The Fire You Touch

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Chapter 18: Moste Potente Potions

There was a soft tap on her shoulder. "Um, Aeryn? Hi."

Aeryn looked slowly up from her Charms homework. It took her a moment to recognize the face above her as belonging to the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. "Oh…Oliver," she exclaimed weakly, forcing the remnants of a smile onto her face. "Hi."

"Hi." Oliver Wood grinned broadly at her. He would have looked quite at ease were it not for the shuffling of his feet as he peered down at Aeryn’s open book. "Doing homework for Charms, I see. Need any help?"

Aeryn pointedly ignored the muffled snigger from Ron as he buried his head in the spine of his spellbook. "No, Oliver. But thanks anyway."

"Oh. Okay." The faintest of blushes colored Wood’s cheeks, and he shoved a meaty hand through his crop of blond hair. "Hey, I was wondering—you’re planning on coming to the Quidditch match this weekend, right?" He laughed slightly, a nervous sound. "Gryffindor against Slytherin. It’s going to be a great match."

"Of course she’s coming," Harry murmured, and Aeryn could hear him straining not to laugh. "She wouldn’t miss her first Quidditch match of the season—she’s got to cheer me on. Right, Aeryn?"

"Right," Aeryn agreed quietly, although Quidditch was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment.

"Oh. Good." Wood rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "Well. Guess I’ll see you then, huh?"

Be nice to him

, Aeryn told herself as she looked into his anxious face. She twitched her lips slightly. "Sure, Oliver. I’ll be cheering for you." This time the Quidditch captain truly blushed, and he hurried away from the table with a hastily mumbled goodbye.

"Aeryn’s got a boyfriend," Ron sang quietly, scribbling on his parchment. Harry snickered.

Aeryn closed her eyes, tapping her quill against her forehead. She was so tired, so very tired. This past week had dragged on to eternity…she would not think about it…must not think about it…with a great effort, Aeryn forced her attention back onto her book.

A shriek interrupted her studying, and Aeryn looked up just in time to see Ron’s Charms homework go up in flames. Ron’s face grew almost as red as his hair, and he slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. "This…stupid…wand!" he fumed, holding up the said object. The cracked piece of wood, bound together with Spellotape, spat weakly at him. Ron’s wand had broken when he and Harry had crashed his father’s flying car into the Whomping Willow, and it had caused Ron nothing but trouble for the entire semester. One memorable backfire had caused him to vomit slugs for an entire day.

Hermione slammed her book shut as well, looking pensive. "I’ve been thinking about the Chamber of Secrets," she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a previous conversation. "Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

For the past week, the school had talked of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch did his best to make sure the students kept the matter in the forefront of their minds. He kept pulling students out of the hallway and giving them detentions for ‘smiling too much’ and ‘breathing too heavily.’ But the school also buzzed about the potential mutant threat—and the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione had even gotten the dry, dead Professor Binns to comment on this most interesting tale during History of Magic class—a great feat indeed, since the ghost was distinctly proud that he taught facts, not myths and legends.

The Hogwarts founder Salazar Slytherin had wanted only students from all-magical families to be admitted into Hogwarts, and he eventually left the school because the other founders would not agree with his point of view. But, according to legend, Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle that would only be opened when his true heir arrived at the school. The Chamber of Secrets, as it was called, housed a ‘horror within’ that would be used to purge Hogwarts of all who were unworthy to study magic. Aeryn personally thought the whole Chamber of Secrets idea a load of crap. Her friends, however, had different ideas.

"Let’s think," said Ron in mock puzzlement, "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced. "If you’re talking about Malfoy—"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him—‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’—come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him—"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" Hermione said skeptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough."

"They could have had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son…"

"But what about this mutant thing?" Hermione asked. "That’s got to be taken into consideration."

"Why on earth does everyone think that it was a mutant attack?" Aeryn asked, keeping her head bowed over her books. "What on earth would a mutant have to gain by getting rid of everyone who isn’t a pureblood?"

"Like I’ve said before, maybe Malfoy’s a mutant, too." Ron shrugged.

"I don’t think Slytherin’s heir would be a mutant," said Aeryn, a bit more sharply than she had intended.

"You never know," Ron said sagely.

Hermione snorted. "Besides, Malfoy can do magic. We’ve all seen him do it."

"That doesn’t mean," said Ron, wagging his finger mockingly at Hermione, "that he’s not a mutant."

"It could be possible," Harry commented. "Maybe Malfoy—or the Heir of Slytherin—his being a mutant taints his pure blood, so in a weird way, getting rid of Mudbloods and Squibs is sort of revenge."

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it’s possible…"

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect—but we need to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us."

"But that’s impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.

"No," said Hermione, "All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion. Oh, you know what that is—" in response to Ron and Harry’s confused looks "—Snape mentioned it in Potions a few weeks ago—it transforms you into someone else! Think about it, us four could change into Slytherins, and Malfoy would probably tell us anything."

Aeryn flipped a page in her Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2. Getting into the Slytherin common room…images of green globes and rough walls sprang unbidden into her mind…she clenched her hand in a fist and stared into her spellbook.

"And what if we wind up looking like Slytherins forever?" Ron asked.

"Oh, it wears off after a while," Hermione said impatiently. "I can make it, no problem, but getting hold of the recipe will be difficult. It’s in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it’s bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

"And we’d need a signed note of permission from a teacher to get it," Harry said flatly. "No go, Hermione. No teacher is going to give us permission to go get a restricted book."

"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…"

"Hermione," Harry sighed. "It’s not going to work."

A thoughtful look crossed Ron’s face, and he put a hand on Harry’s arm. "It could," he said slowly. "What if we were getting the book for research in Snape’s class?"

Aeryn’s nails dug into her palm.

"Ron," Harry said. "Snape is not going to give any student, especially us, permission to the Restricted Section of the library."

"Not us," Ron said slyly. "Aeryn."

Green globes, a roaring fire with no heat, a darkened chamber…she would not listen, could not lose control…

"You know she’s Snape’s favorite student, even though she’s not a Slytherin," Ron argued. "He’d probably even give her the password to the Slytherin chambers if she asked for it!"

Heir Apparent…

Ron glanced over at her. "What d’you think, Aeryn?"

Her Charms homework crashed to the ground, and Aeryn was on her feet, blindly stumbling away from the table. Her breath came in heaving gasps, and she pressed her hands to her face, fighting not to panic. Ron hadn’t meant anything by it, there was no way he could know…but she screwed her eyes shut as she felt the memory of Snape’s hands wandering over her body, and she bit back a whimper.

She had been a virgin, before Friday. That was almost the worst part of it, magnified by the humiliation and pain Snape’s coal-black eyes inflicted if he so much as glanced her way. The trauma of her parents’ deaths and years of cleaning houses had steered her clear from the dating market. The closest thing she had come to a relationship was going out for burgers with her sensei, Marshall, one evening after karate class. She had always assumed…always thought that she would wait until marriage, or until she was with someone she truly loved. Being molested by her teacher had never played into her fantasies.

Snape’s knowing smile haunted her every footstep. Potions had become unendurable. While her friends marveled at their sudden onslaught of A’s, Aeryn endured the furtive caresses of the Potions master as he passed her desk during lecture, or the whispered words into her ears as he leaned over her to peer in her cauldron. Even on Wednesday, the only day they didn’t have Potions and the one day she thought she could escape him, Snape caught her in the halls as she hurried to Gryffindor tower. He probably would have pulled her into his office for an extra study session—as he called it—were it not for the appearance of her friends upon the scene to rescue her. But thwarting him that afternoon had not bought her any release.

Aeryn’s eyes grazed to the grandfather clock next to the fireplace. Nine-thirty-five, and he had requested her presence in his chambers tonight, at midnight…

She felt a hand on her arm. "Aeryn?" came Harry’s voice at her shoulder, suddenly tense. She turned, slowly. Concern was etched plainly across the boy’s thin face. "What’s the matter?"

Ron was immediately at her other shoulder. "Aeryn, you okay?"

Breathe in, breathe out …The Gryffindor common room had gone suddenly quiet, and Aeryn could feel every eye turning curiously towards her. You can handle this, you can do this…

"Miss Blake, what is the matter?" Professor McGonagall swept over to Aeryn, followed closely by Hermione.

Aeryn gulped. "Nothing," she lied hastily.

The deputy headmistress put a hand to Aeryn’s forehead. "You’re sweating," she said firmly, her eyes glittering through her square-rimmed glasses. "Do you need to go see Madame Pomfrey?"

"No," Aeryn gasped. The last thing she needed was a visit to the school nurse—talented Aeryn was, but she wouldn’t be able to hide any of her new-made bruises from Madame Pomfrey. If she found out…and then Snape found out …

Professor McGonagall looked down at Aeryn sharply. "Are you certain?"

"Positive." Aeryn pressed her trembling palms flat against her side. "I’m just…stressed. It’s been a long week." She tried to smile reassuringly.

Professor McGonagall did not look totally convinced at Aeryn’s explanation, but she patted the girl on the shoulder. "Make sure you get to bed early tonight then, Miss Blake," she said. "You’ll want to be well enough to watch the Quidditch match on Saturday."

"Of course," Aeryn whispered as the head of Gryffindor House walked away.

"Are you sure you’re all right, Aeryn?" Hermione asked in a low voice. "You’ve gone all pale."

Harry didn’t say anything. He just looked at Aeryn curiously, his eyes owlish behind his glasses.

Ron looked about as sick as Aeryn felt. "Look, Aeryn, I was just teasing when I said that about Snape," he murmured nervously. "I didn’t know it would bother you so much…we’ll get some other teacher to get us into the Restricted Section, it’s okay."

Aeryn nodded after a moment, not trusting her voice. The Gryffindors were beginning to lose interest in her, and were turning back to their own conversations. Aeryn’s heart rate started to slow, and her breathing returned to normal.

"But who are we going to get?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno," Harry snorted. "You’d have to be pretty thick to not figure out that we wanted the book to make a potion."

Exhaustion settled over Aeryn like a heavy blanket. "Why don’t guys tell me when you figure it out," she said quietly, feeling her legs tremble beneath her weight. She walked back to the table, gathered her homework, and headed for her dormitory. Her nerves were stretched to the snapping point, and if she stayed with her friends for a minute longer, she might just fall to pieces.

* * *

"I don’t want to do this," Hermione mumbled after Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"Then let Aeryn do it," Harry said.

"Why do I have to do it?" Aeryn asked. She had been in a foul mood all morning, and it was taking all her personal effort not to bite anyone’s head off.

"Because you’re a girl," Ron said patiently. "Just coo and flutter your eyelashes, and Lockhart’ll be putty in your hands."

Aeryn rolled her eyes and grabbed the note from Hermione’s quivering hand. "Fine," she snapped. She stalked towards Lockhart’s desk, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione following right behind her.

"Professor Lockhart?" she asked shortly. "I need to get this book out of the library, just for some background reading." She stuck the piece of paper under his handsome nose. "But it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it."

"Oh?" Lockhart took the note from her hand. "What do you need this book for, if I may ask?"

"It’s to help us understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls," Hermione butted in eagerly. "You know—about slow-acting venoms—"

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, smiling widely at Hermione. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, a faint flush staining her cheek. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer—"

"Well, I’m sure that no one will mind me giving the best student—pardon me, best students of the year—a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. Both Aeryn and Ron’s face twisted in revulsion as Lockhart scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it to Hermione.

"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow’s the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? I hear you’re a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if you ever feel the need for a little private training, don’t hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players…"

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and hurried away. Aeryn turned to do the same, but Lockhart’s voice reined her back.

"Oh, Aeryn, may I see you for a moment?"

Aeryn’s shoulders tightened imperceptively. She drew a deep breath and plastered a pleasant look on her face. "Yes, Professor Lockhart?"

His blue eyes twinkled at her as he leaned across the desk. "I hope you don’t think me nosey for asking this," he asked in a very loud stage whisper, "but why are you so suddenly interested in slow-acting venoms?"

Aeryn couldn’t name a slow-acting venom to save her soul, but after a split second of indecision, she leaned across the desk comradishly. "You know how Hermione is," she whispered back with a wink. "She’s always thirsty to gain more knowledge about all things magical."

Lockhart smiled, reaching over and patting her hand. "Who am I to stand in the way of such zealous learning? Thank you, my dear." He looked as if he was going to say more, but his face suddenly clouded, and he pointed to her neck. "Aeryn, you have something on your throat."

The syrupy smile on Aeryn’s face froze. "What?"

"It looks like a bruise," Lockhart said, his voice very odd.

Aeryn clapped her hand to her neck, feeling her face drain of color. No, it couldn’t be, she’d checked very thoroughly that morning and skillfully applied enough makeup to hide anything…she stared at Lockhart, her eyes wide.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher shrugged. "My mistake. It was just a trick of the light." He leaned back in his chair and twirled his peacock quill between his fingers. "Well, see you at the Quidditch match tomorrow. Oh, and Aeryn—" The smallest of grins touched his lips. "Enjoy Potions class."

Aeryn practically flew out of the classroom to catch up with her friends.

"I don’t believe it," Harry said as the four of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn’t even look at the book we wanted."

"That’s because he’s a brainless git," said Ron.

"He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran to Potions dungeon.

"Just because he included you in the best students of the year statement is no reason to coo over him," Ron grumbled as they pushed open the dungeon door. "Why don’t you take a page out of Aeryn’s book? She’s smart enough not to lose all her brains whenever Lockhart looks at her."

Aeryn made a beeline for her desk, keeping her eyes on the ground as she dropped into her chair. She folded her hands on the top of her desk, gathering the composure she would need to make it through the next hour.

"Hey, Aeryn." Harry slid into the seat next to her. "How’re things going?"

"They’re fine," she said flatly.

"You haven’t been acting like yourself lately." Something in his voice caused her to turn sharply and look at him. Harry’s eyes were very bright behind his glasses.

"What do you mean?" She kept her voice even.

He shrugged, but Aeryn could feel the underlying tension edging his movements. "I just don’t remember the last time I heard you laugh," he said quietly.

Aeryn put a hand on his arm. "Harry," she began. "I’m—" The bell rang shrilly, cutting into her words, and she stiffened, waiting for Snape to sweep from the storeroom and begin his usual scathing lecture. But he did not appear. After an uncomfortable moment, Aeryn directed her attention back to Harry. "It’s not that—I’m just under a lot of stress right now," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "It’s been a while since I was last in school. I’m just not used to all this work." She smiled, or made an attempt to do so.

A line of worry creased Harry’s forehead. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she lied. "I’d tell you if something was wrong, believe me."

"Okay," he said, but he didn’t look quite convinced. Aeryn drew a deep breath and opened her bag.

A sharp whistle caused her to look up. Draco Malfoy was at the front of the class, strolling back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, their arms crossed. They only needed dark sunglasses and slicked hair to look exactly like Secret Service agents, albeit Secret Service agents with the collective intelligence of an eggplant.

"Where

is our professor?" Malfoy asked.

Everyone else seemed to be wondering the same thing. Snape was never late for class, not even by a second—that way he could take a quick ten points off from Gryffindor for latecomers.

"Why don’t you tell us where he is?" called Seamus Finnigan from the back of the room. "He’s your Head of House, after all."

Malfoy shrugged, a slow, deliberate movement. "Who knows? None of us have seen him all day."

That caused Aeryn and her friends to sit up straight in their chairs. Harry and Ron shared a quick glance, raising their eyebrows at each other.

Malfoy raised a hand to quell the sudden babble of the students. "So, due to the absence of Professor Snape this afternoon," he began in a grand voice, "I suggest that my esteemed colleagues—of the Slytherin variety, of course—oust all the less-than-satisfactory magic users from class." He grinned evily. "Oh, excellent, we’re with Gryffindor. This should leave us with—oh, maybe two or three of you lot—"

"Mr. Malfoy, please find your seat," choked a strangled voice from the back of the room.

The entire class turned as one, ready to cringe back from one of Snape’s stinging comments, but their faces became fixed in surprise as they stared at their Potions master. Snape’s complexion had always been sallow, but today his skin was as pale as a fish’s underbelly. His greasy black hair was matted into limp strings, and his face glistened with sweat as he—there was no other word for it—staggered up to the front of the room, accompanied only by waves of shocked silence. His breathing was labored as he grasped the edge of his desk to steady himself.

Aeryn’s jaw slowly dropped. The professor looked as if he was in the second-week throes of influenza, although she knew that was impossible. He had been healthy enough last night…

Snape poured himself into his chair, his breath sounding like a rasp against steel. "Mr. Malfoy." The eyes he turned on Malfoy were unusually bright, like those of a man burning with fever. "Since you are so anxious for class to begin…pray tell me…give us an example of an untraceable poison."

Malfoy chuckled, a noise echoed by the rest of the Slytherins. "But we haven’t learned about untraceable poisons yet, Professor," he said sweetly.

The muscles in Snape’s jaw contracted. "It was in your reading for today, Malfoy."

Malfoy blinked, his smug face suddenly confused.

"But Professor," grunted Millicent Bulstrode. "We didn’t have a reading due today."

"Don’t…second guess me…" Snape gasped. He brushed a hand across his forehead, as if trying to clear away cobwebs dangling in front of his face. "I assigned that reading three days ago…"

Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who merely looked at him blankly. Aeryn glanced around the room. The rest of the class looked just as confused as Malfoy. Even Hermione, the one with all the answers, was mumbling to herself and paging through her Potions spellbook.

Snape wiped a trickle of sweat away from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Well, Malfoy?"

"Uh…" For the first time since Aeryn had met him, the pretentious pureblood was at a loss for words. "I, er…"

"Perhaps one of the Gryffindors can help you," Snape said, his voice tight. "Can anyone…" He winced sharply. "Can someone…answer…"

Hermione raised a hesitant hand.

"Someone besides…Miss Granger," Snape growled. The rest of the Gryffindors shrank back against their chairs.

"Either one of you answers, or I take ten points from Gryffindor." Snape’s hot gaze flashed around the room, and finally latched onto Aeryn. "Miss Blake." His voice tripped slightly over her name. "Enlighten us…with your intellect…"

Aeryn slowly rose to her feet, thinking quickly. If he wanted an example, an example was what he was going to get, whether it was good or not.

"One of the most widely-known untraceable poisons is…um…iocane powder," she began, her voice grating in the base of her throat. Hermione looked up from her spellbook and shook her head frantically, trying to attract Aeryn’s attention. Aeryn ignored her. "It is a tasteless, odorless substance that is made by combining the…crushed teeth of newts and powdered dragon’s scales."

As Aeryn paused to draw a breath, the Potions master spasmed in his chair, his face twisting in agony. His fingertips, resting against the top of his desk, pressed so hard against the wood that they turned bone-white. A moan escaped from between his clenched teeth. A gasp arose from the assembled students.

Aeryn’s skin began to crawl, but she went on with her speech. "Iocane powder, when taken in a large enough quantity, delivers death within ten seconds of being imbued. The instant iocane powder comes in contact with skin, blood stops flowing through the veins and begins to congeal."

Snape’s breath was hissing from his throat like steam from a boiling teapot. Neville Longbottom was cowering so low in his seat that only his eyes could be seen over the top of the desk. Even some of the Slytherins were beginning to look frightened.

"An immunity can be built up to iocane powder," Aeryn continued, watching Snape’s twitching muscles with detached interest, "but only through years of laborious, painful—"

A strangled cry broke through her words, and Snape buckled against the top of his desk, trembling violently. Heavy silence descended upon the classroom like a curtain. Aeryn closed her mouth and slowly sat down. She did not feel sorry for him—not in the slightest—but Snape’s heavy breathing echoed through the still chamber, and a chill ran down her spine at the sound.

After a long, unbroken moment, Snape lifted his head. A wet slick coated the desk where his forehead had been. He shut his eyes and gulped several large breaths. "I am afraid…that I will be unable to continue…the lesson for today," he said quietly. His thin cheeks had gone gray. "Class is dismissed."

The students stared at him, not daring to move.

"Now!"

Snape roared, and the students leapt to their feet, jostling each other in a frenzied attempt to get out the dungeon. With a lingering look at Snape, who was clutching his head in his hands and muttering brokenly to himself, Aeryn slipped out of the room behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Whoa." Harry shook his head as they walked up the stairwell to the main floor.

Hermione swallowed. "What was the matter with him?"

"Who cares?" Aeryn muttered automatically.

As soon as the words passed her lips, Aeryn knew she shouldn’t have voiced them. Her friends stopped dead in their tracks and stared at her with wide eyes. "Aeryn, don’t be cruel," Harry said, shocked. "Sure, I don’t like Snape, none of us do, but he was in real pain!"

Nice going, hotshot.

Aeryn pressed her hands over her eyes, mentally cursing herself. "Sorry," she said. "Sorry, I just…I mean…" She bit her lip. "To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to say. Maybe it was something he ate."

There was a very awkward pause.

"Let’s get to the library," Ron said hastily, heading towards that direction.

"By the way, Aeryn, there’s no such thing as iocane powder," Hermione said in a quiet voice as they followed Ron. "I looked."

"I know," Aeryn said calmly, breathing a wordless apology to William Goldman. "I didn’t do the reading, and I figured Snape was going to take ten points from Gryffindor no matter what I said. So I thought I might as well have a little fun while I was at it."

But the memory of Snape’s tortured breathing echoed in every footstep on the way to the library.