Bittersweet [Hogwarts Fanfiction]

My plans for revenge against Pansy Parkinson kept slipping out of my mind on any ordinary day, but as soon as I would see her face again, I'd remember her treachery. It pained me to see her act so naturally and guiltlessly around me. As she always did, she'd smile and act friendly with me. But I supposed, she had no reason to act any differently, seeing as I hadn't confronted her about it yet. It being her tampering with my very precious potions work last year, and landing me a load of trouble with our Head of House, Professor Severus Snape. That was not even mentioning the fact that I had to flush all the potions I had created. A year of work gone. Just like that!

Regardless, my brewing experiments in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom went by a lot smoother than I had hoped. Myrtle was slightly annoyed that I had installed myself in her bathroom and hadn't brought any boys in the process. I had to remind her that this was a girl's bathroom, but she dismissed that observation, claiming that shouldn't stop them from entering and that it certainly hadn't in the past. I knew she was referring to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley frequently coming here last year as Hermione was brewing a polyjuice potion with them (but mostly by herself) to find out if Draco Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin or not. Hermione told me all about that last summer.

She had told me a lot about Potter and Weasley, but I doubted that they had heard anything about me. I was almost sure that the only impression of me they had was the same that anybody else had. That I was good friends with the school's bully and blood prejudice king, Draco Malfoy. Hence why I had been trying to sever ties with him. People just immediately assumed I was also a prejudiced asshole because I tolerated him. But I supposed there must be more than that. I was a Slytherin.

It was a blessing and a curse. Being a Slytherin, I meant. I had to admit, I secretly liked having some people fear me just because of my house. This reputation that Slytherins had, it's of power, dominance, leadership, and those were things that I loved about the house. But then, with fear and power also came mistrust, darkness association, and misunderstanding.

When I went to France last summer, I bumped into Hermione several times, and eventually, we talked and became friends. I wasn't necessarily a prejudiced prick before, but meeting her, befriending her, and discovering what her perspective was really helped push me to the better side, the good one, the empathetic one. And I had never been friends with a muggleborn before, let alone someone from another house at Hogwarts.

Before coming back to school, before taking the Hogwarts Express, I had already decided that I would make special efforts to show my association with the kinder side. It had indeed been troublesome to do so. Not being friends with Draco Malfoy was such an odd thing for me to do. And it felt hypocritical to try to erase him from my life due to his prejudice, and then turn around and keep being friends with other prejudiced people. But I couldn't just stop being friends with ninety percent of my friends. I was just so confused about what I should do.

"Oi, it's the Blackwood girl, " said a voice somewhere down the corridor, distracting me from my internal conflicts. I looked up and noticed two ginger-haired Gryffindor boys sauntering towards me.

"We haven't seen you in quite some time," the other said to me. I knew that those boys were Fred and George, but I couldn't tell who was who just yet.

"Oh, hi," I said, suddenly feeling sheepish. "How did you know I was a... well, a Blackwood."

"Your brother is in our year."

"But on the train... I thought you all didn't know who I was." At that, they chuckled with great amusement.

"Not your first name, we didn't."

"But, of course, we recognized you as Aiden Blackwood's younger sister."

"So, Maeve, I thought we agreed that we were friends." The other twin suddenly changed the subject before I could even think of what to say. Based on what he said, I knew now that this one was Fred. I quickly noticed that he was slightly shorter than George and had a greater mischievous demeanour. The way he smiled was also different, but I couldn't quite tell why it was just yet.

"Yeah, you called Fred your friend but abandoned him on the Hogwarts Express," whom I thought was George added. I winced, painfully remembering how I was dragged into Draco Malfoy's carriage that night.

"Right, about that... the thing is..."

"No need to explain, we saw that Pucey girl drag you out of the train," George said, understandingly. I smiled sheepishly.

"No worries too. Just don't make it a habit to flake on us, otherwise what we call our little friendship probably won't last very long," Fred continued.

"I — I thought you... Well, honestly..." I hesitated, and they looked at me curiously. I gazed down as I raised one of my shoulders. "I thought you weren't interested in being friends with me... I mean, I guess, I sort of forced it on you just for Malfoy to see."

"Oh, I see," Fred said, seemingly thinking. "Well, mate, you do owe me."

"I do, don't I?"

"But you're in luck," George said. "We could use a little Slytherin ally."

"Ally?" I repeated, not entirely sure about what he meant by that or where he was going with that.

"Friend," Fred quickly corrected. I huffed a laugh.

"Okay, so what am I supposed to do now?"

"If being friends with you means that would piss off Malfoy and possibly a bunch of other Slytherins too, well count me in," Fred said.

"Count us in," George added.

"So, to pay you back... I just — Wait, what?" Now, I felt like I had lost them. I didn't fully understand what they were asking of me.

"What do you mean 'what?'" Fred asked as if it were obvious.

"It's fairly simple to understand, is it not, Fred?" George said.

"Hang on," I interrupted. "I thought... Wait, so, I owe you," I pointed at Fred, "because I used you as a fake friend to piss off Malfoy. And now, to pay you back, I have to keep pretending to be friends with you to piss him off and other Slytherins?"

"Yeah, that sums it up correctly," Fred said.

Well, that's certainly an odd request, I thought.

"Right, well, we'll see you around, we have a few things to take care of," George said, smiling.

"Don't forget to greet us in the hallways—"

"—just like friends would."

And with that, they marched onwards to the other end of the corridor, leaving me dumbfounded and perplexed. I certainly did not expect this sort of development. So, I had to be fake friends with the Weasley Gryffindor twins? Why did I feel like that was unnecessary...? I mean, I was already friends with Hermione. If she had introduced us, and if I weren't such a coward, certainly we would have been friends anyway. Or, at least, have some degree of civility that extended farther than mere acquaintances, I supposed. Well, regardless, I had a class to attend right about now.

I attended my very first Defence Against the Dark Arts class with our new professor (Remus Lupin) on Thursday. I had skipped the last one because I couldn't resist setting up my potions set in that new location. Class time had felt like the absolute perfect moment to do so since no one would be lingering in the hallways and seeing me suspiciously hoisting a cauldron and a bunch of potion ingredients into a deserted girls' bathroom.

The professor didn't seem to notice me when I entered and sat at the back of the class next to Tracey Davis. But when he started taking attendance, my name being one of the first to be called, he seemed to have recalled me not being present last class.

"It's kind of you to join us this time," he said. "See me after class to catch up on what you missed last class."

And then he moved on with the list of students.

Professor Lupin's teaching style was quite different from Lockhart and Quirrel, our previous DADA professors. Lupin had a technical and visual approach to the subject. He would display the various creatures we were studying on a sort of enchanted projector. I had a feeling that this year I would finally be learning something. Hopefully, this professor would last longer than just a year. But seeing the trends with the past years, DADA teachers never stayed for any longer than a year, and usually, something horrible happened to them. It was a cursed position.

After class, I remembered I was supposed to stay back and speak with Lupin about the last class I had missed. The other students filed out of class, and I lingered over my desk.

"Right, miss Blackwood, do come up front," said Lupin, motioning his hand to have me come forward.

I quietly walked to the front, holding my bag in my hand, not knowing how long this was going to last.

Lupin was gathering a few papers from his desk, and as he did so, he said, "Caught a fever, last class?"

"Uh — sort of."

"I had another absent Slytherin fifth-year student, last Friday morning. I heard from his classmates that he was regurgitating rainbows. Did you have the same issue last Thursday?"

"Er — yea."

I wasn't necessarily a good liar, but Lupin was essentially putting the words in my mouth, and all I had to do was confirm it. 

"Bit of an odd thing to happen," he continued. "Did you two have an encounter with a pixie?"

"Er — well, actually we were already sick, and we tried to drink a potion another student made to cure ourselves of er, our sickness, but it sort of backfired, and our vomit turned rainbow and stuff." I was quite proud of myself for coming up with that on the spot. I didn't know much of anything about pixies, and I figured I couldn't keep confirming what he was saying. Otherwise, it probably wouldn't have been believable. And Lupin seemed to have bought it because he nodded, understandingly.

"Next time, you best see Madam Pomfrey instead."

I nodded.

"Right, well, last class, we covered boggarts," he said, handing me over one of the papers he had gathered from his desk. It had a page number on it, and the word Riddikulus written next to it. "I recommend that you read this section from your textbook. We'll review boggarts before the end of term, but you should know the spell against them, Riddukulus. The textbook is quite thorough. I think you will understand the topic just fine. But if you have any questions, I'm pleased to help, of course."

"Right, er, thanks, professor," I stammered.

"Now, off you go, then," he said.

"Yea, er, bye."

Professor Lupin waved at me as I left the class.

The hallway was empty and echoey. I could hear students from afar. The voices grew stronger and clearer as I approached the large oak doors of the Great Hall.

Upon entering the Great Hall, I noticed Draco Malfoy and my friends sat together, laughing and talking. It was like this every time. I would silently sit next to Tracey or Daphne, talking to everyone except for Malfoy. We would both ignore each other, and our friends were so used to it they had stopped questioning it.

Before I could unwillingly join them, a hand grabbed my arm on my way. I looked down at my side. It was Wyatt Nye, sitting with his S4 friends, as usual.

"Sit," he said. Reluctantly, and with one knowing look at Daphne who noticed me and gaped, I sat next to him. Elijah Hadleigh sat on Nye's other side, while Jamieson Lancaster and Isaiah Ainsley sat in front of us.

"Why'd you drag her here?" Lancaster said, looking peeved.

"I want more potions," Nye said, peering at me.

"No, do not give him any more of those — You agreed last time—"

"I have some harmless potions," I interrupted Lancaster. He mulled that over in his head as I turned to Nye. "If you want to burp some butterflies, I've got something for that. I've also got something that will make your eyes glow in the dark."

"Those are utterly useless. Why would I even buy that?" Nye sneered.

"Well, I'd rather you buy one of those than whatever it was that you drank last week," Lancaster chimed in.

"Merlin, James, quit acting like my mother all the time!" Nye snapped. He scrunched his nose in irritation as he glared at Lancaster whose mouth gaped open for a split second.

"Well maybe if you quit acting like a child—"

"Alright, lads, shut it," Elijah Hadleigh interjected before the two could go any louder. Upon noticing a few other people's eyes on them, the boys stopped arguing, probably not wanting to draw any more attention to themselves. I supposed, since they knew they had a reputation for being such great friends, they didn't want to have people meddling in their business.

I figured since I already was sat here, I mind as well eat my supper. I began to serve myself some food, and Lancaster eyed me skeptically.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating." And I was.

"Go sit with your friends, instead."

"James, let her be, she's not bothering us," Isaiah Ainsley interrupted before taking a mouthful of food.

Jamieson Lancaster rolled his eyes at Ainsley — or at me, I'm not entirely sure — and laid back in his seat, arms crossed as he observed me curiously. I felt a little awkward to eat with his eyes on me like that, but I tried not to dwell on it too much as I munched on my food. The other boys spoke amongst themselves about things that didn't concern or interest me, such as their classes and their homework, but Lancaster just openly and silently gazed at me.

"Can I make a request?" he finally said when my plate was nearly empty.

"Huh?"

Lancaster uncrossed his arms, leaned closer to the table and said in a whisper, almost as if he didn't want his friends to hear, "I'd like to request a potion."

"Why?"

"I need something."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you the details later when we're... alone," he said, his dark eyes glancing at his friends with uncertainty.

"Can't they know?" I asked dubiously.

"Well, sure, eventually, I suppose... but we're still in the Great Hall right now, and anyone could hear us," he said.

I eyed him suspiciously. "It almost seems to me like you're up to no good."

"Maybe," he chuckled, but didn't elaborate. "So? Will you do it?"

"I don't even know what you're asking me to brew," I said, shrugging with uncertainty.

"Look, like I said, I'll tell you the details later."

I hesitated, biting my bottom lip.

"Okay."

I quickly finished my plate and grabbed my bag to leave. Jamieson Lancaster and his friends did not comment on my departure, but before I could get just a mere meter away, Nye grabbed my arm once again.

"Hey, I need you to brew something for me later," he said. I glanced at Lancaster, who sat up from his seat, scrutinizing me.

"Maybe," was all I said before I pulled my arm out of his grasp and walked away, mulling this supper's conversation over in my head.

Jamieson Lancaster was quite against Nye buying any more potions from me, but then he secretly told me that he wanted me to brew something for him. Salazar, what a hypocrite...

But was he, though? I mean, I didn't know what sort of concoction he wanted me to make just yet. And I supposed, Nye demonstrated his dangerous recklessness when he drank that poison last week. Maybe Lancaster was just genuinely worried about Nye's lack of self-control. But still, what was it with the S4 wanting potions from me?

I didn't even remember them ever buying any potions from me last year when I had my little business in the Slytherin dungeons. Though, it's true that it was mostly kids my year who bought from me. Even my brother was unaware of my antics until the little explosive incident in the common room. But I was always under the impression that I was somewhat known across Slytherin house for my potions.

Right, and that happened because of Pansy Parkinson. Could Daphne have lied about her? I mean, Daphne was always my friend, but so was Pansy. And if I asked them, it was not like they would tell the truth either.

The truth. That's it! Veritaserum! I just had to slip some Veritaserum into their drink and ask them if they knew who did it. For sure, they'd spill the truth. But how could I brew that? It must be a difficult potion to make. I didn't think I'd ever even seen its recipe in a potions book at school. But, perhaps I could in the restricted section.

But then, finding the ingredients would be an issue. A potion that complex surely required complex ingredients. Blimey, why was I whining about that? I was a potioneer! I should be excited about brewing this! Besides, I was pretty sure Snape had Veritaserum in his potions cupboard. I had never personally stolen from his cupboards for ingredients (which I reckoned was one of the main reasons why Snape didn't mind my potion brewing, at first), I had just browsed them, but surely a potions master such as him had his stores packed with essentials such as this.

My father was a potioneer as well, and he ran a shop in Diagon Alley. I was almost certain that he sold Veritaserum, but at a very high price. I wouldn't be anywhere near his shop until Christmas, however, and I really couldn't wait that long to find out the truth.

Maybe if I owled my father?

No, no, that was silly. My father was quite upset last year when he learned about my little secret potion-making business, which went against a bunch of Hogwarts rules, or something.

Anyhow, I had to find some kind of grimoire that had the Veritaserum recipe. Maybe Hermione knew something? She was a lot more knowledgeable about the Hogwarts Library than I was. But where was she? I wasn't paying attention to the Gryffindor table at supper, and now it was time for bed, so where was the Gryffindor common room, anyway? I thought I remembered someone mentioning that it was on the 7th floor. I supposed it wouldn't hurt to try.

I ventured along the Hogwarts hallways, and up the staircases. Finally, I landed on the 7th floor, walking past the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry. I tried to find some sort of irregularity along the walls, but all I could find were torches lit with orange flames. Perhaps, like the Slytherin common room, it was just a wall that slide down open? Ugh, where?

I was just about to give up when two boys emerged out of a painting of a woman in pink farther down the corridor. I immediately recognized them to be Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Perfect! Surely, they knew where Hermione was.

"Potter! Weasley!" I called out to them, jogging to catch up to them. They looked at me with uncertainty. Before they could say anything, I asked, "Where's Hermione?"

"That's Granger to you, Blackwood. Don't pretend to be so friendly," the Weasley boy said in an unpleasant tone.

"No, she is my friend," I assured. Both he and Potter raised their eyebrows at me. "Look, I urgently need her help with something. Please tell me where she is."

"Stop lying. We're not stupid. We know you're up to something," Weasley said.

"I'm not! I'm even friends with your brothers, Fred and George. Ask them!" I insisted stubbornly.

"You're mental," Weasley said, and he was about to leave with Potter. I sighed very loudly and rolled my eyes dramatically.

"Then I don't suppose any of you know where I could find a potions book that will help me brew Veritaserum," I blurted before they could walk past me. Their brows furrowed, and I looked up in disbelief. "Please, you have to believe me. Look, Hermione and I met in France many times. She and I spoke a lot, and eventually, well, we became friends. I don't know why she didn't tell you—"

"Hang on. You're her mysterious friend from France?" Potter interrupted. I nodded. So, she had spoken about me, just not by name.

"But I thought it was a boy... why else would she try to hide their identity?" Weasley added.

"Because the person happened to be her?" Potter pointed out.

"Blimey, I still don't believe it," Weasley said in disbelief.

"Can I talk to her? You two can be there the whole time, I don't care," I persisted.

"Tomorrow," Weasley said. "We have somewhere to be tonight."

"Where?"

"None of your business," he said, sneering.

I shook my head at the inconvenience but didn't say anything else when they walked past me and down the corridor. I supposed I would have to wait a little longer, once again, before I could find out if Pansy Parkinson was the one who tampered with my cauldron last year. It felt almost useless now, and I was close to letting it go, but I knew I had to find out who it was so that I could finally rest easy.

I thought the first thing I was going to do when I entered the Slytherin dungeons was to find my bed and sleep, but a tall boy had dragged me into an empty and dusty study room. He shut the door behind us, and his dark hair, as it always did, slightly covered his left eye. His beetle-black eyes implored me to help him, but he hadn't told me what for just yet. I had never been this close to his face before, and for the first time, I realized that his eyes were mono-lidded with only a small subtle crease above his lashes.

"About the potion," Jamieson Lancaster said, avoiding my gaze as if he were hesitating. "I wonder... do you..."

"What?" I asked because he was trailing off.

He shouldered past me and stood his back facing me, staring outside one of the two large windows, at the eerie darkness of the black lake.

"Could you brew something that could..." and I thought he was about to trail off again, but he said, "heal burns."

"Burns? I mean, you could just see Madam Pomfrey for that."

He suddenly turned his body, facing me. "But I need something more powerful and effective than what the matron has to offer."

"What for? Did you burn yourself? Where?"

"I never said it was for me," he said bitterly.

"Oh." I had a feeling that Lancaster did mean that it was for himself, after all. But I decided not to push it, figuring there must be a reason why he didn't want to talk about it. "So... what kind of burn are we talking about?"

"Magical."

"Do you know the spell or...?" I asked.

"No," he said shortly. I gingerly approached him, stopping myself half a meter away from him.

"Does it hurt?"

"What does?"

"The burn," I said, trying to meet my eyes with his, but he went back to avoiding my gaze.

"I don't know. It's not for me," he said. "But I guess not."

"So, it's a scar," I pursed my lips, thinking. "Maybe you would need an ointment of some kind. I'm not sure how effective a potion would be. I've surprisingly never made many healing potions before."

"So you can't help me?" he said, looking crestfallen.

"Well, I can try a few things... Prototypes."

"Are you any good?" he asked, hopefully. "With potions, I mean?"

"Well, yes. Haven't you heard of my Dad's potions shop? Blackwood Potion-Brewing?"

"Of course, I have..." Lancaster said as if it were too obvious. "But that's your father. And you're...Well, you."

"Wow, er, but I did inherit my father's potioneer talents, thank you very much," I declared in all seriousness. He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose.

"Alright, I believe you."

We stayed silent, and for an awkward moment, our eyes met, but I quickly looked away, feeling my cheeks warming up.

"Er... so, how many Galleons are you offering for my help?" I asked suddenly. His eyebrow perked up with curiosity.

"Well," he said. "I suppose that depends on how effective your potions are."

"Fair, I guess," I replied, shrugging.

"So, we've got a deal?" he asked. I looked up at his imploring face. His eyes were urging me to accept.

"Yeah."