Chapter Text
Draco was, as usual, vastly irritated with everyone and everything. Really, couldn't anyone be minimally competent in this shoddy department? That was all he asked. The bar was so low it was in hell.
“Putchkins,” he addressed the other man slowly.
“Yeah, mate?” the git responded, still shoving his things haphazardly into his duffel bag.
“Did you remember to bring the devices from the Biomagics lab at St. Mungo’s?” Draco asked, knowing full well that Putchkins had not done so, despite their boss’ clear instructions.
“Oh, beans,” said the jowly man sheepishly. “I forgot. I can go now! I'm almost sure that I know where to—”
“Ugh. Never mind,” growled Draco. “I'll get it myself.”
“Cheers!”
“Useless twat,” Draco muttered, not softly enough to go unheard.
There had been a reason why he had wanted to avoid the lab. Said reason had big hair, little patience, and absolutely no willingness to be taken by the effect that Draco had on most women. He grit his teeth and set off for her lab.
He strode down the corridors looking like his namesake and his Ministry nickname, The Dragon, frightening everyone in his path with his scowl and his cheekbones. His well tailored robes’ aubergine hue denoted his position in the Department of Mysteries. (The robes were not regulation, but Draco gladly paid the fine every month. He would not be caught dead in the polyester monstrosity that had been presented to him on his first day, thank you very much.)
“I’m here to see Granger,” he said imperiously to the slack-mouthed youth sat behind the reception desk in St. Mungo’s research wing.
“Hermione Granger?”
“The very one.”
“Eh?”
Sigh. “Yes. That Granger.”
He endured the sign-in rigamarole and was finally led to her lab.
“Malfoy,” she said icily when he entered. There was no love lost between them. She was wearing a Muggle lab coat, presumably to accentuate the differences between herself and the chartreuse-robed peons at her institution. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”
“I need the devices my office ordered from you.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, or else I have the prerogative to tear your lab apart to find it.”
She rolled her eyes mightily. “Relax, Malfoy. The box is over there.” She levitated a small, sapphire blue box from a plinth on the far side of the room into his waiting hands.
“It’s been tested?” he asked Hermione sharply, indicating the blue box.
“Obviously.”
“My life may depend on this working, so no, it's not obvious that I would neglect to ask,” he said with a sneer.
“Do you need instructions?” she asked condescendingly.
“Of course not,” he snapped. (Did he know how to operate the devices? No, he did not, but he was certain he could figure it out.)
“Really?”
He tucked the box into his pocket and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Granger.”
She looked flatly at him, then turned back to the papers on her desk. He watched her for a moment, noting her grayish pallor and the purple smudges beneath her eyes. Hmm. She'd never looked anything less than radiant at work (to his dismay). But just as he opened his mouth to comment on her peaky appearance, she snapped, “What, Malfoy?”
They glared at each other. Then he spun around and stalked back to the D.O.M.
A quarter of an hour later, he and Putchkins were about to walk through the portal.
“Got it?” asked Putchkins, nodding at the box in Draco's hands.
“Yes. Should be one for me and one for you inside…”
He opened it… or tried to.
“Fucking thing,” he muttered, trying first to pull the box apart and then twist off the top. There was a seam along the sides, but the top of the box would not budge.
“Here, let me,” offered Putchkins.
The two men engaged in an extremely stupid battle of wills and an ensuing contest of hand strength. Then they shot an array of unlocking spells at it. Finally, they both conceded that the damnable box was impossible to open.
“We can't go without this,” said his genius of a partner. “Boss said it was a high priority. Something about safety.”
“I'll take this back to St. Mungo's,” said Draco, equal parts chagrined and irritated. “I’ll be right back. Do not do anything until I return.”
—
Neville was close to a breakthrough. Between the magical herb he'd brought back from Brazil and the string of novel incantations he had been practicing, he was ready for the experiment to begin.
“Test 1,” he said to his Observa-Quill, which sprang upright and began scribbling. The small eyeball at the top of the quill blinked open.
With care, Neville poured a potency-boosting potion into the specially made stone table, which had a deep channel all around the edges that formed a perfect circle. The silver liquid filled the groove and shone brightly.
Then he placed four branches of the fragrant medicinal herb, Ficuba sanitus, pointing in the cardinal directions.
Finally, he placed a small potted plant on the table: Mimbulus mimbletonia, a cutting from his first and most beloved plant friend.
If all went well, he would be splicing together the two plants to create a new mimbletonia that had boils filled not with Stinksap, but with a delicious-smelling gel that healed a wide array of injuries. He was already planning the trials of what he called Sanasap. There would be plenty of applications. Hannah Abbott would be very interested in his work, if all went well. She was now a magipharmaceutical researcher and businesswoman, and she rented lab space a floor above him at St. Mungo’s. As Neville double-checked his setup, his mind wandered. He imagined that perhaps there might be late-night testing sessions that involved butterbeer and staring deeply into her lovely hazel eyes…
With this cheering thought, Neville raised his wand and began the incantation. As his voice gained volume, a thick fog rose from the circle of liquid.
“Cambianus, changeamus, pluriasus, simelangus. Hoc et illud misce ut maledicta in superficie san—”
Then several things happened in very quick succession.
The door to the lab banged open.
There was an odd wheezing sound.
A dark blur appeared in the fog just as Neville finished his incantation. “—ent.”
There was a flash of light and a pop.
The fog dissipated, and Neville looked curiously around the room to see what or who had disturbed him. But nothing seemed amiss, except that the mimbletonia was knocked on its side. Puzzled, he stepped out of the door, only to run right into his lab neighbor .
“Oof! All right, Neville?” said Hermione cheerfully, stumbling and catching herself. “How's testing going?”
“Nothing yet,” said Neville, his focus dragging back toward the table. “I'm only on Test 1, though. Say, I wonder if the incantation is too vague. Tell me what you think…”
—
Six hours later, Hermione stretched her arms high above her head, then tilted her head side to side until there was a satisfying crack from her neck. Goodness, she had to stop working so late in the lab. Particularly on a Friday. At the very least, she should bring home her folios and work in the comfort of her own home, such as it was.
In the silence of the empty lab, there was a soft shuffling sound.
“Hello?” she said after a moment.
Then there was a barely audible noise, like a little burp.
Alarmed, Hermione cast Hominem revelio. No one showed up.
She got up and walked toward where the sounds had come from, crossing the hallway and stepping tentatively toward a corner of Neville’s lab. There were several potted plants crowding the area. Brushing aside a large palm frond, she saw movement in the near-darkness.
“Oh, hello, you,” she said softly. There was a little frog, no bigger than the hollow of the palm of her hand. It was blinking slowly, as though it had just woken up.
Gently, she scooped it up in her hand and smiled. It really was very cute.
Then it opened its mouth and said:
“What the fuck, Granger?”
That was when she screamed and threw the frog straight back into the plants.