Brilliant. This isn't magic — it's logic — a puzzle.
Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine, I don’t want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion.
@bokketo asked: “Miss Granger.” Snape’s voice is a rasp, vocal cords largely destroyed by the snake bite. He lays in the hospital bed, surprised that he’s even alive. He’d thought for sure when he gave Potter the memories that he was dying. It was a necessary act either way, and Snape had been fine with one person understanding, even if they never spoke of it. He’s not sure what Hermione knows of the situation. “If you’ve come to gloat, please do so and be on your way. I have no energy for this.”
Considering bureaucracy was famous for being sluggish, there had been no trial for Snape yet and Harry did mention something, but Hermione hadn’t been in the right mindset to pay it any mind. So to her, Snape was still Dumbledore’s murderer, a spy for Voldemort, a terrible man to children and on very very thin ice.
She didn’t want to be here either. She liked him as much as he liked her, namely not at all. But she was an adult now and intended to act like one. If Hermione wanted to work in the Ministry she had to put her personal opinions and feelings aside and this was a good way to practise. She attempted an expressionless mask but doubted that it worked. Her brows always moved on their own accord. Eventually she gave up and just let Snape see how unhappy she was to have to talk to him.
“I’m supposed to give you this letter from Professor Dumbledore that was found in his possessions. It was addressed to you.” It was either her, Ron or Harry, nobody else was trustworthy enough to be trusted with something like that, especially with Skeeter sniffing around for her next scoop and since Ron and Harry had started training as Aurors already but Hermione’s school year had not started yet, it had been her. Why Dumbledore’s killer should receive something so precious was beyond her and she felt visibly unwell when she placed the letter on the nightstand.
“Why? Is it because of my flowing black locks and my pale skin? Because in the summer it isn’t really all that pale, I’m half Italian after all ‘Mione.”
Hermione had meant a vamp, as in, a seductive, charismatic woman. She bit her lip with a smile, surprised that Eris had misunderstood and thought Hermione meant vampire. She remembered that Eris could not have possibly watched old hollywood movies that included the vamp trope, so it made sense she wouldn’t catch Hermione’s actual meaning. “I think I have some explaining to do, I actually meant a different kind of vamp.”
George wanted to laugh at the surprise in Hermione’s voice. He made it a point to constantly strive to improve things, whether it be in terms of effectiveness or novelty or, in this case, some semblance of morality. Nobody could guarantee that their work wouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, but that was no different than anything else. Casting aguamenti could save a life for someone who was dying of thirst or kill them if you did it while aiming at their throat and made them choke to death. Their work, too, had the ability to help or harm, to cause a few laughs or lifelong trauma.
They could only be as reasonably responsible as possible. The rest was on the user.
“Definitely not as well as they used to, since it’s now a dedicated party trick, but nobody would want to be stuck potioned in love with someone, so even if people think they might want the reverse, I’m not really willing to let them have that.” And he had to be terribly careful while making it too. The fumes sometimes made him unreasonably wistful for nothing at all, and he wasn’t about to let Ron work on it, both because of his past experiences and his… not so great results with some of their potions in the past.
“The Cheering Chatterboxes have been selling like hotcakes though.” He tossed one at her. It was a candy that looked like teeth and made the consumer smile incessantly. Ridiculous and hilarious, just the way pranks should be.
“That’s very reasonable of you. I’m glad that you have other products who are selling so well and I think it’s still quite an incredible potion. Infatuation is still a very powerful thing.” Hermione caught the box a little clumsily and read the description. She scoffed but shook her head with a smirk. “I take three.” She was always low on gifts for friends and everyone loved Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The only friend she couldn’t gift something from the store was Ron for obvious reasons.
“Oh, do you have something for pets? I know it’s a bit of a weird request, but maybe you have something Crookshanks likes to play with. He loved playing with the elongated ear and he also plays with gnomes…actually he plays with pretty much anything. As long as it’s not dangerous to him I’d love to get him something.”
She let her eyes wander around the wares. They were all beautiful to look at, so colourful and came in various shapes and sizes. It was no wonder that children were practically living inside the store. Perhaps if one day she has children of her own, they’d love to come here too.
Terrible choice of words. The Fyndfire incident involving Kalmar in third year was too fresh on her mind. “We need to talk about your pyromaniac tendencies,” Hermione mumbled, concern obvious. “But I suppose you’re right. The potion needs to simmer for an entire season, we have to wait now anyways.”
She shot the potion they had worked on together a glance. Everything looked to be in order. It was a very difficult, elaborate drought but together they managed, which had surprised her pleasantly. Not that Kalmar wasn’t skilled or intelligent, but Hermione wasn’t known to work well with other people. She lived by the motto of if you want it done right, do it yourself and she didn’t like depending on others.
Everything had been working out rather well so far. It had taken some convincing, but Harry agreed to teach them DADA, and Hermione had been quick to ask a few people whether they were interested. She may have also told them to let their friends know - those they deemed trustworthy.
And speaking of trust, there was no trust between Hermione and the potential members of this little club they were about to create. It’s better to be safe rather than sorry, so she had a punishment planned if someone betrayed them. It would also serve as a way to see who exactly had betrayed them.
“We’re meeting in the Hog’s Head,” she told a disgruntled Harry. “We’d only draw more attention in the Broomsticks.” When Harry had asked how many people would come, Hermione only gave a vague hum. “Just a few..”
Much to her delight - and Harry’s horror - more people showed up than expected. Not unexpected was that there was not a single Slytherin in sight. On one hand it was a shame, but on the other, it would be too dangerous. What they did was already risky enough, inviting a Slytherin was just asking for betrayal. No, she wasn’t prejudiced! It was just, when did a Slytherin ever do anything good for them?
After their discussion, voting Harry to be leader of the group and clarifying a few important matters, Hermione placed a parchment on the table and asked everyone to sign. It was a crucial part of her plan to make sure anyone snitching would get caught and punished for it. She watched everyone sign with a mild smile on her face, and then looked over to the door. She only needed a brief second to realise who the bright blond hair belonged to. Their whole operation may be doomed to fail already.
Hermione jumped to her feet and a hand on Harry’s shoulder assured he wasn’t doing the same. “I’ll handle it,” she said quietly and moved over to Draco. There was no way he was just here out of sheer coincidence. “There’s nothing to see here,” she told him sternly.
