Dark, Twisted and Time Turned

Chapter 22: Potion after Potion

(*Warning: drug use, discussion of war)

Six days passed. Six dry, rather boring days, in which Hermione's anxiety grew exponentially the closer they got to the nineteenth. She would be of age then. When Monday came on the eighteenth, Hermione found herself having again, another dull day. There was a surprising lack of news in Grindelwald attacks, the Ministry had been rather quiet of late. Abraxas and she had had another dinner together the previous Saturday. It had been simple, it had been romantic, and at her request he helped her practice from her book of etiquette and manners.

So, she found herself on that dry, boring Monday, brewing next to Tom who was in a remarkably good mood lately. It was quiet. The class was relaxed, perhaps a tad more warmer then usual due to the potion they were brewing, but still quiet. Tom was enjoying it.

"You've ground the fire flies?" He asks, crushing up several thoraxes of dragonflies. She hands him the warm jar.

"Here you are. I got them before they caught fire, but still a bit warm. Did you remember the Aconite sludge?" She asks him, taking her turn to stir the potion with a copper stir rod. The magic crackles around it, keeping the heat minimal. Tom huffs and rolls his eyes.

"It's not sludge, Hermione. It's extract. And yes, yes I did." He hands her the vial of extract, which sticks to the cork in a rather sludgy manner. They were brewing one of Tom's seemingly favourite potions; a liquid inferno, as he called it. It was Slughorn's free period of the week, where he gave them a few choices to choose from when brewing. Inferno was a popular choice; when drank, it heats the internal body temperature up high enough to kill viruses. She hadn't brewed it before.

"Gods, this is hot. I can't even fill these." She mutters, attempting to bottle the potion despite the excessive, scalding steam. Tom flicks his wand and the steam clears enough for her to fill the two bottles for Slughorn.

"Take some for yourself, too. It's cold season, it works faster than a pepper-up potion." As she flags down Slughorn, Tom begins rapidly filling his own personal, empty vials magically, stoppering the red potion and tucking them into his potions case.

"Oh, excellent work as usual, from my two star students! Marvelous." He exclaims, admiring the wine coloured potion. "Excellent thinking, Tom," he adds, and Tom freezes, caught with extra vials on the desk he hadn't managed to tuck away. "Bottle some up for yourself, good for colds." He takes their sample bottles back to his desk and Tom relaxes again, giving her a content smirk.

"See, a little discovery we made a few years ago? Add a drop of Draught of Peace to that, and you've got yourself a drug. Better then Fluxweed. Better then opium. Ever tried a drug, Granger?" He murmurs, and she shivers.

"Can't say I have, Riddle. Is that what all of this is for?" She gestures to the collection of vials in his potions case. He had several others, that he sold to various apothecaries in there, but it was namely now dominated by Inferno.

"Obviously. Fawley buys a few from me, paired with a dropper of perfectly brewed Draught of Peace. The swimmers like them, they have parties frequently out there. They prefer crystallized Gillyweed in their Fluxweed, but it's wicked expensive. I keep most to myself, however. The Professors haven't figured out how easy it is to make. It's quite wonderful." He smiles wistfully, and finishes emptying the cauldron and sweeping his bottles into his potions case.

Oh, how Tom loved his potion case. Looking like a briefcase, yet when opened revealed layers of revolving clamps to hold vials of potions. He kept one or two of every potion they brewed.

"Don't look now, but Flannigan's done something awful." Hermione mutters, and Tom glances towards the dreadful potion student. It was a NEWT class. How he had managed to get into it, she'd never know. His face was beet red, shining with sweat, his hair stuck to his forehead as a hot haze drifted out of his potion.