KA-THUNK!!!

Ron jumped backwards and bumped into Harry who quickly returned a swift elbow-in-the-ribs.

“Quiet!” Harry hissed.

“Sorry.”

“Do you have it?”

“‘Course I do.”

“Right. Come on, then. Let’s hurry.”

Ron clutched the squirming tiny burlap bag in one hand against his chest and Scabbers in the other and backed away from the overturned plant. One of Neville’s horticulture obsessions. He was going to be livid if he knew it had gone down; Harry quickly scooped the dirt back in as well he could and set the thing back on Neville’s bed-stand where it went back to swaying lazily up and down. That finished, he grabbed the bottle, shoved Ron towards the door, and followed him out of the boys’ dorm and down into the Gryffindor common room.

“Should we really do this here?” Ron worried, looking around nervously as if expecting some other student to be hiding behind one of the large sitting chairs and under a desk.

“There’s no one here, Ron; we’ll be fine. And, besides, we have to do it here. You remember what the book said about this.”

Ron gulped and nodded, “Yep. It’ll knock us out for two hours.”

“And if we’re not here, someone will go looking for us. At least if we’re stretched out on the couches, they’ll just think we’re sleeping. Besides, it’s not like anyone would catch us doing anything if they walked in right now. We just have to add those filpworms and then it will be ready.” He said this while setting the bottle onto the floor before the fireplace and opening the book Common Potions for the Busy Wizard and other Life-Saving Stews to the worn page. Hermione had checked the book out from the library several weeks earlier and, after making an off-handed remark about the stupidity of one of the potions, had returned it, only to find Harry and Ron with their noses buried in it a week later. And, since that day, the two boys had been spending all their free time hunting down the called for ingredients for the potion discussed on page 241: Personal Helper Potion.

It sounded like the perfect solution to their current problem: there were just not enough hours in the day to accomplish all that there was to do. It seemed classes were just piling on the projects and outside work recently, keeping the two boys from having much free time at all (hence why it had taken them so long to track down ingredients for a potion that really weren’t all that hard to find, for the most part); plus there was Quidditch and then there were the detentions that, as usual, were piling up. It was just too much.

Hermione should have known better than to roll her eyes and sigh, “What a stupid idea. To put a potion that is supposed to give you the energy of four people in a book that’s supposed to have ‘common potions.’ Can you imagine all that could go wrong with it? And if a student did it...I believe someone tried a while ago and obviously got caught –how could you not? And you can bet they got in loads of trouble for experimenting with self-altering potions like that. I don’t care what the book says, it’s not an easy potion.” She should have considered to whom she was saying this to. Because, obviously, Harry and Ron had to do it now.

Thus why the two sat huddled together on the carpet as Ron carefully untied the string on the bag of filpworms he had lifted from Professor Sprout and peered inside.

“Ugh,” he groaned, wrinkling up his nose and turning his face away. Harry took the bag from him, checked for himself, and had a similar reaction. “That’s disgusting. And we’re supposed to drink them?”

Harry shrugged, “The book says they should dissolve immediately and that we won’t even know they’re in there.”

“Yeah, well, the potion doesn’t look or smell any better,” Ron argued. He lifted the large bottle up, more than enough for two people. Inside, the brownish-green liquid churned and bubbled thickly of its own accord, reaching for the top of the bottle but fortunately never quite getting there; Ron feared the thing would grow teeth and conquer the school were it to land on the ground.

Again Harry shrugged, “The book says it will neutralize itself and just look like water once we add the filpworms.”

“But–“

”But the book says–“

”Bloody hell, you’re sounding like Hermione!” Ron yelled over Harry.

This shut the latter up immediately who stopped to consider, then shuddered and ordered, “Just put the things in, will ya?”

Ron conceded after both looked suspiciously over their shoulders for any prying eyes. Nothing. No living thing except ratty old Scabbers resting on the floor beside Ron, his beady eyes always looking around nervously for that demon cat. He upturned the bag and made a face as the five filpworms went sliding into the gunk. As the page called, each was exactly four inches long with three eyes (various species were different lengths and with the number of eyes ranging from two to five), dark green and slimy with a stinky dark yellow ooze continuously seeping from their underside. Professor Sprout insisted they were wonderful for gardens when Harry had casually inquired as to what they were, but Ron suggested the “wonders” they did for gardens were merely a result of every weed and creature staying away because of the stench.

As soon as the ends of the tails disappeared, the concoction began changing, true to the book. The color quickly changed hue: brownish-green to green to black to blue to yellow to brown to green and through the loop again and again. The bubbles grew larger and more rapid as the goop grew less viscous until they began popping over the edges of the bottle and onto the carpet. Ron yelled and Harry frantically snatched the bottle up and rushed it over to a table by the door leading upstairs where cleanup would be easier.

“Here, here! Pour it in this cup; it’s bigger,” Ron suggested, grabbing a cup off another table and thrusting it before Harry on the desk. There was obvious sense in this, so Harry quicky obeyed. Here the potion continued to spit and bubble and pop until finally slowing down and ending in a calm, clear liquid, no longer spilling over the edge.

“It does look like water,” Ron commented, leaning in for a closer look. Harry did, as well, bumped heads with Ron, and both jerked back for fear of upsetting the bottle.

Harry leaned in again and sniffed, then nodded, “It smells like water.”

“Something can smell like water?”

“Well, it doesn’t smell like...like...like it did over there,” Harry retorted. Ron sniffed and agreed.

“So...”

“So...”

“I guess we drink, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“I...are you sure this is going to work? And not...you know...”

“Kill us? No.”

Ron gulped.

“I’m sure it won’t, though,” Harry quickly assured him.

Ron nodded with him, mentally pepping himself up for the daring task of drinking this strange mixture that he and Harry, perhaps two of the worst potions students ever, had created. There was a 75%-25% chance, maybe, that the potion was harmless...and odds were not in their favor.

“I...erm...” There had to be a way to procrastinate this. Just a couple minutes; just to make sure it wasn’t going to spontaneously combust in two minutes or anything. “Perhaps we should...”

Harry, just as nervous and wishing he had paid more attention in potions class, added, “Um...We should...”

“...Biscuits! We need biscuits...or something. You know, to eat. To celebrate!”

“Right. Right! Sounds good. Um...I’ll just... Okay, you stay here and watch the potion and I’ll run up; I’ve got some sweets in my bag,” Harry offered, moving quickly towards the stairs. He stopped on the second stair to look back at Ron and instructed very slowly, “Watch the potion, Ron. Really. The last thing we need is–“

”I got it, Harry. Really, I’m fully capable of watching a dumb cup,” Ron insisted. He rolled his eyes behind Harry’s back at his best friend’s lack of trust in his capabilities.

Several silent moments went by and nothing happened either in the room or in the cup. Scabbers had raced over to the table with them earlier, not daring to be alone in the room with that demon cat lurking around somewhere. Ron sighed and bounced his leg impatiently and looked between the contents of the cup and the walls painted dark reds and oranges by the setting sun seeping through the glass windows. In about two and a half hours it would be time for dinner, but Harry and Ron didn’t want to wait until after dinner. Any later and the common room would grow crowded with students loitering until dinner, and, were they to do it after dinner, students would again be walking through on their way to bed or hanging around studying. Even late at night, there was an extreme possibility that, with their luck, someone would venture downstairs for some strange reason. This was the best time; yes, everything had been carefully planned.

So carefully planned that Ron was able to keep from wigging out royally when he heard someone mutter the password on the other side of the wall and the portrait swung back to give a Gryffindor student entrance. He merely froze and stared.

In strutted Hermione, her arms laden with books, a drink, and several scrolls. She glanced around the room to see who was in it and, spotting Ron, greeted him with a friendly but hurried voice, obviously off to try and get in a bit of homework before dinner. Over-stressed as well. Hogwarts was out to kill each and every one of them. At least the teachers of Hogwarts were. She was obviously not in the mood to stand around and chat, for which Ron was relieved. Hermione made straight for the stairs and had just put her foot on the first step when who should come tearing down but Crookshanks. Perhaps he had been waiting for this precise moment when Scabbers’ back was turned to pounce, but whatever the case, he made straight for the rat, almost knocking Hermione over in the process.

“Crookshanks,” Hermione scolded gently, never really angry with her beloved cat.

Not so for Ron, though. His face darkened and he leapt forward hollering, “You stupid cat! Ge’ out of here! Go on!” He stomped his feet and chased after Crookshanks. Hermione gasped, slammed her cup down on the table, and took off after him.

“Ronald Weasley, you leave Crookshanks alone! He’s just playing!”

“Just playing? Just playing?!? He wants to eat my rat!”

“He does not! You’re just not–“

”Ge’ out of here!” Ron jumped in front of Scabbers and Crookshanks, snatched his rat up, and sent a kick flying in the cat’s direction. Crookshanks hissed and stopped on a dime, then stuck his nose in the air and trotted over to rub against an enraged Hermione’s leg.

“I...I swear, Ron. You are absolutely horrid sometimes.”

“I am? Your dumb cat–“

”He is not dumb. That nasty old rat of yours is so old he should be--“

”Hey, Scabbers is perfectly fine, he--.“

”I swear, Ronald Weasley. Sometimes you are the dumbest thing on this planet,” Hermione interrupted, once and for all. With a disgruntled huff and a glare at Ron, she stomped across the room, grabbed her things up again, and stomped loudly up the stairs, the demon cat gliding along behind her, his tail whipping snootily in the air, glancing over his shoulder with those mocking yellow eyes before disappearing.

Ron returned to the table, glowering and muttering mockingly, “‘I swear, Ronald Weasley, sometimes you are the dumbest thing on this planet.’ Right. Not with her on it, I’m not.” He held Scabbers in his lap and stroked the tattered brown fur lovingly, reassuring his rat that none of this was his fault, that all the blame was on that feline.

Mere seconds later, Harry returned to the room, casting wary glances over his shoulder up the stairs.

“What was that about?” he inquired, knowing by her cursing of Ron that he had something to do with it.

“That stupid cat of hers was chasing Scabbers all over the place and all he was doing was sitting here, just minding his own business, when that–“

”Okay, okay, Ron. Crookshanks wants to eat Scabbers. I got it,” Harry interrupted as Ron’s agitation began to boil up again. He held his hands up in front of him in self defense until Ron had taken several deep breaths and calmed down enough for rational conversation. “Now...she didn’t see the potion, did she?”

A sudden fear crept into Ron’s heart, but there sat the cup on the desk, undisturbed, the water-like substance still resting tranquilly inside.

“Good.” Harry let out a mental sigh of relief. Not that Ron couldn’t handle it or anything but...hey, accidents happen. Especially to them. “Well, I found some cakes.” He held one out to Ron who snatched it, still sulking. Harry rolled his eyes. Those two could be such kids. “I found another cup, too. Now, the book says we should drink exactly a cup. No more, or something happens that we don’t want to.”

“What?”

“Um...I...I don’t know. I could go look–“

”Don’t bother. Do you have the ladle?” Harry nodded and set the thing on the desk along with two cups, all left over from their previous experiments with potions (though always before with Hermione’s supervision).

There was dead silence as Harry carefully measured out every last drop of the potion to provide 1 cup each. He and Ron picked their cups and stared inside for some time, mentally talking themselves up to it.

“How about you...”

“No, you can...”

“Okay, at the same time, then. On the count of three. Drink all of it,” Harry reminded. Ron nodded. Together they counted, “1...2...3...” then downed the cups and quickly shoved cakes in their mouth to avoid any possible bad taste. There wasn’t any, however.

Ron shrugged, “Well, that wasn’t so bad. It doesn’t taste like anything at all.”

“No, it doesn’t. I suppose now...we just wait?” Ron nodded and they set about cleaning everything up, just so there wouldn’t be anything around when they zonked out for the two hours.

Harry had just finished mopping up the spilled potion when who should come back down the stairs but Hermione Granger with the ugliest sneer on her face. He hissed to Ron beside him, “Watch out!” but it was too late. Hermione had spotted him. Apparently her little time-out upstairs had done nothing but fire her up further.

“You!” she yelled, forcibly shoving Harry out of her away and standing before Ron. Sure, he stood a good several inches above her, but she glared up at him with anger in every inch of her frame and demanded, “I told you to leave Crookshanks alone!”

Ron couldn’t remember a time when he had seen her so angry, much less at him. He gulped and looked to Harry for help, but he was too surprised at being shoved aside like that when he hadn’t even done anything!

“If you lay one little finger on Crookshanks, I will break it off. I don’t want you to so much as look at him. In fact, don’t even think about him! Got it? It’s bad enough that he has to share his air with you, but I suppose that can’t be helped. Unless...well, I guess we’ll see.”

She paused and continued to stare him down. This was making Ron extremely uncomfortable. What was it you were supposed to do? Oh, right: don’t make eye contact, agree, promise to try harder, bow down if need be, and back away slowly. He gulped out, “I’m...sorry...”

“Yeah, you’d better be. Now get out of my face,” she barked. That said, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the common room, no doubt off to unleash her anger on somebody else.

Nobody moved for some time in the room until Harry and Ron finally could hold their breath no longer. They looked at each with horror and raced across the room as if expecting her to come back in at any moment and eat them for dinner.

“Oh my gosh, did you see her?”

“How could I not?”

“I’ve never seen her so–“

”I know!”

Another silent pause until Ron ventured, “She seems really mad.” Harry snorted. “Suppose I should apologize to her, then?”

“Yes. But not right now. Let her...um...she might kill you right now.”

Ron nodded, then moaned, “I didn’t mean to make her so mad! It’s just her stupid cat won’t leave Scabbers alone!”

“I know, Ron. It’s okay.” They stopped talking, out of things to say, until Harry ventured, “I guess the potion should be kicking in any time now?”

“Great. With my luck, she’ll strangle me in my sleep,” Ron sighed, instinctively clutching his neck. Harry patted him on the shoulder encouragingly.

“I’m sure she won’t. She’s just a little mad right now. But she’ll run around, maybe maul a few students, and then she’ll come back in here and fall asleep like a little baby. I’m sure of it.” Ron chuckled at the mental picture and relaxed a little. Harry was probably right. Harry was usually right.

However, to say that Ron didn’t nearly jump out of his skin when footsteps were heard coming down the stairs would be a blatant lie. He dared not look back, but Harry did, peering over the back of the couch as...Hermione? Wait a second...

“It’s Hermione!” he whispered to Ron. Ron’s head snapped up and he joined Harry’s spying. Sure enough, it was the one and only Hermione, casually strolling into and across the common room. Did they dare? Harry nodded to Ron –he was going for it– and stood from the couch.

“Hello, Hermione,” he ventured, ready to make a dash for it if need be. She stopped dead –as did Harry’s heart– and slowly turned her head to look at him. Creepy. Then, without any warning, she launched two light blue, liquid-filled balloons towards the couch which splattered upon contact, one against Harry’s chest, the other on the top of the couch and all over Ron. She let out a loud laugh, did a little skip, then took off running out of the common room.

“What the–“

”What the bloody hell is wrong with her?!?” Ron demanded, jumping up and gaping at the black ink all over himself, Harry, the couch, and the floor. “Is she blooming psycho? I’ve seen mood swings in Mum and Ginny but this is bloody outrageous!!”

Harry wasn’t much more amused. He swiped frantically at his clothes, but to no avail; the sticky black substance merely smeared and stained his skin. He gave a yell of disgust and threw himself onto the couch and kicked his leg.

“What was she thinking? These clothes are absolutely ruin— waaaaaait a minute.”

Harry looked up at him scathingly and demanded, “What?”

“Aw, shoot. She must have jipped disappearing ink from someone. It’s going away, see?” Harry jerked his eyes to where Ron was pointing on his shirt and gave a huge sigh of relief; sure enough, the large dark blotches were slowly turning purple, blue, green, red, yellow, and then disappearing entirely. He and Ron sat impatiently on the couch and watched the change take place all around them, slowly relaxing into good enough humor that they were even rather amused when the final traces of ink spelled out on Ron’s shirt, “May the cat eat your soul and the devil eat the cat.”

Another period of peace passed, this one long enough that Harry and Ron found themselves relaxing, staring off into space and wondering when the potion was going to take effect. If it waited much longer, and if the potion kept them asleep for two hours as the book said it would, they would sleep through dinner and somebody would comment on it and they would either get blamed for causing some sort of problem they had absolutely nothing to do with or would be sent to the hospital wing to be poked and prodded by Madame Pomfrey.

“Hey, Harry? You don’t think the potion just isn’t going to– no– not again.” Footsteps could again be heard on the stairwell, though different than the last two steps. In stead of the heavy stomping of Hermione the first time, and the casual, even steps the second time, the owner of these footsteps almost seemed to be bouncing on the steps as they walked.

Harry and Ron were almost afraid to look for fear of what horrors Hermione would subject them to now. Needless to say, the last thing they expected was for Hermione to come over, sit down between them, and begin filling them in on all the happenings of the school. But that’s exactly what Hermione –yes, it was her again; “How is she sneaking back upstairs without us seeing her? We must really not be paying attention. Maybe the potion is working!”– did. With an excited giggle, she swept across the room and plopped down right between two boys, wriggling around to get comfortable.

“Harry. Ron,” she greeted both with a nod. Their lack of anything except gaping stares either didn’t bother her at all or failed to be noticed, because she immediately took off, “Have you heard what happened in the Hufflepuff common room this morning? It turns out that two of the second year girls –surely you two know who I’m talking about– have a crush on the same boy and that boy asked one of them out and now they’re not talking to each other. But first she –you know her– threw a hex at her and now the other girl is in the hospital wing –still– coughing up frogs. It reminds me of that time with you and the slugs, Ron, yeah? Well, and can you believe they’re making this big a fuss over a boy? And he’s not a very good looking boy, either, but to each his own, I suppose. As long as they’re happy...except they aren’t. Are you all right, dearie?”

Ron hardly knew how to respond to the question. He wasn’t even sure she was talking to him, though she was looking straight at him. Dearie? What in the world was wrong with her? Harry wasn’t even blinking, just gaping at her, open-mouthed. Ron was about to ask her what was going on, if it was that time of the month, or...slap her or something, but was prevented when the door swung open to reveal Neville Longbottom stepping timidly inside. He noticed the three on the couch and hesitated before shuffling over, still not quite used to his body after his sudden growthspurt over the summer in which he had about double in height and halved his width.

“Oh, Neville, whatever is the matter, dearie?” So now he was the dearie? What?

He didn’t seem to notice anything and sighed, “I’ve lost my Care of Magical Creatures book. I was carrying it in the hall and tripped and it went flying out of my arms and...it ran off somewhere.” Usually Harry and Ron would have snickered at the idea of his book running off, even though they knew those monster books very well, but they were still so flabbergasted by Hermione’s weirdness.

“Oh, no! Where was it last time you saw it?”

“In the library.”

“Goodness...well, we’d better go quickly, then. Maybe we can still find it!” Hermione encouraged. With an excited giggle, she sprang from the couch, grabbed Neville’s hand, and raced out of the room, tugging him along behind her.

“Okay, Harry, I don’t know about you, but I am hopelessly confused right now.”

“You and me both. Something’s not right. I mean, Hermione’s–“

”Off her rocker. I mean, she’s always been a mite,” –here Ron waved his finger beside his temple to signal ‘crazy’– “but this is a lot even for her.”

“I hardly have time to make sense of any of it because every time it gets quiet something—“

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Ron and Harry froze. That was definitely a scream. That was definitely a Hermione scream. It didn’t matter how strange she was being, Hermione was their friend. Without waiting another second, Ron and Harry flew off of the couch and up the stairs two or three at a time in the direction of the sound.

“Hermione!”

“Hermione, where are you!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hermione!”

The screams were coming from the girls’ dormitory, so without even thinking about it Ron and Harry darted up the staircase. They had gotten about halfway before the ground went smooth beneath their feet, the stairs turning into one long slide that sent the boys crashing back to the bottom.

“Crap!”

“This isn’t going to work. Hermione! We can’t–“

In response, Hermione came fleeing out of her room and down the stairs.

“Hermione, what’s–“ but she just dove behind the two boys and sobbed out, “There’s...me...more...what...don’t know...going...what...”

“Calm down, Hermione,” Harry encouraged, shooting Ron a worried glance. What in the world was up there? “Now tell us what–“

”Wait! I didn’t mean to scare you. If you’ll just slow down, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Harry thought he was going to pass out. Ron thought he was going to pass out. There stood Hermione in front of them. But Hermione was behind them, too. And seconds later another Hermione appeared, and then another. Harry gulped and got very still and serious.

“Ron?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“How many Hermiones do you see?”

There was a pause as Ron counted and the Hermiones made various comments to each other about what in the world was going on.

“Four.”

“And how many times did we see Hermione walk out of the common room without returning?”

Another pause, before Ron ventured, “Three.”

“There’s another one up there,” one Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned to the girls’ dorm. “Apparently she’s too good for us or something, stretched out on the bed like she owns it when it’s my bed, though I must say the room is rather–“

”Another one?” She made a disgusted face, rolled her eyes again, and nodded impatiently. Wasn’t he listening?

“Harry? What’s four plus three plus one?”

“Eight.”

Ron’s voice cracked as he gasped, “Harry? How many Hermiones are there?”

“Eight.”

Everything, unless otherwise stated, copyright Shiloh, 2004