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Author: Imogen Story: Nil Desperandum Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-OotP Status: WIP Reviews: 4 Words: 49,808
With thanks to Allie, without whom Hope would never have got up to quite as much mischief! To Nome and Liz for being the fastest betas in the West and to Stephen for teaching me to pronounce ‘Watermark' the Bawston way! Chapter 6 Never Say Die Hope reached wearily for yet another shrivelfig to skin. It was getting late now, but Snape showed no signs of relenting and letting her escape from this detention so easily this time. He relaxed back into his chair, reading a length of parchment with his usual sneer on his face. Hope glared at him, but he seemed to be oblivious to her presence, merely leaning forward again to scrawl a scathing comment on someone's work. Hope sighed. "Surely you can work faster than this, Miss Potter?" The sardonic voice of the Potions Master interrupted her reverie. "You'll be here all night at this rate." She narrowed her eyes and wished he would drop dead. Her fingers were getting sore, and no sooner than she had finished one mountainous heap before her, than Snape lazily waved his wand to summon more of the repulsive things to replace those she'd already finished. This detention felt as if it were never going to end and right now she hated her Head of House with every morsel of passion her heart could muster. He seemed to be completely oblivious to her, merely turning from one page of parchment to the next every now and then. Other than the rustle of his pages and the crack of shrivelfig pods splitting open, the dungeon was totally silent. Not a word was spoken between them. Hope snapped open another shrivelfig and lapsed back into her thoughts. Uncle Remus had been right, she could do a lot better than the box of jokes she'd been sent. Those were only tricks and guaranteed to get her more detentions just like this one. Snape didn't seem even slightly bothered by her presence this evening, and that annoyed her more than ever. He should have been furious with her behaviour, but instead, all she'd managed to achieve were piles upon piles of blasted shrivelfigs and the loss of all her valuable free time for scheming about what to do next. It was no good. What she had to do was to think of something so outrageous that it would provoke Snape to incandescent rage. Something that would get her sent to Professor Circinus. Something that would help her to get home because of just one action. There had to be something. "Those need to be placed in the solution I've left prepared on the office workbench," Snape instructed. "Shrivelfig steeped in morning dew with 20 per cent fluxweed creates which potion after a period of one week?" "I don't know, Sir," Hope said, and it was true, she'd never come across that one before, either with her uncles or from the books she'd read. "It's a salve," Snape explained shortly. "Useful for burns and the like. Madam Pomfrey has requested that it be completed for use in the Hospital Wing, so at least your foolish behaviour has some positive consequences for others. You have good brains: use them!" "Yes, Sir," Hope said, looking at him steadily. "Very well." The black eyes bored right into her. "Put forty of the shrivelfigs into the vat, and stir them for a couple of minutes. You should see them beginning to dissolve. Then you can leave them and clear away your mess here." "Yes, Professor," Hope said meekly and then she turned back to collect a large basin full of the shrivelfigs. "Forty?" "Precisely," Professor Snape nodded, and returned his attention to his marking. Hope walked quickly into Snape's tiny office located just behind his desk, and her eyes scanned the shelves rapidly. There were rows and rows of bottles and jars; most of them were large bottles of perfectly normal ingredients like those she had in her own trunk upstairs, but some of the bottles looked far more interesting. Casting a quick glance through the door at Snape, she was relieved to see him perusing someone's essay with one of the most malicious smiles she'd ever seen on his face. He bent to scribble viciously on the paper and she let her eyes flit quickly along the shelves. There were some smaller bottles there, in coloured glass vials that looked promising, and if she could only get her hands on them, she was sure she could come up with something. She placed her basin on the counter and picked up the pewter stirrer that Snape had left out for her. She heaped handfuls of the shrivelfigs into the elongated dish full of yellowish liquid and began to stir, only half watching as it disintegrated into a pulp and turned into a bright orange hue. Shooting a glance back over her shoulder, she was aware that Snape must be able to hear the scraping noise of her stirring the concoction. While he could hear that, she was safe because he wouldn't come to check. "Continuo," she whispered, and grinned to see the metal paddle twisting round the vat on its own. Quickly, she dived across the room, her eyes dancing along the shelves for something unusual. There was a tiny red vial, almost crimson in colour, and she was just reaching out for it when she saw the word ‘Hemlock' printed on it very carefully. "Useless," she said to herself, and pulled an agonised face at the bottles. She didn't want to kill anyone, she just wanted to get expelled. Why was that so hard to do? She climbed silently on a chair and continued looking along the rows. There was no sound of Snape moving in the other room, but her heart was hammering incredibly loudly in her chest. A rounded violet bottle wobbled as her fingers passed by it, and Hope snatched it up. The label was very old and faded. She stared hard at it. There was a something –xir. Elixir of… moonshine? Whatever it was, it sounded interesting. A hazy memory was somewhere out of reach. She bit her lip and hastily pulled the cork out of the top before she changed her mind. A light waft of lemons and magnolia tickled her nose, and she tipped the bottle quickly, filling one of the slender vials she had in her own pocket. Suddenly, she knew the other ingredients she had to acquire. She pushed the violet bottle back on to the shelf, taking great care to line it exactly with the brown ring that had lain underneath the bottle for years. She moved across the room to the right-hand stack of shelves, where she was completely obscured from Snape's vision. It was going to be on the third shelf up, she was certain of it, and sure enough, when she had scrambled up there, there was a clear glass jar containing fragments of faerie wing. She tipped a small amount of the fragile gossamer into her handkerchief, silently thanking Granny for instilling in her the belief that young witches and wizards should never go out without a clean one in their robes. She knotted it rapidly and stuffed it in her pocket. There was only one thing left to get and that was… There was a creak from next door and Hope froze. She heard an exasperated sigh and then something sounding very much like Snape was about to get out of his chair. She slid stealthily back down to the floor and caught hold of the pewter stirrer. "Finite incantatem," she waved her wand, and realised with horror that the potion was beginning to curdle. "I said to give the potion a quick stir, Miss Potter, not to start up a bid to get into "Hogwarts: A History" for the longest stirring of a potion known to man." "Sorry, Professor." Hope felt herself begin to flush. "I've made a mess of it as well. Look." "Easily remedied," Snape said, collecting a large bottle of greenish liquid from a nearby cupboard and dropping an ooze or two into the potion. He took the spatula from her and beat the potion briskly to mix it in, and then left it to settle. "Leech juice," he said briskly. "Excellent binding ingredient in most cases. Should you ever repeat the mistake in class, Miss Potter, might I recommend you add a little to your potion so that points do not need to be deducted from Slytherin?" "Yes, Sir." "Good," he said. "Now, if you please, you have some tidying up to do, and then you may go. Under no circumstances do I want to see you back here tomorrow night." Hope bit back her annoyance in silence. There was still one more ingredient she had to get. She knew it wasn't anything that any of the students were likely to have, but Snape wasn't about to let her root around in his store cupboard. She'd have to try and sneak back in here before she left. Leaving everything on the table, she hurried back into the dungeon and began to put her things away. The shrivelfig skins were stored in an airtight container for the next poor soul on detention to shred, and she scrubbed the bench clean of all traces of the ingredient. She'd learnt enough already to know that some potions were volatile when they came into contact with others. Once everything was safely stowed away, she stood patiently at the end of Professor Snape's desk, waiting to be dismissed. "So how are you settling in?" He introduced the subject with snake-like stealth, catching her unawares. His eyes glittered and he pressed his fingertips together in a sort of steeple shape by his lips. "Are you making friends? I should imagine that it's not been particularly pleasant given some of the girls with whom you are sharing a dormitory." "I'm fine," Hope said briefly. "Fine?" His tone seemed very sceptical. "Yes," she snapped back. "Cora and I are friends." "Ah! Maguire," Snape nodded his head with some approval. "And the others?" "Gits." "So am I to presume that last night's episode involving Miss Parkinson was part of your campaign to be objectionable?" "Me, objectionable?" Hope choked in surprise. "You want to hear Parkinson when she gets going. Honestly, Professor!" "That's enough," he said sharply. "If I want your opinion, then I will ask for it." Hope opened her mouth to point out that he had asked her what she thought, and then closed it again. There were more important battles to be fought and won. "Miss Potter," The Potions Master's voice resonated through his underground classroom, "a pleasure though it is for you to spend the evening in my stimulating company, I trust that it will happen no more. You have brains and I think we would all appreciate it if you used them a little rather than causing disruption in such an infantile manner. This time wasting must cease. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" "Perfectly clear, Professor," she said, staring down the gimlet eyes that seemed to bore straight through her. Snape paused for a second and seemed to be weighing up her answer carefully. "Very well. You may go." Hope nodded and quietly made her way over to the door of the dungeon. She clapped a hand to her pocket when she was almost there and gave an exclamation of annoyance. "What now?" Snape's tones showed exasperation. "My wand," she explained, turning to allow her eyes to scan around the room. "I've put it down somewhere." "Then I suggest you find it!" he said shortly. He leaned back in his chair and began a fresh assault on the essays before him, not seeming to pay her any attention as she hunted through the areas where she could have possibly left her wand. "May I check your office, please?" she said after a time. "I think I might have left it by the vat when I was in there." Snape barely looked up to grunt consent, and she scuttled quickly into the smaller room. Wasting no time, she clambered onto a chair and stretched up for a particular jar high above her head. Thestral hairs. She could see them clearly inside the glass container. She unscrewed the lid with a shaking hand and took a few before pushing the jar back in place and dropping lightly to the floor. "There it is!" she exclaimed loudly, and collected her wand from under the shelves where she'd left it earlier. She emerged, brandishing her find in her right hand. "Thanks, Professor!" Snape nodded at her, and Hope hurried out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, her stomach lurching with nerves. She sprinted up the empty stone corridor and ducked into a little rocky alcove, hiding behind a large stone statue of Uric the Oddball and caught her breath. She slipped the thestral hairs into another vial, corked it and then stared at the strange assortment of ingredients she'd just stolen. Why had she taken those particular things? She hadn't used any of them before and hadn't even known they existed before now. There was no telling what they'd do in conjunction with one another, and she knew better than to try and make a random potion. She could still remember the time that Uncles Fred and George had tried that on Lee Jordan and had ended up accidentally transforming him into a plague of polka dotted frogs. There was an uneasy feeling somewhere in the back of her mind. She'd felt so certain that she needed these specific things for a particular potion, and yet it felt like she had forgotten whatever it was. It was a foggy memory, lurking somewhere at the far end of her brain. She screwed her face up, trying to focus her mind on it, but it was hopeless. What she'd just done made no sense at all. She pocketed the ingredients again with a tiny sigh, and looked at her watch. It was getting late now, and she still hadn't come up with a real plan of what to do next. Still, she had a good selection of library books, and perhaps she'd be able to find something in one of those. *** Hope rubbed her eyes sleepily. The regular breathing of the others in her dormitory was lulling her towards sleep as well. She'd caught herself drifting off once or twice and her head had jerked abruptly upwards as she'd forced herself to stay awake. She reached wearily for the next book at the foot of her bed, and flipped to the index page. Her wand illuminated the creamy parchment and as she read downwards, a smile curved across her lips. This definitely looked promising. Suddenly she sat upright in bed and pored carefully over the pages, flipping from one charm to the next. These didn't look too difficult to cast, and with a bit of imagination, they could be adapted to be quite funny. The question was, where could she do them? And then it occurred to her. Breakfast. The whole school would be there, and… her grin widened… she knew just how to set this up. She slipped out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown. No one was likely to be around at this early hour of the morning, and even if she were caught, then that would only land her in more trouble. It was a plan with no drawbacks. With her book tucked under one arm and her wand in hand, she tiptoed out of Slytherin and headed cheerfully towards the Hogwarts kitchens. It was only a few minutes later that she found herself beside the painting of the bowl of fruit that she'd heard everyone talking about so often at home. She reached out a finger and tickled the pear. It wriggled beneath her touch and gave a little giggle, transforming at once into a doorknob to allow her inside. Quickly, she slipped in and stared around her with interest. The room was enormous. It had a large range of polished ovens at the far side, with coppery pans and basins suspended from racks above them, glinting in the blue moonlight that streamed in from the windows high above her head. Huge, long tables filled a large proportion of the room. Four of them stretched down the length of the place, and the other one, furthest away from where she stood, was perpendicular to the others. She realised with a jolt that this was identical to the layout of the tables in the Great Hall, which must be directly above. Yes, she was right. The tables were already set out as if for breakfast, and there must be some sort of magic that lifted them from this room to the one above when a person was ready to eat. It was all here, just waiting for morning. She almost skipped the length of the deserted room. Things couldn't be more perfect than this. The preparation table for the staff had been laid out in their places, and as they always sat in the same seats, it was going to be easy. Hope regarded Snape's cornflakes with a wicked grin. This was going to be worth detention any day of the week! She opened her spell book and in the quietest of voices began to weave the charm. *** "Hope! Hope!" She became dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her, and she sleepily tried to swat it away. Just a few more hours. She pulled her blankets over her head to try and block out the noise. "Come on, Hope! Wake up!" the voice pleaded. "We're going to be late for breakfast!" Breakfast? Hope sat bolt upright so suddenly that she almost smacked hard into Cora's nose. "Whattimesit?" she gabbled, leaping out from her bed and immediately beginning to haul on her uniform. "Not quite eight," Cora said, watching her friend with a great deal of bemusement. "What's going on?" "Nothing," Hope grinned at her. "Just don't want to be late, that's all. I got into enough trouble yesterday," she added as she became aware of the other three girls in the room. She fastened her robes up with shaking fingers and rummaged frantically through her trunk for her hairbrush. "You should really get round to unpacking," Cora chuckled. "I'll give you a hand tonight after lessons, if you want." "It's ok," Hope said abruptly. She'd got no intention of unpacking anything; after all, it was only a matter of time before she'd leave this place, one way or another. Unpacking would be like admitting that Slytherin was home, and hell would freeze over before Hope Potter was prepared to do that. Hurried ablutions were all she had time for, and before she knew where she was, she was running at full pelt up the underground passageways that she'd sleepily stumbled down less than a couple of hour before. They seemed different to the ghostly eeriness of the night, looking far brighter and more cheerful, with the torches flaming in the sconces on the walls, and the babbling chatter of the day that surrounded them in the crowds waiting to enter the Great Hall for breakfast. "What's the rush?" Cora gasped, clutching a stitch in her side as she stumbled to a halt beside Hope. "Hungry, I suppose," Hope smiled, the impish pixies of her insides now dancing with glee. Then, quite unexpectedly, she felt a tremor of nerves running through her. What if it didn't work at all? What if they didn't realise that it was her behind it? What if they did? Suddenly she felt quite sick. The great oak doors swung open and the throng of unsuspecting students and staff strolled in, taking their places on the tables where they always sat. Hope slid into a seat with her back to the wall, glancing swiftly up at the staff table where they were all taking their places. Hope's eyes widened as she saw Professor Trelawney drift vaguely down the gap between the tables, her gossamer-like robes wafting in her wake. She knew Trelawney was one of the Divination teachers from Mum and Dad moaning so much about her not being able to predict a rain cloud if she'd been standing underneath one, but she'd never seen the teacher appear for any meals thus far. Toast appeared on the table before her, but Hope took no notice; she was staring transfixed at the very top table. Cora followed her gaze, and then turned back to her friend looking very perplexed. "What have you done?" she said in a worried whisper. Hope just grinned. Severus Snape had disappeared behind his copy of The Daily Prophet to eat his bowl of morning cornflakes. A couple of seats further down, an unsuspecting Remus Lupin winked at her and then turned to continue his conversation with Professor McGonagall. Professor Sprout was tucking into her daily grapefruit with gusto, and Hagrid was right at the end of the line, enjoying his morning porridge, despite Trelawney twittering on like an annoying bird in his ear. Hope held her breath. Any second now… There was an almighty screech from the staff table and the babble from the students was quashed instantly as if someone had flicked a switch. All necks craned to see what was going on. "Oh my goodness!" shrieked Professor Trelawney. "Severus, my dear!" "What is it now, Sybill?" Snape snapped with impatience. "Don't tell me you've foreseen my death in your morning milk?" There was an irritated rustle of his paper. Uncle Remus leaned backwards in his chair, stretching to see what was happening lower down the table. His lips twitched and Hope could see he was trying not to laugh. "What now?" Snape sounded more annoyed than ever, and he flung the newspaper down on the table in front of him. "Can't a man…?" Whatever Snape had been about to say was drowned out by the screams of laughter that rang through the lofty rafters of the Great Hall. Hope's mouth dropped open with sheer glee. This was better than even she had imagined. Snape glared around the room, his black eyes scowling from underneath the bright pink feathers that were sprouting rapidly through his lank locks. His hooked nose seemed to elongate, curving more than ever and darkening into a beak. More feathers sprouted, and his neck stretched out, reminding Hope instantly of a pink flamingo. Professor McGonagall's hand flew up to her mouth as if she were going to be sick. Her tightly pinned hair spiralled down from her usually severe bun, changing her usual greying locks to a shiny chestnut. Her black robes blurred before their eyes and before they had a chance to blink they were faced with their Transfiguration teacher looking a good forty years younger in clinging leather that wouldn't look misplaced on a dedicated biker. The house tables rocked in mirth, barely drawing breath before Professor Sprout gave a startled cry. A whitish beard shot out of the end of her chin, growing at a furious pace, but no one had a chance to watch longer. Professor Lupin's robes had been transformed into an elegant off-the-shoulder evening gown of shimmering gold, complete with strappy heels and a handbag. His usually shaggy hair was swept back into an elegant chignon, and held in place with a tasteful pin. He took one look at himself, burst out laughing and stood up to take a bow to rapturous applause and cheering. Professor Sprout's beard was now rivalling that of even the most venerable of wizards, twisting down around by her knees. The hall was in uproar as Professor Trelawney leapt to her feet, crying of terrible things and made a lolloping run for the door before anything worse could happen to her. Hope grabbed her wand and muttered a quick spell under her breath. She'd once learnt it from one of Dad's books and had used it every now and then to torment her brother. A dark puff of cloud broke away from the enchanted ceiling and drifted after the Divination teacher, beginning a light drizzle of rain on top of her as they passed into the corridor beyond. Snape was trying to keep order, but in vain. His expression was one of thunder, but when his robes transformed into a slinky negligee, the entire hall was reduced to complete hysteria. "Ah's takin' it easy," Hagrid's dreadlocked form rumbled from the far end of the staff table. "Dem t'ings don' matter. Relax, man!" Hope could do no more. The tears of laughter were rolling down her cheeks, and her sides hurt with sheer delight. It didn't come better than this.
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