Dianthus Stories | By : icewomin Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 3134 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Anything you
recognize belongs to someone else, namely, JK Rowling. Specifically, elements of
the HP universe, characters from same.
Sadly, I have no hope of publishing this story outside the fan fiction base, although I hope you enjoy the plot and the original
characters I’ve created. Feel free to
give me critical feedback, including flames and harsh criticism. I may delete it afterward, so as to reduce my
personal embarrassment, but I do promise to read it and incorporate it if I
feel it improves the story.
*****
This is Chapter
Sixteen. Smut begins in Chapter Twenty
Six, so if you’re only looking for that, feel free to skip ahead. Be warned that you may be confused about some
of the stuff in those later chapters if you don’t stick it out.
*****
Chapter Sixteen –
Small Gifts
Dianthus
discovered that having Martine focus on one of the potential additions to her
potion was extremely helpful to her own research. It was true that the patronizing glance Snape
shot her, when Martine informed the
class of her change in focus, was difficult to bear in silence, but the
exertion had turned out to be worth it.
The two girls spent most of their free time over the next month in the
library, looking up references to their respective topics, and Dianthus was
thrilled to find that both herbs held great promise for her recipe.
To her surprise,
Snape’s comments on her weekly essays were concise and insightful. During classes, he proved willing to answer
her questions, and gave her useful, if arrogant, advice in revising her
projections for the completed potion during the individual consultations he
began conducting near the end of each class.
“Miss Brandywine,
don’t you think this version of your formula – what version are we on, now, by
the way? Six?” He paused and smiled in a self-satisfied sort
of way. He knew god damned well that
each week she’d been revising it, based on his lectures. “Anyway, wouldn’t you agree that this version
is a bit heavy on the dandelion weed, Miss Brandywine?”
“It’s the fourth
version, as I’m sure you are very well aware, Professor,” Dianthus said,
grinding each word out, hoping to keep her irritation from showing. “And I believe the dandelion weed is in
perfect proportion to the fringetree bark, which, you may recall, was your
suggestion.” She gave him a sickly
smile, which he ignored completely.
“This nt ont of
dandelion might very well have unforeseen consequences, when combined with the
aconite,” he said knowingly, tapping one slender finger on her parchment. He gazed at her with wide, innocent eyes, but
his voice was so gleeful, he was practically singing when he continued, “You will be combining the aconite directly
with the dandelion, of course?”
“Of – of course,”
she lied, flushing immediately. She’d been
planning to add the dandelion with the fringetree bark.
He smiled
contentedly at her discomfort. “Of
course, I knew you would be. I suggest
you modify your formula once more, after a bit more research.”
Only when she
investigated the reaction of dandelion and fringetree, compared to that of
dandelion and aconite, did she realize, to her fury, that he was right again.
Not only would the dandelion enhance the aconite much more when combined
directly with it, but she would need far less of it than she had originally
projected.
He was so
cooperative that she was quite suspicious of the whole thing.
She was
hard-pressed to keep from grinning, though, when he regularly betrayed his
disgust at some of her classmates’ choice of research. “Miss Greenback,” he hissed one particularly
bad Tuesday, “the fact that unicorns prefer virgin females is not relevant to
the effectiveness of their horns in potions!
Ten points from Hufflepuff for your complete disregard of logic!”
***
“Are you going
into Hogsmeade tomorrow?” asked Melanie, when they
were having dinner on the last Friday of October. “You aren’t going to spend the whole weekend
in the library again, are you?”
“Well, I’m not,
and that’s definite,” said Martine firmly.
“I need a break. Between Potions
and Arithmancy, I think I’m going to die from overwork before term ends, and I
need a bit of fun before then.”
“I’m going, too,”
Dianthus chimed in. “It’s true, we need
a little break. And we’ve both done
really well. I can’t wait to get home
and test some of this new information in Grandpa’s lab over Christmas
break. I’m itchy to get this stuff into
a cauldron.”
“You’re not doing
it in class?” asked Erin. “I’m sure Professor Snape would let you, Di.” She gave Dianthus a sly look. “You could owl him and ask.”
Dianthus punched
her in the arm. “Shut up, Erin. Snape won’t let us do any brewing until next
term. He says we should be focusing on
the theory aspect of it, and that three quarters of
developing new potions takes place on paper, not in the cauldron.”
“Become quite the
teacher’s pet, haven’t you?” teased Erin. “Quoting him and
everything, very interesting.”
Dianthus punched
her again. Once they decided that Snape
had redeemed himself by enabling Dianthus in her potion efforts, her roommates,
led enthusiastically by Erin, had swiftly moved into teasing her about him
every chance they got. It was so
annoying that Dianthus couldn’t help reacting to it, even though she knew her
fury would only egg Erin on.
The following day
dawned bright but chilly, and Dianthus was glad she’d thought to wear her heavy
cloak as they walked through the streets of the village. “Are you going to go into Honeyduke’s?”
she asked her roommates when they were approaching the sweet shop. They all nodded vigorously, and she
continued, “Well, get me a box of Every Flavor Beans, and I’ll meet you at the
Three Broomsticks – I need to go over to Scrivenshaft’s.” The three girls nodded, and Dianthus
continued up the street to the quill shop.
After selecting a
new kingfisher feather quill (which she desperately needed, as she had almost
worn her old one out writing all the essays her N.E.W.T classes required), she
spent a pleasant few minutes browsing through the wide selection of fancy
parchment available in the shop. She admired
a particularly fine set, whose blush colored paper was shot through with veins
of a darker pink; running her hand over the top sheet, she felt that it was
smooth and almost velvety to the touch, slightly thicker than the parchment she
used at school – but perfect for writing letters.
She sighed
longingly, and was just making a mental note to send her grandfather an oabouabout it, when a low voice behind her made her jump. Dear Parent or
Guardian:
Please note that
your student is engaging in experimental research this term. As the potion in question may be dangerous,
brewing it without the supervision of the Potions Professor is strictly
prohibited. Please sign below to
indicate compliance with this rule.
Most of her
classmates simply sighed and stuffed the parchment into their bags – a few even
looked relieved. Dianthus, on the other
hand, was livid. Martine gave her a
‘what can you do?’ sort of look, but Dianthus narrowed her eyes at her anyway. Then she took several deep breaths and began
formulating a plan to get Snape to say she could work on her potion.
When Snape handed
her previous week’s essay to her, she tried to catch his attention. “Sir?” she said, quietly. He pointedly ignored her, not breaking stride
as he moved around her table to the next row.
She tried again
when he collected their homework. She
held her essay out to him, but did not release her grip on it immediately. “Sir, I’d like to talk to you about–”
“Miss Brandywine,”
he murmured. “Please unhand your essay,
or you will force me to grade you down for turning it in late.” Clenching her jaw tightly, she let go, and he
once again continued past her without pausing.
As her classmates
readied their parchment for his lecture, Dianthus rose from her seat and
approached his desk. “Professor Snape,”
she began.
“Miss Brandywine,”
he replied, his face a mask of innocence.
“Sir, I would like
to request permission to attempt my potion at home,” she whispered fiercely.
He looked at her
in mock surprise. “I would have thought
my note made my views on this matter perfectly clear,” he said smoothly.
“But my
grandfather can supervise me – I can get him to sign a note–”
“Ah, yes,” he said
softly. “I recall hearing that your
grandfather used to like experimenting.
What was it you said? ‘Trying
this with that’? Hardly the controlled
setting a potion of such delicacy will require.” And then, louder, “I must ask you to return
to your seat, Miss Brandywine, as I am about to begin my lecture.”
She stomped back
to her table and flung herself into her chair.
God damn his memory anyway! she fumed. One offhand comment.
And she’d said that shit almost a decade ago. She barely paid attention to his lecture on
the effects of certain potions on nonhumans, and she noted with disgust that he
began his individual consultations with Jeremy Kingfellow,
who sat at the other end of the class.
When he finally
made his way to the front of her table, she tried once more. “Professor, I assure you, I will take every
safety precaution,” she said pleadingly.
“Miss Brandywine,”
he said coolly. “Your potion is still
quite volatile. The additional
ingredients may prove to have unintended reactions. I cannot allow you to put yourself in
danger.”
“But, sir, I’ve
gone over the calculations fifty times!”
She cringed at hearing the whine in her voice.
“I encourage you
to go over them another fifty times over the holidays,” he replied in a
placating voice that only increased her ire.
Then he leaned in closer to her over the table; his black eyes caught
hers, and she found she couldn’t look away.
He spoke so quietly that Dianthus thought even Martine couldn’t hear
him. “But if you go near a cauldron over
the break, I’ll make your life quite miserable for the remainder of your time
here.”
“But I won’t be
able to stand it!” she whispered dejectedly.
“Miserable for a
few weeks, or miserable for the rest of the
year?” He cocked his head toward her and
gave her his most malicious smile. “The
choice is yours, Miss Brandywine.”
“Well, sounds like
you’re screwed, mate,” said Erin
amiably at dinner. Dianthus was
alternately stabbing her fork viciously into the steak on her plate and
scowling up at the staff table, where Snape was dispatching his dinner with his
usual haste. “Just wait until you get
back, that’s all. He said you’re going
to start the cauldron work right after Christmas anyway, right?”
“He’s doing this
deliberately,” Dianthus muttered. “He
knows I wanted to work on that potion at home.”
“Well,” said
Melanie tentatively, “he did say you could continue with the research part of
it.”
“Fuck the research
part of it! I want to get on with it!”
said Dianthus loudly.
“What if you asked
him again?” said Martine.
“We’re going home
day after tomorrow!”
“Well, send him an
owl, then.”
Dianthus felt so
miserable that she actually considered this idea for a moment. “It won’t work,” she finally grunted. “He’s made up his mind already.”
“I don’t know,”
said Melanie, thoughtfully. “I think you
should send him an owl. Then you can tell him specifically what
precautions you’ll take. Put his mind at
ease, you know. It might work, you
know.”
Dianthus thought
it was a waste of time, but at the insistent urging of her friends, she went to
the owlery the next morning – she was careful to wait until a half hour before breakfast,
as she didn’t want to rile him unnecessarily.
She was still so angry, though, that in the end all she could think to
say was:
I’m
begging you. Please let me attempt it.
She would have
preferred something a bit less lame, but she felt humiliated at having been
reduced to groveling, and so she left it at that, and sent the owl off, feeling
fairly hopeless. Sighing heavily, she
slogged back to the castle through the snowy grounds and joined her friends in
the great hall.
She almost didn’t
want to open the note the owl brought her as she picked at a piece of
toast. Her roommates looked almost as
apprehensive as she felt, but Melanie said, “Go on Di, get it over with,” and
patted her shoulder comfortingly.
Taking a breath,
Dianthus unfolded the parchment and winced as she read the opening line.
You are stubborn
and foolish, and you are behaving like a second-year.
“Uh-oh,” muttered Erin,
but Dianthus grinned as she finished the note.
However, I will
give my permission for you to attempt your potion ONLY if your grandfather is
in attendance the entire time.
“I told you,”
crowed Martine. Dianthus glanced up to
the staff table. Snape was glaring at
her in exasperation, his arms across his chest.
She noticed the silver ring glinting once again on his finger. She smiled brilliantly at him, and he shook
his head before turning his attention to his food.
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