The Year of Honey and Vinegar

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"I thought I told you to stay out of my things!" Hermione Granger shrieked loudly across the common room at Ron Weasley. She looked livid. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and her lips were pressed into a thin, bloodless line. In one hand was a crumpled scrap of parchment, which was badly burned.

"I was just trying to take that charm off," Ron retorted, equally angry. His ears were crimson. "I said the incantation right. I don't know what happened!"

Hermione crushed the parchment in her fist. "Why were you trying to remove the kissing charm anyway? It's not your post, Ronald! It's mine, and Viktor worked hard on it!" For the moment, Hermione had forgotten her dissatisfaction with Viktor and his less-then-impressive kissing spell. "I don't do spells on the post you receive!"

"My letters don't come with kissing charms on them," Ron pointed out.

"Your letters come from your Mum, that's why," Hermione shot back. She did not recall being so furious and on such unsteady footing since her fourth year, when she had tried to be a friend to both Ron and Harry while they were giving each other the silent treatment. She did not know why she ought to be feeling guilty about Viktor's kissing spell, or why she ought to even speak to Ronald Weasley ever again.

Pushing his way through the portrait hole, Harry peered at his two best friends. Hermione, backlit by the crackling fire, seemed nearly to the point of using an Unforgivable Curse on Ron, and Ron's red hair was standing up with tense energy.

"What's going on?" Harry asked tentatively, not sure he wanted to know.

Hermione flung the tattered bit of parchment onto the table before her, her jaw set. "Ronald set my last letter from Viktor on fire."

"I didn't set it on fire," Ron protested. He raised his arms, sighing. "My spell didn't work, that's all. It wasn't supposed to burn it!"

Harry crossed the common room slowly, his hand lingering at his hip, where his wand was jammed into a pocket. He looked from Hermione to Ron, and picked up the remains of Hermione's post. The edge of the parchment was blackened and curled, and there were several small burn holes. "What happened?"

"I tried to take that kissing spell off, that's what," Ron explained impatiently. He walked over beside Harry. "I guess I said 'Helios' instead of 'Halcion', or that's what Hermione thinks anyway. There were sparks."

"But why were you trying to take the spell off in the first place?" Harry asked, confused. "Did Hermione ask you to?"

Hermione uttered a mirthless laugh, wearing an expression of cold fury that would have looked natural on Snape. "Of course not."

"Because," Ron murmured by way of explanation. He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well thank you for ruining yet another letter," Hermione said icily as she snatched the fragment from Harry's hand and glared at Ron. "Shall I bring down the bouquet? Maybe you can kill my flowers too."

"Hermione --"

"-- Don't you dare tell me I shouldn't be angry," Hermione interrupted Ron. "You're jealous and immature, and I'm sick of it. Now you've ruined another letter from Viktor!"

"Well sorry I don't live up to perfect Vicky," Ron said sullenly, his nose wrinkled.

"It's not about -- oh never mind." Hermione crushed the letter into her pocket and closed her eyes a moment, trying to regain her calm. "Just leave me alone Ronald."

"Hermione," Ron began. "I'm real --"

"-- No, you aren't --"

"-- sorry!"

"-- sorry, so don't pretend to be! Just leave me alone, I've had it," Hermione said. She felt awful. She hated being angry, especially at Ron, but his intrusiveness and possessiveness, not to mention his jealousy, infuriated her. She turned on her heel, heading up to the girl's dorm and stomping a bit louder then was entirely necessary.

Ron watched her go as he sank into a squashy chair. His raked a hand through his hair, looking glum.

Harry gingerly lowered himself into the chair opposite. He felt bad for Ron, whom seemed to be making it worse for himself as time wore on. Ron liked Hermione, that much was obvious, but he mangled his approach by losing his head and getting jealous of Viktor. Not that I'm such an expert with girls, Harry reminded himself.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ron shrugged, not looking up from the rug.

"You probably shouldn't have --"

"-- I know."

"Yeah," Harry nodded slowly. He exhaled, wishing Hermione and Ron would get over their sudden animosity. Lately, they were always arguing and the tension made his head ache. "How come you tried to take the charm off of her letter?"

"It made me angry, is all. I guess I lost my temper," Ron admitted sheepishly. "The idea of her kissing Vicky drives me mad. I guess I can't handle it."

"It is weird, isn't it? I mean, Hermione and a big name Quidditch star." Harry thought back to the first time he had seen Viktor Krum. He had seemed larger then life, not someone one of his best friends would be practically dating.

"I really like her," Ron explained unnecessarily, blinking up at Harry.

Harry nodded. "I know."

"And she used to like me, or so I thought. When she was over during the summer, we talked a lot, but now it's always Vicky this, and Vicky that. All she cares about is Viktor." Ron kicked the edge of the rug with his toe.

"Maybe you should try to go out with someone else," Harry suggested lightly. He pursed his lips. "Padma Patil isn't going out with Ernie anymore. Ask her."

"I don't want Padma," Ron sulked.

Harry fidgeted, twirling his thumbs around each other. He wanted to help Ron, but Ron had it bad for Hermione, and Harry did not know what to do. "Look, I'll talk to Hermione for you."

Ron looked up. "Really?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "But do me a favour, don't wreck any more of her letters, or she's likely to hex you into the next century."

~*~* ---------- *~*~

Several days later, Hermione Granger slammed her books down hard on her desk in the Potions classroom, feeling as if she would rather be anywhere then the stuffy, cold basement room that stank of chemicals and mildew. She sank into her chair, barely noticing the other students who were filtering into the classroom. Nearly a week had passed since her last letter from Viktor, but Ron's complaints had not begun to lessen. Nightly, as Hermione sat in the common room trying to study, she was forced to hear Ron's diatribes against Viktor, where he criticized everything from Viktor's Quidditch playing to his single eyebrow. And Viktor doesn't have a uni-brow, Hermione thought to herself angrily as she opened up her Potions text. His brows are just thick, that's all.

Ron flopped down into the chair beside Hermione's, his face set. For a moment he was silent, but then he turned to Hermione, his eyes flashing. "I still think you should reconsider. What do you want to meet Vicky for anyway? Why can't he wait and see you this summer?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione told him, wishing Harry had arrived first so he could sit between her and Ron. She loved Ron dearly, but he was infuriating her beyond belief. "Just be quiet! We've got to work on Potions now."

More then anything, Hermione wanted to lose herself among the fumes and the brewing. To her surprise, found herself actually looking forward to the complicated potion she was sure Snape would assign, the more detailed the better. She could forget her worries and think of nothing but bezoars and mushrooms and whatever foul brew Snape wanted prepared.

A flash of platinum in the gloom caught Hermione's eye and she turned just in time to see Draco Malfoy stride confidently through the doors of the Potions classroom. As usual, he had pawned his books of onto one of the great oafs he called friends. Hermione seethed, imagining that Draco would start whining about the bandage that was still wrapped tightly around his forearm. Draco looked up, his pale grey eyes meeting hers for a split second before Hermione jerked her gaze away and turned to her Potions textbook.

Professor Snape swooped into the classroom, his black robes billowing wildly behind him as he marched to the front of the room, clapping his hands together once for silence.

"Hermione," Ron said in a low voice as he elbowed her.

"Shh!"

"I just think --"

"-- Be quiet," Hermione snapped under her breath, her eyes on the professor. Snape was waving his wand towards the board, writing directions for the next potion they were to brew. The last thing Hermione needed was for Snape to catch her whispering in class. He already hated her and that would just add to it.

"There are two uses for the Wolfsbane potion," Snape said, turning to the class. "I doubt any of you are intelligent enough to list even one, so let's test my theory. Weasley!"

Ron stopped nudging Hermione and turned towards the professor, his eyes blank. Beside him, Hermione rolled her eyes. How could he not know? Had Ron been too thick to notice Lupin taking the Potion?

"Um, I dunno," Ron said, shrugging grimly.

"No?" Professor Snape asked, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

Hermione kicked Ron hard under the table and mouthed "Lupin" in his direction, giving him an intense stare for a split second before quickly looking back at Snape. If he caught her giving Ron the right answer, they'd be docked points.

Ron, not being a very skilled lip-reader, frowned, puzzled. He understood the first part of the word, and wracked his brains to come up with a reasonable answer for Snape. "Er -- Lupus?"

"What?" demanded Snape.

Ron shrugged, lost. "Is it a cure for Lupus?" He thought Lupus was a disease, but beside him Hermione was shaking her head in annoyance and he wondered if he had misunderstood.

"No!" Snape looked irate. His eyes flashed angrily as he looked around the room, trying to spot the next victim of public humiliation. Hermione raised her hand in the air, but as always Snape overlooked her in favour of embarrassing another student before the class.

"Potter!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had been involved in a moment of pleasant daydreaming and felt rather confused. The name of the potion was familiar to him, but he could not place it. "I don't know, sir."

"As I suspected," Snape remarked wearily. It was his opinion that the whole lot of them were descended from trolls, with the possible exception of Granger and Malfoy. "What about you, Longbottom?"

Neville, who was Snape's least favourite student right after Harry, gulped and went pale. His hands shook violently as he stared at his desk, obviously wanting to sink into oblivion. Hermione stuck her arm higher into the hair and waved her hand, hoping to spare Neville the embarrassment.

"Granger," Snape relented, looking tired.

"The main use of Wolfsbane potion is to prevent the mental transformation of a human into werewolf state during the full moon," Hermione said, glad to have the right answer. "The physical transformation is inevitable, but wolfsbane can stop a werewolf from attacking by allowing him to stay in his human mind. It is also used to tame wild animals, like foxes."

Ron looked incredulous but Harry slapped himself on his forehead, disappointed in himself for not remembering. Lupin had taken the potion, of course, it had been the bitter crimson brew he had consumed during the full moon phase to keep him in his right mind and reasonably docile.

Snape, of course, was not the type of professor to compliment his students on their correct answers unless they belonged to Slytherin House. Instead of acknowledging Hermione's answer, he whirled around and tapped the board. "Get to work on brewing it then."

"How'd you know that?" Ron whispered to Hermione as they pulled out their cauldrons.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I read, Ron."

"I can read," Ron said irritably.

"Granger! Weasley!" Snape was standing before their table, fixing both with a frosty stare. Hermione felt her stomach lurch as she looked up into his fierce, pale face.

"Time to split up the lovebirds, I'm afraid," Snape said, raising an eyebrow, his black eyes hostile. "Granger, take the empty seat by Malfoy."

It was worse then Hermione had imagined. Perturbed, she snatched up her things and stalked across the room, where she threw herself into the seat beside Draco. Pansy Parkinson was fixing her with a hateful stare, but Hermione did not care. She flung open her textbook and reached into her bag for her wand. From across the room she could see Ron watching her.

"And of course I'm out of Hieracium aurantiacum," Hermione declared angrily to herself a few minutes later as she reached the step where she was to be adding the flowers. She had forgotten to replenish her stores on the last Hogsmeade weekend, having been too preoccupied with browsing the bookshop and chatting with Ron and Harry over Butterbeer to do serious shopping. Staring at her cauldron, which was bubbling with a yellowish mixture of unfinished potion, Hermione cursed her laziness. Normally she was much more organised, but the last few weeks had been quite busy.

Silently, Draco Malfoy slid a half-crumpled bag of red and orange flowers across the desk to Hermione. She turned to gape at him but Draco was staring at his own potion in apparent concentration and did not glance up. Hermione felt a rush of confused gratitude as she took a pinch of the flowers and dropped them into her cauldron. The potion steeped and simmered, turning the proper colour.

"Thanks," Hermione said under her breath as she pushed the remaining flowers back over to Draco. She felt very unbalanced, and reminded herself to stock up on potions ingredients the next time she had the chance to shop. She was not going to be relying on Draco Malfoy for her stores and she never entirely trusted the ingredients Snape provided.

Draco glanced up from his cauldron, his grey eyes direct and disconcerting. Hermione felt herself flush from the intensity of his unblinking gaze, and wondered angrily if he was trying to make her uncomfortable on purpose. But of course he is, he wants me to feel stupid and to mess up my potion. Ignoring him, Hermione went back to work.

When Snape signalled the end of class forty minutes later, Hermione was in a far better mood. There was nothing like brewing a successful potion to make her feel better about herself. All the problems in the world seemed to fall away as she measured out the precise dosages and monitored the fire flickering under her cauldron. Potions were something reliable, a formula she could trust and rely on. Unlike life, she thought ruefully. She scooped up a vial full of the potions, noting with surprise that Draco's brew was the same shimmery red as her own. Hermione had never figured Draco to be intelligent, but there he was, with a perfect potion.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked Harry a moment later as she joined him at Snape's desk. Students were pushing and shoving in the queue, eager to escape the claustrophobic dungeon classroom.

Harry shrugged and held up his own potion, which was a muted orange. He forgot to add the lupine subcarnosus, Hermione thought instantly, but that was a good job for him. Hermione adored Harry, as he was one of her closest friends, but he was never going to be a whiz in potions. Besides, Wolfsbane was complicated, even for seventh years.

"Hermione," Ron started as they joined the queue of students eager to escape the Potions class. "About this thing with Krum ---"

Hermione was prepared to brush him off, but she paused, nodding. "Yes, I suppose you may be right."

"I'm not trying to start a fight, I just don't think he's the one for --" Ron paused, his eyes wide with confusion and hope. "Hang on. Did you just say you thought I was right?"

Hermione nodded, turning to watch Draco Malfoy's blonde head sweep past, flanked by the taller, darker forms of his cronies. She thought about the flowers and about how people could surprise her by the simplest things. If Draco Malfoy could change, so could she, though she still suspected Draco was high as a kite due to all the potions Pomfrey was feeding him. She realised with a start that she really did not love Viktor.

"I just don't think he's the one for me," Hermione explained, wishing Ron would close his mouth. His gaping maw reminded her vaguely of Fluffy. She went on, speaking more to herself then to the boys in front of her. "Viktor is wonderful, really, but he'll find someone else. We just aren't right for each other. He's so fragile. That's no excuse to set fire to my post, however."

"Fragile?" snorted Harry as the queue began to move again. "Hermione, maybe you breathed too many fumes back in class, but Viktor is the furthest thing from fragile I know. He's a professional Quidditch player. He gets tackled on a regular basis."

"Inside, I mean. He's fragile on the inside," Hermione murmured. The vision in her head, however, was not of Viktor Krum, but of someone else. Quickly she shook her head, and the image cleared like smoke. She smiled brightly. "Anyway, let's not talk about it anymore. There's no point in dwelling on things."

Ron bulged out his chest and curled his arms so that the muscles he had developed from Quidditch playing bulged. "I'm certainly not fragile. I'm a man's man."

Hermione fought the urge to burst into loud, echoing giggles as she put her foot on the first stair. "Right, Ronald."

"I am," Ron insisted, his muscles still bulging from his curious pose. "You can ask Harry about that. I fell nearly forty feet last Quidditch match and hardly blinked an eye."

"That's because you were knocked unconscious by the fall," Hermione pointed out, resisting the urge to smirk at Ron. For some reason, she felt better then she had in weeks. The situation with Viktor, which had been turning around and around in her mind, was starting to get resolved and she felt surprisingly light-hearted. Odder still was the sense of satisfaction she had, for brewing one of the more difficult potions perfectly. And Malfoy saw that too. I guess being a Mudblood isn't as bad as he thinks he's supposed to be, Hermione thought proudly.

"Hermione, I'm really sorry about getting us in trouble in Potions. I'm sorry you had to work with Malfoy," Ron said, wrinkling his nose. "Though mind you, I had Neville asking for help every five minutes."

Hermione shrugged, remembering Malfoy pushing the flowers over to her. "It wasn't so bad. Malfoy was actually human for a change. I think that could be from being kicked in the head by a thestral though."

"Malfoy? Human?" Harry asked incredulously. "I never thought I'd be hearing those two words in the same sentence."

"Yes, well neither did I," Hermione said. "I'm not going to complain about it though. However, Ron, next class don't talk, okay? I don't want Snape to get angry again. We've got our marks on the lines too."

Ron, who was still glowing with the good news, nodded his head in agreement.

"So what are we doing tonight?" Harry asked as they ascended the stairs.

"Homework," Hermione piped up immediately. "We've got the Potions assignment from Snape and McGonagall's essay, not to mention about four chapters of reading for Charms." She did not mention her other task, the one she had set for herself, to write Viktor and tell him the truth. She was not looking forward to it.

~*~* ---------- *~*~

Ron wondered if he had died during the last rough Quidditch match and was currently residing in Heaven. Hermione was sitting next time him, chatting amicably about their Herbology assignment, laughing at his jokes, even touching his arm once when he said something particularly funny. The bewitched ceiling above them was vibrant with the colours of the setting sun, Hermione was breaking up with Viktor Krum and the steak and kidney pie had never tasted so good. Ron decided that if he was in Heaven, he was glad to be dead.

"So you see, that is why it's called nightshade," Hermione finished, looking quite proud of herself. "Which, of course is what we have to write about for our next essays." Her eyes were narrowed, but they sparkled like jewels as she turned to Ron. "Which, of course, you and Harry will be writing by yourselves."

"Oh, yeah, right," Ron said hastily, nodding. He screwed up his courage. "Maybe -- er -- maybe we could work on the research in the library this weekend, if you don't have -- er -- plans."

He had said the right thing. Hermione beamed and nodded enthusiastically. "That would be great, Ron. You should come too, Harry, we can go over the research together."

Ron turned and caught Harry's eye, giving him a significant look and a swipe with his foot. He wanted to be alone with Hermione in the library and hoped fervently that Harry had caught on.

"Um, I don't think I can actually," Harry fibbed, tipping a knowing wink Ron's way. "I might -- er -- need to work on my Quidditch. There are some new moves I've been wanting to try out."

"But there will be plenty of time for that too," Hermione said, giving Harry a look Ron could not decipher. "You promised you'd be doing your own homework from now on and I'm not going to do it for you this time no matter what you say."

Harry frowned like someone torn between the conflicting desires of his two closest friends. "I'm not sure. I'll see about it."

"Well," Hermione declared, pushing away her empty plate. "I'm going to go upstairs. I need to work on my Ancient Runes homework."

"I'll come with you," Ron said, standing up so hastily he nearly toppled over backwards. Hermione grabbed hold of his arm and Ron quickly caught his balance. His stomach fluttered in a funny way that would normally indicate he was falling off of his broom, but Quidditch had never been so far from his mind. Why exactly everything suddenly seemed different he did not know. Maybe it was because Hermione was breaking up with Viktor. Maybe it was something in the steak and kidney pie. What Ron was sure of, however, was that he was absolutely, painfully in love with Hermione. The texture of her jumper, the shine in her hair, the dreamy eyed expression she got when she was engrossed in a book, he loved everything about her. "Come on, let's go. You can tell me about Ancient Runes."

Looking surprised but pleased, Hermione nodded and followed Ron out of the Great Hall, unaware of the nervous trembling of his chin. Ron was unaware of the thoughts running through Hermione's mind, where she kept playing a certain moment from Potions class over and over again. Both of them were unaware of the narrowed pair of stormy, grey eyes that watched their departure with an expression quite like jealousy.

~*~* ---------- *~*~

I hate Ron Weasley, Draco thought to himself irritably as he lowered himself into his favourite high-backed leather chair in the Slytherin common room. The room was ornate and decorated completely in baroque furnishings, along with plenty of Slytherin green. Normally, being in the room made Draco feel like a king surveying his harem, but tonight he felt empty and more then a little angry. He was also confused. Malfoys were not supposed to be confused, but Draco was nonetheless. His mind, which should have been focussed on something like the whereabouts of his father or on how he would spend his gold next Hogsmeade trip, was instead persistently replaying images of Hermione Granger.

"Draco?"

He glanced up, noting the familiar blunt haircut of Pansy Parkinson. "Yes?"

"Are you all right? You look depressed," Pansy stated as she sat down across from Draco and took his hand in her own cold one. Gingerly, she touched the bandage on his arm. "Does your arm still hurt?"

"No, it's fine," Draco replied, wondering why he was not milking the injury for all he was worth. Normally he would have let Pansy ruffle his hair and perhaps chatted her into a snogging session, but lately he was bored with Pansy. She was too much like his mother - prim, haughty and very concerned with appearances. The Slytherin darling, he thought with annoyance. He tugged his hand away from Pansy irritably, thinking, for some reason, of the perfect curve of Hermione Granger's fingernails. Pull yourself together now.

Pansy withdrew her hand, pursing her lips. "Are you feeling well, Draco? I noticed you ate very little at dinner. Would you like me to call a house elf with a snack?"

"No." Draco peered into the crackling fire, thinking again of Ron. How could Granger like someone as thick as Weasley? Not to mention Weasley was poor as dirt, but Granger had chosen him as a friend, him and Harry.

Unbidden, the image of his first train ride to Hogwarts rose up in Draco's mind. He remembered the excitement, the thrill of leaving home and going off to school. He had been looking forward to it for months. Rumours had circulated that Harry Potter, famous Harry Potter, was on the train as well, headed for his first year at Hogwarts. Draco had been pleased. He had been so excited to speak to The Boy Who Lived, to meet him for the very first time, but the look Potter had given him had frozen him cold. Draco remembered the way his blood had turned to ice when Potter had stood by Ron Weasley and refused to take his, Draco's, hand in friendship. Potter had chosen Weasley instead -- poor, brainless Weasley from a disgraced family, dressed in second hand robes. Draco remembered his soul turning wintry in that moment, the first time ever that his money and his name had meant nothing. Correction, he, the son of Lucius Malfoy and one of the famed pureblood wizards of Britain, had meant nothing. In spite of his family name and his father's connections with the Ministry, he had meant nothing to perfect Potter and nothing to perfect Potter's friends.

Draco glanced up into Pansy's eyes and scowled at his pale reflection, which wavered over her shining irises. Pansy made everything too easy. "I could take Weasley in a duel, couldn't I?" Draco asked her, tilting his chin towards the dim light.

Pansy nodded gravely. "Of course, Draco."

"Of course," Draco repeated to himself. He imagined the satisfaction of firing one of his better curses Weasley's way, and watching the other boy writhe. Absently, he smiled. There was no reason for self-pity. He certainly did not need Potter, or any of Potter's friends, even Hermione Granger, with the shining auburn hair and the quick wit.

I hated her last month, Draco thought to himself, in the mental voice he would have used, had he been reasoning with a particularly stubborn small child. Why do I care now? Maybe I'm coming down with something.

Pansy slid forward in her chair, her hand on Draco's knee. She was wearing her usual perfume, the one that smelled overpoweringly of dusty flowers, and her eyes were very bright. "Millicent is still in the hospital wing."

"And?" Draco asked, looking up at her with confusion. He had never been friends with Millicent Bulstrode, and wondered if Pansy expected him to care.

Pansy smiled seductively, her knee bumping against Draco's. "And my room will be empty all night. She won't get out until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes towards the ceiling, and instead shifted his posture, sitting up regally. Pansy, sitting before him with her eyes wide and her smile rather shaky was of no interest to him. On a different night he may have been inclined to take her up on her offer, but he still felt out of sorts. Perhaps the Thestral did more damage then Pomfrey thought, he mused. "I am very tired," he told her slowly. "Perhaps some other time."

Pansy merely blinked, and then nodded. She was not used to being turned down, least of all by Draco Malfoy, whom she had known all of her life and firmly intended to wed one day. "Would you like a drink? I have champagne in my room. It was a gift from Auntie last Christmas."

"I think I should go to bed," Draco told Pansy, picturing Hermione's surprised smile as he had handed her potions ingredients. Merlin, but he had been affected by being so close to her. Perhaps it was the Wolfsbane fumes still messing with his head, but he could still almost feel the heat of her hand. No one had ever affected him like that before. Draco prided himself on being of the love 'em and leave 'em school of romance. He never dwelled on anyone or suffered pathetic crushes, preferring to consider himself above the puppyish lovesickness that plagued many of his classmates, but Hermione's image was persistent and stuck in his head.

"Must you?" asked Pansy, her voice emotionless. "It is still very early."

Draco nodded and rose from his chair. "Goodnight."

"Would you like me to come up with you?" Pansy pressed. She was disappointed by Draco's lack of enthusiasm. Normally he was more then willing, and his reluctance made her uneasy. She wondered if there was someone else he was serious about.

"No."

"You are certain?"

"Absolutely. 'Night, Pansy," Draco said firmly as he left the common room.

The dormitory was silent. Crabbe and Goyle had wandered off someplace for a midnight snack, and the other two who shared Draco's immediate area were still in the library. Draco undressed and climbed into his own bed, relishing the smooth silk of his bed sheets. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and slipped almost immediately into sleep and a night of disconcerting dreams.

~*~* ---------- *~*~

"Potter!"

The sharp sound of Professor Snape's voice roused Harry from his daydreams as efficiently as a splash of ice cold water. Harry jerked forward in his seat, shaking his head as though to clear the fragments of exhaustion that clung to his tired mind like strands of a spider's web. He blinked, willing himself to focus as Snape strode across the dungeon.

"Sir?" he said questioningly after a moment's pause, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He remembered the exhausting Quidditch practice of the previous night and sighed. He had sworn he would not let Ron talk him into late night Quidditch ever again, but Ron made a demanding Quidditch captain, and Harry was never one to resist a game under the stars.

Professor Snape seemed to glide, the hem of his black robe barely brushing the floor as he approached the scarred wooden table where Harry and Ron sat. He glanced briefly at the cauldron bubbling merrily between them and raised an eyebrow.

"What is this supposed to be, Potter?" Professor Snape asked coldly, indicating the cauldron. He fixed his gaze at Harry, his face expressionless and appearing to be made from stone.

Harry swallowed and cleared his throat as he looked over at the cauldron. The liquid within was a bright reddish orange, and was giving off thick, translucent plumes of smoke that were the exact colour and scent of a tangerine. "My, er, burn healing potion," Harry answered after a moment. He looked over at Ron, but Ron was staring motionlessly at the rough-hewn surface of the table, as if under the impression pretending to be oblivious would make him invisible to the raging professor.

Snape arched his eyebrow and pursed his lips, his midnight black eyes staring down at the colourful fluid in the cauldron. "Burn healing potion?" he asked, very softly.

Harry felt his stomach clench. Most adults he knew screamed and yelled when they got angry, but Professor Snape had an unnerving way of making his voice softer and colder, which was somehow worse then being yelled at. Unable to speak, Harry nodded.

"I presume you added the salamander blood after allowing the potion to boil for five minutes," Snape said, in a voice that clearly indicated he presumed nothing of the sort.

Harry went cold. In his exhaustion, he had forgotten about the salamander blood. He risked a quick glance towards Ron, who had gone pale and was still staring intently at a groove in the wooden table, where a former student had carved the initials of their crush. From her position at the Slytherin side of the room, Harry felt rather then heard Hermione's exasperated sigh.

"No, Professor. I -- er -- I forgot about the salamander blood," Harry admitted in a low voice. From across the room Harry heard Draco Malfoy titter and he fought to keep his hands from clenching into fists.

Vindicated, Professor Snape nodded slowly. "Tell me again, Potter, what are your career plans upon leaving school?"

Harry paused, puzzled. Professor Snape had never asked him anything personal like that before. He shrugged. "Um, an Auror. I want to be an Auror."

Snape nodded coldly, his black eyes fixed on Harry's bright green ones. "I see. And tell me, Potter, what will you do when you come across a witch or wizard who has been badly burned in the course of warfare with dark wizards? Pour this on them?" He indicated the cauldron with a sweeping gesture, his left eyebrow arched again.

Harry felt himself turning red from embarrassment. His temper was not helped by the sound of Draco Malfoy laughing across the room. The whole class was watching the exchange between him and Professor Snape, and he had never felt so stupid. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione's exasperated, disappointed look and flushed a deeper red. "I guess not."

"I would think not, as without the crucial ingredient of salamander blood your potion is a burn agent instead of a healing potion. I suppose we should be thankful that you are not intending to pursue a career in healing," Snape said calmly. He clapped his hands together, cutting off a burst of laughter from the Slytherin side of the room. "Clean up this disaster. As for the rest of you, bottle a flask of your potion for me to test."

As Snape headed to the front of the room, Harry let out a sigh. He felt like kicking himself. How could he have forgotten such a basic ingredient? He looked up at the Professor, who was seating himself behind the desk and brushing his long, black hair away from his face, and felt a surge of hatred. There were other students whose potions were imperfect, Harry thought angrily, but Snape always targeted Harry. He frowned as he watched Neville Longbottom bottle some of his own potion, which was bright yellow. His own had been superior to that.

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione asked sharply as she brushed by, gingerly holding a vial of shimmering liquid. Harry saw that her flask of potion was a beautiful bluish green and felt inexplicably annoyed. "We spent all last week studying this one."

Harry nodded impatiently. He was frustrated with himself for being so stupid, and Hermione's criticism did nothing for his spirits. "I just couldn't concentrate. I never can, not with him," he remarked bitterly, glaring at Snape, who sat in the front of the room looking down imperiously at his students.

"You ought to be grateful Snape didn't give you detention," Hermione declared. "Falling asleep in class! I'm surprised you got away with just a zero."

"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically. He glared at Ron. "You could have helped, you know."

Ron threw his hands in the air. "Like I'm any good at Potions! Besides, you were supposed to do the salamander stuff. I did the scallions. You know I hate touching blood."

"You hate everything," Harry retorted bitterly, shoving his potions book into his bag with more force then was strictly necessary. "I thought you didn't want to touch spiders."

"Those too," Ron nodded sheepishly. "They were alive, and crawling." He shrugged. "Oh, come on Harry, at least class is over with. Vanish the stupid potion and let's go."

Nodding in agreement, Harry bent to retrieve his wand from his bag. At that moment, however, he heard the jeering voice of Draco Malfoy, joking loudly with his pals Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Goyle was pretending to be suffering a burn, and Draco was clearly pantomiming the actions of a hapless Harry Potter, fumbling with various ineffectual potions.

"What an idiot," Draco concluded, laughing loudly. "Any first year ought to be able to make that potion right."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said coldly, straightening up. His grip on his wand was tighter then was necessary, and he felt a strong desire to send a curse flying Malfoy's way. His anger was compounded when he saw the vial Draco was holding - of potion the same colour and consistency of Hermione's. Competition was fierce between Harry and Draco, and seeing Malfoy succeed where he had failed made Harry burn with anger.

"Or what?" Draco laughed loudly as he approached Harry, grinning cruelly. "What will you do, Potter? Fall asleep?"

"Piss off, Malfoy," Ron said loudly.

"Or what?" Draco asked again. "You think you can take me?"

Harry glanced up at Snape, but the professor was still at his desk, looking critically at the samples of potion from his students. He turned back to Draco. "You're brave now, Malfoy, when you're in reach of your favourite professor. How about duelling someplace where you can't go crying to Snape about how bad we beat you?"

Draco half-closed his eyes, looking utterly unperturbed and disinterested. "Jealous, Potter, just because I am actually capable in this subject? All right then, name your place. I'll call Crabbe as my second."

"Ron's mine," Harry said instantly.

"Don't bring Granger unless you want her to see you humiliated," Draco informed Ron with a sneer. He turned back to Harry, his eyes slitted. "And you had better prepare. If you're as bad as your godfather, you won't last five minutes. I heard Bellatrix killed him in five minutes flat."

Later, Harry was unable to recall which one of them had actually flung the potion at Draco. All he knew was that as he recoiled in disgust and humiliation at Malfoy's retort, he and Ron had both turned instinctively to the still-bubbling cauldron. A moment later, Draco was completely drenched in the orange liquid.

"You idiot, Potter," Draco snapped furiously as he gritted his teeth and brushed some of the gooey liquid from his arms. Reddish orange potion dripped down his face, soaking his clothing as he struggled to push it out of his eyes.

Professor Snape jumped up from his desk, seeming to fly as he streaked across the room to Draco's side, Hermione at his heels. His mouth was slightly open as if had been taken by surprise. "What is going on here?"

"Potter threw his worthless goo at me," Draco said angrily, through clenched teeth. He wiped his face clean. "Don't worry, it doesn't do anything --".

A second later his annoyed scowl turned into a shriek of serious pain. Harry took a step back. Draco had cleaned all the potion from his face, but his skin seemed to retain a tint of red. No, not a tint. His skin turned pink, then red, and finally a mottled purple. Potion dripped from the ends of his sleeves and the hem of his robe, but instead of falling harmlessly to the ground they splattered onto the floor with a hiss and proceeded to burn like acid.

Draco began shouting, and Harry, Ron and Hermione jumped back as Draco lunged forward. His hands were red with painful looking blisters, and his skin seemed to radiate heat, as though he had an extremely high fever. Hermione gaped at the floor, where small, deep holes not unlike cigarette burns had formed, rimmed in ash. Ron seemed to be transfixed, watching Draco stagger forward, his arms waving.

"Finite Incantatum!" Snape said loudly, brandishing his wand. There was a momentary flare of light as the potion seemed to spark and catch fire, and a moment later the potion disappeared. Draco, however, was still obviously burned. His face was a very deep red and his arms were speckled with burn welts. He was making a sound that to Harry's ears seemed close to the bellow of a wounded Hippogriff.

"Goyle! Crabbe!" Snape called. "Take Malfoy to the hospital wing at once. I will join you shortly." He put a steadying hand on Draco's shoulder for a moment before releasing him to his friends. Obviously his skin was still hot, for both Crabbe and Goyle flinched upon touching them, as if they had just brushed against a hot stove.

"Potter," Snape said, turning. His eyes seemed on fire themselves, sparkling with red flares of anger as he glowered at Harry. "You will return to this classroom for detention this evening. Two weeks worth of detention, and five hundred points from Gryffindor for your actions. Rest assured, I will inform the Headmaster about your actions. I consider them worthy of expulsion, and pray Dumbledore will as well." With that Snape spun on his heel and left the room at a rapid pace, in search of Draco.

Harry covered his face with his hands and sighed, shaking his head. He felt a hand on his shoulder and peeped through his fingers, to see Hermione looking at him with a mixture of shock and awe.

"What happened to him?" Ron asked, still staring transfixed at the spot where Draco had stood. Scarred marks a half inch deep dotted the floor of the classroom, ringing in ash.

"Harry didn't add the salamander blood," Hermione reminded Ron gently. Her eyes were still full of pity, and she glanced periodically over at the door, where Draco had disappeared. "Instead of a burn healing potion, you two made a very strong burning solution."

"Wow," Ron murmured. The edge of a smile played on his lips as he glanced towards the classroom door. "I bet that taught the ferret a lesson."

"Ron! That's a terrible thing to say," Hermione exclaimed, frowning. She turned to Harry, who was still shaking his head and looking rather ill. "Harry? What's the matter?"

Harry frowned and rubbed his temples. "Did you hear what Snape gave me? Two weeks detention! Two weeks, with Snape! I'm never going to last that long. He took five hundred points from Gryffindor as well, and that's all we had!"

Hermione sighed. She felt bad about the loss of points, but she also thought Harry deserved the punishment. In her mind's eye she saw Draco flailing, and felt another stab of pity. "Well, you didn't need to lose your temper, Malfoy isn't worth it. It is a little excessive though," she added as Harry looked up sharply.

"Tell me about it," Harry complained. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "How come you didn't get a detention?" he asked suddenly, turning to Ron. "You helped throw the potion at Malfoy."

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Snape didn't know I had anything to do with it. Anyway, who cares?"

"I do," Harry said angrily. "But it's not your fault, I guess. Snape has always had it in for me from the very first day I came to Hogwarts. He hates me."

"You don't know that, Harry," Hermione said quickly, although she too agreed with his assessment. She picked up her school bag and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I'll be back here soon enough."