Rating:: R
House:: Schnoogle
Characters:: Hermione Granger
Genres:: Action Drama
Era:: Multiple Eras
Spoilers:: Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:: Published: 05/04/2002

Updated: 10/06/2002

Words: 16,557

Chapters: 5

Hits: 4,260

The Next Great Adventure

Flourish

Story Summary:: As Lord Voldemort gains power and influence, our characters must gain their own self-knowledge in order to fight him. Unfortunately, their pasts are not all as crystal clear as they once thought - and their paths have been intertwined for longer than they know.

Chapter 02

Posted:: 07/01/2002

Hits:: 579

Author's Note:: To discuss The Next Great Adventure and other great fics (such as Till Death Do Us Part by Parker and The Fifth Disciple Series by A. L. Milton), join the fifth_disciple YahooGroup!

Chapter 2: In which Draco is strung out on Pepperup Potion, Snape reads back issues of magazines, Harry is conspicuously absent, Ron is an incredible wanker, Harry is inconspicuously present, and old things are assigned new values.

-----

It was, most unfortunately, morning.

Draco had not realized the time at all - he had been speaking with Lord Voldemort all night, lightheaded with newfound influence and power. He didn't once think that it was getting close to 11:00, time for him to be finished with breakfast and leaving for Hogwarts. Later he would reflect that it was foolish to have assumed that he could keep track of time, but that wasn't in his thoughts at first. Rather, he occupied his mind with the simple motions of life: seizing his glass, drinking the contents, registering the taste (orange juice mixed with Pepperup Potion), setting it down without breaking it. The Pepperup Potion woke him up a little bit - the mug of black coffee helped, too - and helped reduce the crash he knew was coming.

Narcissa was the type who was eternally composed. Lucius was not. Draco had always taken after his father, so the sight of his mother wide awake was not pleasant. Not a hair out of place, she regarded him as he ate, taking into account each motion that was blurred with tiredness. "We're taking Floo to the platform," she announced calmly. Draco's head snapped upward - even when he was tired, he knew when a huge favor had been called in. Typically, a direct Floo connection to Platform 9 3/4 was impossible to get, especially as rumors of Voldemort's return had been flying recently. Someone at the very top of the Ministry must have used all their weight, most likely in return for a huge bribe, to get the Malfoys unrestricted access.

Looking up at Narcissa's smile - she played the part of the cat who ate the canary perfectly - he decided he didn't want to know how that favor had been granted.

A bell sounded loudly, and Draco covered his startled reaction well. Narcissa's watchful eye couldn't have missed it, but all the same, her smile became more proud: it would have fooled anyone who wasn't looking for it, anyone who felt out of their element. Good enough, for a morning when he was so clearly off his game. The train would be leaving in fifteen minutes; it was time for him to make his entrance.

Narcissa got out of her seat just as Draco did, but instead of moving towards the roaring fireplace, she stood her ground, leaning over her end of the table to watch as Draco glanced quizzically in her direction. "Go on. I won't follow." He nodded curtly, turned again, and snapped his fingers for Flibbet to bring his chest. In some ways, Malfoy Manor was a haven. From the moment he stepped through the fire, he couldn't break his stride - even the smallest mistake would be one that could be exploited.

With a deep breath, he summoned the cool exterior he had so carefully cultivated and released himself to the vagaries of the Floo network.

-----

Severus Snape, in a normal mood, was somewhat unlikeable. When he had been beaten, he was downright intolerable - and however it may have looked to other staff members, Snape was definitely feeling beaten. Minerva McGonagall had always been able to get under his skin, and while he scoffed at her Gryffindor nature, he still knew she was more than a match for him. Although she had been the one to stomp away, Snape found himself wondering if she was right - and second-guessing was not something he did very often.

Snape's dark, Victorian office was not very comforting. It reminded him that Minerva was a woman - he was sitting in the midst of the last era of meek docility and the first era of emancipated, strong women - and that by the standards he had grown up on, she should not be stronger than he. Between his oppressive office (when did he start finding it oppressive? Surely not long ago) and the weight of his upbringing, his head bowed. He really did have to work on sussing out the potion Dumbledore was making; so he bent over a book that had been recovered from Dumbledore's office, one of the less-dusty ones. It was a treatise on ghosts - quite ironic, he thought. The table of contents listed different types of ghosts, a chapter devoted to each: spirits, spirit guides, poltergeists, wraiths -

Wraiths!

Understanding came in a flash. Wraiths, the only man-made type of ghost; wraiths, made by a potion, lasting as long as there was still water to boil in an enchanted cauldron. The orange blossoms supported his theory, the simple herbs that were collected by the cauldron when Dumbledore was found, and the circle of protection too. It had to be. Hands sure, he reached under his desk, pulled a copy of Ars Alchemica from its place and flipped through it. His own words stared back at him.

The Ryder-Waite Potion takes a copious amount of magical energy from the brewer rather than from any Dark magical source, but at the vital moment of weakness opens the brewer to evil influences, as do most Dark spells. Therefore it is often considered Dark magic, although no innocents are hurt by its use.

Because of this side effect of the Ryder-Waite, most wizards will not use it, and those who do are invariably young and strong. It requires no small amount of magical energy, but the real necessity in brewing this potion is willpower and strength of spirit, as one must be prepared for the onslaught of temptations that will surely occur as the potion reaches a boil. In some cases, when the potion was being prepared in large quantities, brewers have been known to die. Often the risks are considered to be far greater than the benefits of raising a capricious spirit that may not even have useful information.

A discussion of the Ryder-Waite potion, in regards to Dark magic, cannot be complete without a reminder of what it creates. Wraiths simply can be Dark, if the spirit was that of a Dark wizard or if the spirit lacked willpower in life. However, by choosing a Light wizard to recall from the dead, one can reduce the chance that the wraith will be influenced by the Dark and turn on you. Another precaution often taken is to expend a little more energy and raise two wraiths instead of one, the two will help protect each other from such influences. The chance of Darkness infiltrating into either the brewer or the wraiths is why the brewer of any Dark potion but especially the Ryder-Waite is respectfully requested to draw a circle of protection about them before beginning the brewing process.

November 1993, Ars Alchemica, by Severus Snape. He should have guessed - could he have set Dumbledore off? But it was pointless to consider such things, pointless to worry and fret about something that nobody could fix. What was important: who was he trying to raise as a wraith? And did it succeed, or did the Dark lash back at him?

-----

Harry was lucky to have had dragonhide gloves after feeding Hagrid's Scylli; he returned only slightly singed, no worse than Seamus ever had been as his spells backfired in first year. It was also lucky that he wasn't a prefect: Dean Thomas had got it, which was not surprising considering his mild temper and good grades. Naturally, Hermione received the female prefect position - Professor McGonagall, who rarely played favorites, believed Hermione could do no wrong.

As the last few people trickled off the train and the prefects began herding them into the horseless carriages used to take them back to Hogwarts, Harry located Ron and Hermione and pushed towards them through the crowd. Strangely enough, Draco Malfoy moved aside without even a sneering word, giving him the right-of-way.

"He's been bloody decent all the way here," Ron said darkly as Harry got close. "Makes you think he's up to something. Where were you? We were worried sick - Dad said something happened and you couldn't come with us to get school supplies, something about the Department of Underage Wizardry. You didn't blow up your aunt again, did you?"

Harry had already thought of lying. "No - the Dursleys said they weren't going to let me go this year, they were going to lock me up instead. I got an owl off to Dumbledore before they tried it, and Hedwig's still flying around Britain somewhere, but they busted me out when I got into trouble with the Ministry." He hoped what he had said synched with the Daily Prophet's version of things - usually they were quite reliable, and he couldn't put it down to Rita Skeeter overreporting again. Fortunately, Ron swallowed it hook, line and sinker, and while Hermione appeared more skeptical, he could explain to her later. Ron was the one who would shoot his mouth off if he knew the truth - no matter how hard it was to admit it to himself.

"That's good. Hermione here has been telling me all about her lovely holiday with Vicky. Did you know he speaks French too? And that his family has a manor that he says is as big as the Malfoys'? Too bad she had to leave because they all think she's scum for being a Muggle-born - guess you picked the wrong boyfriend -"

"Oh shut up, he was very nice about it, his parents are just awfully hidebound," she snapped, stalking off to retrieve a wandering third-year.

The ride to the Great Hall was relatively short and filled with little conversation, as Hermione was off trying to make sure none of the second-years were too rambunctious. The most interesting thing that happened was Colin Creevey using a Muggle video camera he had apparently altered to be compatible with Hogwarts' anti-Muggle spells. ("Harry! It's my new invention - the PerfectRecord 330! Perfect video, it records spells and ghosts too, and even running commentary on the video if you want! There's a shop in Diagon Alley as wants to patent it!")

The Sorting took place as usual, the hat singing:

At Hogwarts feasts I've been the guest
Five hundred years or more;
For each and every student here
I have something in store.

For the brave of heart and swift of wand
I know the perfect place;
It's Gryffindor, since you are bold,
I see it on your face.

The loyal, tough, and patient? Yes
I know where they belong:
Say Hufflepuff, the true of heart,
The Founder who thought up my song.

If books and brains are more your style
There is a place for you:
Old Ravenclaw, thinkers all,
You'll be there before I'm through.

Last, not least, if your mind is filled
With slippery plots and plans,
You'll make your home in Slytherin
For 'sly' is what they demand.

I can choose for anyone,
I always can decide,
So put me on, so I can look
And see where you'll abide!

Each first year tripped their way to the stool and duly followed the hat's instructions, just as tradition dictated. Harry was staring at "Zabini, Ona," and wondering if she was related to Blaise - and if so, why she was sorted into Gryffindor - when he realized that a fight was subtly occurring next to him. Hermione, who was seated between him and Ron, was tapping her foot a little angrily and frowning at Lavender Brown, who was having a lively conversation with Ron. "I think he's tired of being jealous of Krum, Hermione," Parvati Patil stage-whispered across the table. "A taste of your own medicine, right?"

It was kind of funny. Since Hermione had gone to Bulgaria for a month with Viktor Krum, Ron had been alternating between angry and moping. Harry had expected them to work it out on the train, but obviously not. "But it's Lavender! How can she do that?" Hermione complained. "She knows..."

"He was sort of being stupid last year, but I think you've taken it out of his hide by now. If you're familiar with the phrase 'order of magnitude' - that's how jealous he's been, it's obvious," Parvati replied. Harry felt like he was an outsider watching some foreign ritual. They seemed to have forgotten he and Ron were there - not that Ron was paying any attention, as he seemed to be quite interested in Lavender's tie (or what was beneath it, in any case). "He's quite overdoing it, though, I admit - Oi! Lavender! Can you stop a minute and look at Hermione over here?" The last was quieter, and Lavender and Ron both looked up, Ron triumphant and Lavender rather embarrassed. From the way she mouthed sorry, Hermione would be deluged by apologies as soon as they were in their dormitory.

Fortunately, the food made a very timely arrival, and Ron made a very timely apology - or as close as he would get to an apology, that is, turning his full attention to Hermione and listening to her talk about her summer reading. Harry happened to know that he was really just nodding and smiling, but it made Hermione happy, and forestalled making the inevitable Scene - if he wasn't wrong, they would have a knockdown blowout fight within the next week. She lasted surprisingly long, and was just winding down as dessert was finished off.

Seeing a gap in the conversation, Harry leaned back and motioned Ron and Hermione to put their heads in near his. "While I was here before anyone else, Dumbledore gave me a box full of things, including this chest - there was a note on it that said it was my parents'. I'm going to open it tonight."

Hermione got very excited. "Oh Harry! That's simply the best - what d'you think is in it, your mum's hope chest or photographs or love letters?" He nodded; her happiness was contagious. "I always thought it was all destroyed, you know, when..." Her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, so did I," Harry replied - but whatever he was planning to say was cut off, as he felt a presence behind him. Turning, he saw Draco Malfoy sauntering off, as nonchalant as can be. "How long was he there? How much do you think he heard?" But neither Hermione nor Ron knew.

-----

The chest had been buried under a pile of papers, mostly old letters between Dumbledore and Harry's parents, and packed around with a few Galleons and pouches of rare Potions ingredients. Spellotaped to the top was a note written in Dumbledore's spidery hand, simply the words Lily and James, rescued from Godric's Hollow, November 1980, unopened. The outside was a little charred but mostly whole: fine wood, carved with Celtic knots and undoubtedly imbued with protection spells. As he had begun to open it, Ron and Hermione had shooed him up to his dormitory, telling him to close the curtains of his bed and create himself a soundproof, spellproof room to look through it in. Ron, especially, had been vehement that he go - undoubtedly worried about how public the common room was for such a private thing.

There was no lock, and Harry found his hands shaking as he opened the box. Inside - a soft magical light illuminated the top as it creaked open on its hinges and fell on the items below. There was a tray full of photographs of James and Lily as children, both wizarding and Muggle, black-and-white and yellowed with age; a wedding invitation; a birth announcement, enchanted to glow with the name Harry James Potter. Removing the tray, he found more: a nosegay from their wedding, a pouch with marbles in it (what significance did they have, he wondered), a key ring and a keychain engraved with I Love You, and a small silver locket. It was in a masculine style, simply a circle of silver engraved with the initials S.P., and opened with a touch.

Inside he found two pictures, not of his parents, but of people he had never seen before. The man was black haired - it was obvious even in the black-and-white picture - and he held a striking resemblance to Harry's father, the only exception being his square-jawed face and lack of glasses. Looking again, Harry noticed that even the square jaw was like his father: it was Harry who lacked it, as he was growing into a longer face, one perhaps more like his mother's. The woman, though - the woman certainly looked like Harry, with similar eyebrows and eye shape. There was something about her he couldn't quite place, though - perhaps the nose, the shape of the mouth? It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't imagine who. Putting his finger on her picture, he tried to think of the face, and was startled to hear the locket squeak: "Artemis Westermann Potter, mother of Sebastian Potter, father of James Potter, owner of this locket." Trying the same with the other picture: "Jack Potter, father of Sebastian Potter, father of James Potter, owner of this locket."

It was a long time before Harry opened the curtains around his bed and emerged to find Ron waiting for him. Before he did, though, he fastened the locket around his neck, covering it with his shirt so no-one could see. Impulsively, as he closed the chest to stow it away beneath his bed, he pocketed the key ring he had found. It did not seem right to leave it in the chest any longer.

Finis 3/?

Author notes: Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to Tinderblast (http://rabican.livejournal.com) for the quick and dirty beta while my normal beta reader was nowhere to be found :)

Ars Alchemica ... Referencing Riley's lovely Snape/Hermione fic Pawn to Queen, in which a potions journal called Ars Alchemica plays a not-so-prominent but very amusing role.

Are you familiar with the phrase 'Order of Magnitude'? ... I don't know if this originally came from somewhere else, but I first heard it in ELS, an X-files fanfiction by Dawson Rambo.