She didn't understand where this sudden loathing of her came from or why he was being downright mean to her this morning. It took a moment to catch her breath and gather her wits. When she did speak, her voice came out soft and with a tinge of sadness. "You did not provide me with enough time to help, sir. I spent all day Sunday in the Hogwarts Library looking for possible ingredients to boost the effectiveness of gotu kola. I want to help you."

Snape appeared to be surprised by her admission. His mouth opened just the slightest bit, and he stared at her with wide, astonished eyes. A moment later, he snapped his jaw shut and scowled at Hermione. "I was under the impression that the Hogwarts Library is for student and staff use, not for meddlesome graduates who can't seem to stay away."

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to hold back her tears. Snape certainly had a knack of hurting her feelings and making her burn with anger at the same time. She wasn't sure whether she should punch him in his crooked nose or cry. She resolved that he wouldn't have the satisfaction of eliciting either reaction from her. "I made a small list of ingredients I don't recall seeing in your notes. Honestly, I don't think any of them will help you much, but I wanted to at least try," she said. She stepped forward and hastily placed the small piece of Muggle notebook paper on the counter beside his hand before turning her back on him and resuming her work.

He was silent for at least a minute. Hermione could feel his eyes boring into her back as she tried to stop her hands from shaking. She wasn't sure if the shaking was from nerves or anger over his horrible outburst at her. Finally, she heard the scuffle of his boots as he turned back around to his cauldron.

Hermione dared a quick glance over her shoulder. The sheet of notebook paper was gone. She couldn't help but smile softly to herself. It was peeking out of the corner of his pocket, the white paper standing out starkly against his black clothing. A few minutes later, she heard him whisper a Stasis charm under his breath and exit the room. The tension in her shoulders drained out, and she slumped against the worktable. Perhaps I should just give up on this potion and throw out any thought of helping him. It's just not worth it if he's going to treat me like this when something doesn't work.

She sighed and propped her chin on her hand, staring out the window above her. It had been raining for hours. Walking to the Three Broomsticks in the rain was out of the question; her hair was difficult enough to manage without the added moisture. Hermione watched as rivulets of water traced lines down the glass until it was nearly time for lunch. She planned on Apparating there, but she was still undecided on whether she wanted to buy Snape's lunch. He had gone off to who-knew-where, and his behavior had been atrocious.

"Your lunch is in the kitchen." Snape's voice jolted her out of her thoughts and nearly made her topple off the stool on which she was perched. By the time she turned around, he was gone.

Hermione furrowed her brows. My lunch is in the kitchen? She slid off the stool and hesitantly walked through the small house to the kitchen. Snape was sitting in his usual spot at the table with a large sandwich in his hands and the Daily Prophet in front of him. A tray of food, obviously from the Three Broomsticks, was sitting in front of the chair across from him. Hermione briefly wondered if he had poisoned it.

"Professor, you didn't have to buy my lunch. I really don't mind going to get it myself."

"Sit down and eat, Miss Granger," Snape said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Hermione took her seat. She was surprised to see that the sandwich he had gotten her was exactly as it should have been – turkey on wheat toast. A further examination under the bread revealed lettuce and tomatoes. It was how she had ordered it for herself many times before. Snape was paying attention to what she ate every day, or he had asked Rosmerta. Either way, she was surprised he had put so much effort into getting her lunch.

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"That's brilliant, Harry!" Hermione said, beaming at her friend.

Harry shrugged the compliment off and shook his head. "It's nothing much. I'm surprised no one has thought of it before."

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed. "I was part of this discovery, too. It would have never been possible without me."

"And your hot-headedness," Harry added.

Hermione curled her feet underneath her and settled onto the sofa in the flat the boys shared. She had gone there to spend time with them after work that day. "How exactly did you discover this charm anyway?"

Harry looked at Ron. "Ron was being dense a couple of days ago."

"I was not being dense," Ron corrected. "I had good reason to feel that way."

"Anyway," Harry continued, "this girl, Samantha, was talking to Ron after the game with Bulgaria. He was called over to chat with a reporter from The Quibbler, and she started talking to me."

"You were touching her!" Ron's face was red.

Harry waved his hand in the air, telling Ron to be quiet. "She was a bit flirty, asking me how well I could snog and all that sort of nonsense. Ron got angry that she was flirting with me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, won't you ever grow up? She was just a girl."

"Yeah, a gorgeous girl who happened to like me."

Harry laughed. "And every other Quidditch player in the stadium that day. I saw her feeling the muscles of Bulgaria's Keeper before she started batting her eyes at you."

Ron ignored Harry and picked up with the story. "Anyway, I was feeling betrayed and decided to just leave. I Apparated to Hogsmeade for a pint, but I didn't tell Harry where I was going."

"I ran over to catch him, but he had already Disapparated. I was frustrated that he had left in such a fit and things just fell into place in my mind," Harry said.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "So?"

"I said the incantation I told you about earlier, but I didn't concentrate on Apparating to any specific place. The incantation directed me, and I was able to follow the residual traces of Ron's destination."

"That's fascinating!" Hermione said. "Do you plan on notifying the Ministry?"

Harry firmly shook his head. "No way, I don't want any more attention than I've already got. Ron and I decided to keep this one under wraps for now." Hermione was slightly disappointed, but she understood why Harry wasn't keen on throwing himself to the media hounds again after all he had gone through with Voldemort and the war.

"So, how's the bat doing?" Ron asked.

She gave him a disapproving look. "Ronald Weasley, you should have more manners than that. You are an adult, after all."

"Bat, greasy git, prat, the worst professor I've ever had, Snivellus, Snape, whatever," he said with a shrug.

"Ron, you are the most childish adult I have ever met. As for my work with Snape, it is going as well as can be expected. He really hasn't changed much in the past few years. We're getting along tolerably well, I think." She shrugged and gave them both a smile. "I haven't gotten myself fired yet. That's good, right?"

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The owl was waiting on her windowsill when she arrived home that evening. It carried a small piece of parchment that held a list of all the patients currently residing in the hopeless ward at St. Mungo's. There were only fourteen people on the list. They were the unfortunate ones that magic could not heal. Ginny had even thought to list the length of time each had been there. A little over half had been there well over twenty years, obviously casualties of the first war with Voldemort. However, there were several wizards and witches from the more recent one.

Hermione scanned the list of brain dead patients several times, but did not see any name that sounded familiar in the least. Of course, it could very well be that Snape knew one of the patients whom she may not. The list really wouldn't do her any good without some additional information about each person. All things considered, Hermione didn't think asking Ginny to break yet another set of confidentiality rules was worth the information.

I can't help him, so I should just stop thinking about it. Snape will ask for my help if or when he needs it. It is best that I just keep my nose out of it until that time.

A short note from Ginny was crammed onto the bottom of the parchment.

Complete list as of yesterday. Robert (French Healer) works in that ward sometimes. Maybe you could ask him out to dinner to discuss this. Love, G.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny's persistence. The last thing she needed in her life was a boyfriend. She had her hands full with a moody, demanding boss who had a penchant for self-destruction.

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Hermione's attempt to weasel her way into additional work on Tuesday didn't exactly go as planned. Terminus Est was in high demand at many of the apothecaries, and Snape had trouble meeting that demand, even with Hermione's help. He was not even close to completing his daily work when she finished cleaning the last of her cauldrons. She offered to stay after hours and help him with the potions he was working on as a way of repaying him for buying her lunch. Snape declined her offer to help and told her to go home.

She considered pressing the matter, but he had not been in a very cordial mood so far that week, even though he had bought her lunch two days in a row. Instead of potentially getting herself in hot water with the boss, she gathered her things and Apparated home just a few minutes before six o'clock. By eight o'clock she was brewing a potion on her kitchen counter while eating a late dinner. The soup she had warmed up in the microwave tasted dreadful, but her stomach was demanding food, and it was really the only thing around that looked the least bit appetizing.

She sat the bowl down by the sink so her hands were free to stir the experimental potion in the cauldron. If her calculations were correct, it should induce a state similar to laughing gas in the drinker. Fred had asked her to modify and correct his list of ingredients because the potion only made people pass out. She couldn't say no to an old friend, especially now that he was carrying on Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes by himself. George had been killed shortly before the final battle. It had dealt quite a blow to the entire Weasley family, but had hit Fred the hardest. She had offered to help in any way she could, and that usually involved fixing defective potions for Fred's joke shop in Diagon Alley.

The potion wasn't even close to being finished, and more than half the ingredients were scattered over the counter beside the cauldron. Hermione stirred the potion and rubbed her tired eyes. All in all, things with Snape were working out better than she had anticipated. He was still quite grumpy and difficult to deal with at times, but the moments of connection she found with him, though they were few and far between, made up for most of the hateful remarks he made. Hermione finally understood that the insults and hatred were simply a way of masking his uneasiness and distress. He was obviously a very troubled man, but she had learned the hard way that you cannot help someone who does not wish to be helped. Just as with the house elves, Severus Snape did not want her help, and if he did, he had a very odd way of showing it.

Hermione carefully added a small pile of shredded chocolate to the mixture and stepped away to rinse her bowl in the sink. Her eyes were puffy and blurry from working over a cauldron all day, but she really did need to finish this batch for Fred to test. She had been promising it to him for over a week.

Stifling a yawn, Hermione dried the bowl and reached up to return it to its place in the cabinet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Crookshanks slinking along the highest shelf in the kitchen. "Get down from there this instant, Crookshanks," she said. "I've left ingredients up there, and I don't want you to spill them or..." Hermione trailed off when she saw his large tail whip around to hit one of the small glass phials. It somersaulted in the air several times as it fell toward the floor. As luck would have it, it was headed directly for the cauldron she was brewing in.

Hermione leapt forward to catch it, but her reflexes were no match for gravity. The glass phial hit the edge of the cauldron just before the lid popped off and skittered across the floor. The liquid hissed as it hit the bubbling potion. She didn't even have time to shield her face or jump out of the way when the potion exploded from the cauldron and splashed over her and the flat.

Author's Note: Thank you to my lovely beta, Snarkyroxy. Also, thanks go out to Allyness and Jessica for lending me their eyes while I was writing this. As for who Snape's potion is for – my lips are sealed. No matter how much I'm begged, I'm not giving any hints. You don't really want me to anyway. It would ruin all the fun.