Crabbe's Folly

Sure, he knew that Polaris Weed was illegal. That was why he was sneaking out of the castle at two in the morning to check on the tiny patch of it that he had secretly planted in a dark area on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. If it was discovered that he had planted the illegal herb, on Hogwarts grounds nonetheless, he would be facing a very stiff fine...not to mention more "official" attention than the Crabbe family could afford at the moment.

Vincent Crabbe pulled his cloak around him, his eyes ever watchful and alert as he tiptoed up from the Slytherin dungeon and started down the hallway towards the main door of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the chilly November darkness beyond. He was pretty sure that Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, and his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris had retired for the night but he had to be careful. If Filch caught him out of bed at this hour, it would most certainly mean a detention.

And possibly, a letter to his father.

Needless to say, those were both possibilities that he would rather avoid. Even though his father was a known Death Eater and possessed a hatred for Dumbledore that was so pure that it almost shone, he was also a notoriously cruel, and rather stupid, wizard. He would see a letter from Hogwarts as a carte blanche to put Vincent in a world of hurt at the drop of a wand. He shuddered, as he remembered the time that his father had used Wingardium Leviosa on him and slammed him headfirst into the ceiling because he, Vincent, had woken the elder Crabbe from a nap...

Then there was the time that his father, drunk on Ogden's Old Firewhisky, had set Vincent's robes on fire with the Incendio spell. His reasoning for this insane act? Vincent had interrupted his father when he had been talking to his friend Lucius Malfoy on the Floo network. If Vincent's mother hadn't been right there to extinguish him with her wand, Merlin knows what might have happened! He would have ended up in the burn unit at St. Mungo's...or worse. This memory, especially, gave him ample motivation to be quiet as he slunk across the Main Hall.

No, indeed. Discovery of any kind was unacceptable.

Crabbe reached out and closed a meaty hand on the doorknob. He noticed with disgust that his hand shook slightly as he did so. Come on, Crabbe! Get a grip, his mind roared at him. He took a deep breath and calmed himself, a small smirk creeping to his lips. He was being ridiculous! After all, it had been almost two weeks since he had planted the Polaris Weed seeds (Three galleons at Borgin and Burkes) and in those two weeks he had snuck down to his illicit little garden six times and hadn't been caught. So what in the Hell was he so worried about? Nothing was going to happen...

He heard footsteps on the landing on the other side of the Main Hall.

Crabbe froze dead in his tracks. He couldn't have pulled his hand back from that door if Lord Voldemort himself had ordered him to do it. This was it! He was caught!

He watched in horror as Mandy Brocklehurst, a fifth year Ravenclaw prefect, walked out onto the landing. Crabbe slunk against the door in terror. Being caught by a prefect would not be as bad as being caught by Filch, true, but caught was caught. She could (and probably would) take points from Slytherin, for starters. She also had the right to write him up and give the report to Professor Snape. Then, Snape would give him a detention and write a letter to his father and ask him where he thought he was going in the middle of the night.

What the Hell was he thinking! No, it wasn't AS bad as getting caught by Filch!

It was a lot bloody worse.

The thought of a letter being sent home was enough to light a fire under Crabbe. He tore his hand away from the door, and taking a tremendous gamble, he took three monster steps to his left and fell to his knees, taking refuse in a giant shadow. If luck was with him, Mandy wouldn't be able to see him. He took a deep breath as she paused in the center of the landing and cast a sweeping gaze over the entire Main Hall. As she did so, time stood still for Vincent Crabbe. Could she see him?

For ten long seconds, Crabbe didn't move a muscle. He kept his eyes trained on the prefect, and gave a sigh in sweet relief as she yawned loudly, turned around, and walked back the way she came. She was apparently convinced that no one was in the Main Hall at this late hour, or maybe she was just too tired to care? He squashed that idea as quickly as it had come. She was a Ravenclaw, of course she cared. The whole of Ravenclaw House were sticklers for the rules.

As soon as she disappeared from sight, Crabbe jumped to his feet and threw himself at the door. Four seconds later, he was outside, jogging at a brisk pace toward his destination. He ignored the sweat beading up on his forehead and just ran. A smile came to his lips as he thought about his little Polaris Weed garden, now less than a hundred yards away. He had never been the best Herbology student but he certainly wasn't the worst. He had put a lot of effort into growing the hair-like weed. If only he could show Professor Sprout!

But he couldn't. She wouldn't give him extra credit. She'd give him detention. Plus, she would burn all of the Polaris Weed.

Crabbe groaned. Just the thought of Sprout burning his garden made him ill. Not only was Polaris Weed extremely valuable (in the right circles), but it was the key ingredient in the potion that he planned to brew.

And that was the reason that the Ministry of Magic had outlawed the planting of, the sale of, and the possession of Polaris Weed.

Because Polaris Weed was the key ingredient in the HIGHLY illegal Nightshade Potion.

In one of his father's (few and far between) loving father and son moods, he had told his son about the Nightshade Potion. According to the elder Crabbe, Nightshade Potion was a dense, highly concentrated liquid form of the Imperius Curse. The younger Crabbe had sat spellbound (no pun intended) as his father told him how, like the Imperius Curse, one could control a person, mind, body and soul, with the Nightshade Potion. In many ways, Nightshade Potion was better than the Imperius Curse because one dose lasted for six months.

Being more than a little inebriated at the time, his father had told him the recipe for the potion, and Crabbe, in a rare moment of insight, had written it down. According to his father's instructions, you wait until the night of a full moon (his father had SPECIFIED this) and you put, among other things, six strands of Polaris Weed, half a bezoar, and a hair from your own head into the potion. This made Crabbe think about Polyjuice Potion until his father told him that the hair was necessary so that the target would know who to serve.

Otherwise, the potion was so concentrated...that the target would obey every single person who gave them an order, and that wouldn't do at all. What if someone made a facetious comment such as, "Why don't you take a flying leap?" or "Why don't you go jump in the lake?" The target would unblinkingly do as they were instructed, and it could be disastrous. It WOULD be disastrous, if Crabbe had his way. He had special plans for that Mudblood Granger.

Special plans indeed.

Crabbe chuckled as he arrived, sweaty and aching, at his little garden. He smirked down at the baby-fine patch of blue, hair-like weed. It was coming along nicely! The young man squatted down and ran his hand gently across the top of each individual blade of Polaris Weed. According to his father's drunken, yet detailed, explanation, Crabbe would be able to harvest the weed in a couple of days. He examined his work carefully, checking for insects or anything else that might damage his hard work. Crabbe smirked cruelly.

"Hello, Mr. Crabbe."

Vincent Crabbe felt as though all of the blood in his body had frozen. His jaw dropped and he was momentarily struck dumb by the familiar voice from behind him. In those hellish few seconds before he could force himself to turn around, Crabbe knew one thing and one thing only. He was SCREWED. Biting down hard on his lip, he rose slowly to his feet and turned around, unable to breathe, as his eyes confirmed what his ears had told him seconds ago. Crabbe looked stupidly down at his feet, rather than face the man who stood before him...

Albus Dumbledore.

Acutely aware of the trouble he was in, Vincent Crabbe bit his lip again and took a deep breath. "H-h-Hello, Professor," he stammered.

"Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it, Vincent?" the headmaster said, inhaling deeply. "You can smell it in the air. Winter is coming."

A confused look flitted across Crabbe's face. The illegal herb garden was staring the old wizard right in the face; yet he was just standing there, calm as you please, discussing the weather! Crabbe didn't believe it!

"It reminds me of the first year I taught Transfiguration," Dumbledore continued, "That was in...1873, if my memory serves. That was a COLD winter."

Crabbe nodded dumbly.

Dumbledore stepped forward and put his hand on Crabbe's shoulder. "Regardless of the fact that you seem to enjoy a good walk as much as I do, it is after curfew and you are out of your dormitory. Therefore, I'm sorry to do this, but I must take ten points from Slytherin. You understand I only have your best interests in mind."

"Yes sir," Crabbe mumbled. His mind was working overtime. Maybe he doesn't know what it is? Perhaps Polaris Weed wasn't that well known? That had to be the case. Otherwise, Dumbledore would be mad.

"Now, my boy, off you go. If you'll wait a moment, I'll walk back with you."

Then it happened. Just as nonchalantly as anything, Dumbledore pointed his wand at the small patch of Polaris Weed and said, "Incendio!"

Crabbe's jaw dropped as his little garden burst into flame. In seconds, there was nothing left but scorched earth. Dumbledore grunted happily and turned back to Crabbe.

"Polaris Weed," he said to Crabbe. "It's illegal, you know? Dark Wizards use it to make a potion called Nightshade Potion. It's also known as 'Liquid Imperius.' It's a good thing that I caught it before anyone else did. It sometimes grows wild around these parts." Dumbledore stopped and smiled warmly at Crabbe. "Vincent, while I don't condone your being out after curfew, I would like to thank you for showing me that Polaris Weed. You did a good thing, my boy. Five points for Slytherin."

Dumbledore began to walk slowly back toward the castle. Crabbe turned, with his mouth still open, to give a last look to the charred remains of his beloved "Polaris Garden."

"Damn it," he whispered softly.

Vincent Crabbe frowned, and sulking angrily, followed on Dumbledore's heels. All of his hard work ruined! It wasn't fair. Grudgingly, he admitted that Dumbledore had been extremely fair with him. Fairer than he should have been, of course. He was still a senile, muggle-loving old fool...that hadn't changed. He was still the sworn enemy of Crabbe's Master, that hadn't changed either. For the moment, however...he would bide his time. He still had over two years left to go at Hogwarts, and he would have plenty of chances to get that Mudblood Granger. With Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle helping him, he'd succeed sooner or later.

So caught up in his own thoughts was Vincent Crabbe that he failed to notice the smirk that flashed temporarily across Albus Dumbledore's face, and then vanished, just as quickly.

Professor and student walked back toward the castle, each with their own agenda.

THE END.