Transitions - Chapter Three

The process of brewing for the NullEmotion potion was rather complex, putting the Polyjuice Potion she’d once said was the most complicated potion ever to shame.  For one, several of the ingredients were very rare, or worse, illegal.  Additionally, the potion generally required more than one set of hands to brew, as some ingredients must be added simultaneously yet not mixed together, while continuously stirring and so on.  In any case, Hermione knew it would require careful planning to get this potion brewed without assistance and without letting anyone know about it.

As Hermione perused the list of ingredients, she decided only three would present any problem.  The dead boggart was one; Hermione didn’t think any were left at Hogwarts, and one didn’t usually keep them nearby deliberately.  She’d have to think about that one awhile.  Also difficult to manage would be the Icelandic Ice Dragon scales;  aside from the simple fact that these beautiful but very cold creatures were illegal to transport, their scales tended to melt within a week of being removed from their host.  And last, but certainly not least was the Molinar dust.  This last ingredient, though commercially available, was difficult to produce and exceedingly expensive.  Hermione knew that with her limited financial resources, she was unlikely to be able to obtain it without resorting to theft.   She knew, however, of at least one potential source.  Professor Snape’s private stores.

If she recalled correctly, Molinar dust was one of the ingredients that Snape had used in Professor Lupin’s lycanthropy-taming potion.  Since the dust is not perishable, Hermione thought it very possible that he had some left from Lupin’s tenure at Hogwarts four years ago.  She’d have to check on that soon.

In the meantime, she’d acquire the simple ingredients first.  It was Wednesday, a good day to Floo to Diagon Alley.  Although she could undoubtedly get some ingredients locally, Hermione figured she would be less likely to be noticed in Diagon Alley.  After a quick stop at Gringotts to get some cash (little of which she used at Hogwarts), she visited Jacerill, the apothecary, and a full-service magical nursery called “The Clovers at Cloverleigh”.  She’d been able to acquire most of the ingredients from one or the other of those shops, and only spent a few galleons in the process.

On her way back to the Floo site she noticed a scruffy looking witch heading into Knockturn Alley.  Hermione herself had never been there but she’d heard about it.  Knockturn Alley was what the muggle world would call a ‘bad neighborhood’, where the criminal element was alive and well and Dark Arts was the common language.  Harry had once seen Lucius Malfoy divesting his estate of some suspicious goods there.  Curiosity getting the better of her, Hermione turned to enter the alley.

Knockturn Alley was certainly less well-kempt than Diagon Alley, she thought.  The street was littered, and many scraggly witches and wizards loitered outside the worn-down shops and houses.  Hermione nearly turned right around, but then realized that she might be able to find some of the more questionable items from her list here.  She looked around carefully, and not seeing any familiar faces continued down the rough, cobbled path. 

She browsed the signposts at each door, ignoring the lewd comments and cat-calls of those who knew she didn’t really belong there.  Some of the shops seemed fairly innocuous, but some (such as the all-black “Curses & Cauldrons”) were quite creepy.  Hermione had almost convinced herself to turn back when she saw a rickety wooden door proclaiming itself “Acrina’s Exterminations and Pest Removal Services.”  She moved closer to the shop, noting that its one window was cracked and several stones from the wall had fallen out and were lying out of place on the cobblestone pavement.

Without pausing to consider the wisdom of her actions, Hermione opened the door.  It groaned painfully under her hand, as if disturbed from an unpleasant slumber.  “Sorry,” she muttered as she went inside.  The room was not very well lit, several wall sconces provided a dim level of illumination, just enough for her to peruse the room’s contents.  Many rows of shelves contained numerous bizarre looking gadgets.  Some looked like traps, others like cages, and some so strange Hermione couldn’t begin to guess their function.  In the back of the room was a small door, which was opened a crack, but was forbiddingly labeled “No Entry”.  The shop had one counter, and on that counter lay a large buzzer.  Seeing noone in the room, Hermione pressed the buzzer firmly.

“OUCH!” shouted the buzzer. “You could be a bit more gentle, you know.”

“Sorry,” apologized Hermione.  She heard a scuffle from behind the door, followed by a “SLAM!” as the door flew open to crash against the wall.  A very short, rather unattractive, witch stepped out, holding a burlap sack shut with both her hands.  The sack seemed to be fighting back, but the witch’s grasp was strong, her muscular knuckles straining as she held it shut.

“I’ll be right with you, dear.” Hermione watched as the witch carried the bag over to one of the cages and tossed it inside, quickly closing and latching the door behind it before placing it back on the shelf.  “I’ll deal with you later,” the witch mumbled to the sack, out of which several tentacles were appearing.

“Sorry ‘bout that.  What can I help you with today?  Infestation?  Possession?  Wayward ghoul?” The witch came to stand in front of Hermione.  Upon closer inspection Hermione noticed that her nose was abnormally large and her ears just slightly pointed.  Ugliness aside, she seemed friendly enough.

“Nothing like that, thankfully.  I’m actually seeking information.”

“Information, is it?  Well, I really don’t have much information, unless it’s about pesty creatures of course.”  The tiny witch looked up at Hermione doubtfully.

“Oh it is!  It’s about boggarts.” Hermione reassured her.

“Boggarts, is it!  Troublesome pests, to be sure.  Not strictly difficult to deal with, if you can control your own fears, that is.  Do you have a boggart in your house, then?”

“No, I don’t think so.  Actually I’m wondering how one might recognize a dead boggart.  And where I might find one.”  I probably shouldn’t have said that, thought Hermione.

“You want a dead boggart?  Blimey, that’s curious.  Not my business of course as to why, not at all.  I can help you, my dear, I’m sure.  For a small consultancy fee of course.  Ten sickles.”

“Of course, I would expect to pay for expertise such as yours.”  Hermione felt it couldn’t hurt to flatter the little witch, and fished the requested fee from her coin purse, handing it to her.

“Well then, recognizing a dead boggart is a tricky business, depending on how it was killed.  The riddikulus curse bursts it into several blobs of jelly, but if a boggart were to die of natural causes, it might be rather hard to recognize, depending on what form it was imitating when it died.” Hermione nodded in understanding, and the little witch continued. “Now it just so happens that I cleared out a boggart from an old lady’s flat just yesterday.  Poor thing was too weak to take care of it herself, so she owled me.  I haven’t actually disposed of its remains yet, I do that on Thursdays. You seem a nice enough girl, so if you want it it’s yours.  Not sure as to why you want it, but of course that’s not my business.”

“Oh could I please, that would be so helpful!  It’s for an experimental potion I’m working on, nothing at all Dark.” Hermione could barely contain her excitement; she thought the boggart would be difficult to attain, and look how easy it had been!

“No trouble at all, dear.  I’ll just go in the back and get it.  Just remember this favor that Acria did for you, and make sure to owl me first if you ever have any pest problems.”

“I certainly will, I’m most obliged to you!” Acria went off in the back to fetch the carcass, and Hermione passed the time by watching the many tentacled creature from the sack now spreading itself against the wall of its cage.

“Here you are, dear.” Acria returned and handed Hermione a smaller (and motionless!) bag. “The pest was blown into several pieces, so be careful not to drop the bag or they’ll fly everywhere.”

“I’ll be careful, thank you very much!”  Hermione opened the front door, more gently this time, and headed out into the street.  Without looking around more than was necessary, Hermione made her way back to Diagon Alley and to the Floo site.  She failed to notice Professor Snape standing in front of another shop in Knockturn Alley and watching her stoically as she passed by. 

Safely back in her quarters at Hogwarts, Hermione unloaded her purchases and placed them into a cupboard.  Now she just had the dragon scales and the Molinar dust to acquire, and she could rid herself of the neverending sorrow she lived with.  She brewed herself a pot of tea, trying to configure a plan to get the dragon scales.  She herself knew of two dragon experts, only one of whom was still alive.  Hagrid, bless his heart, had wanted nothing more than a pet dragon.  Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes once again, but she wiped them away furiously.  She had to focus.  Charlie Weasley was the other.  He worked with dragons in Romania.  Not the same sort of dragons as she needed, but he undoubtedly knew more about them than she did in any case. 

She poured a cup of tea and curled up in her comfy chair; it melded its shape to fit her position.  She couldn’t just owl Charlie and ask him for Icelandic Ice Dragon wings.  First of all, what excuse could she give?  It wasn’t exactly your run of the mill request, after all.  More importantly, he was Ron’s brother.  Seeing him and talking with him would be awkward, not to mention unbearable.  No, there’d have to be another way.

Could she get them herself?  Apparating to Iceland would be a bit tricky; it was never recommended to do so over large bodies of water.  And Floo was out for similar reasons.  No way could Hermione ride a broom to Iceland, she couldn’t even fly as far as Hogsmeade without crashing into a tree or something. 

Silly Hermione, she thought, you’re missing the obvious.  She could go the Muggle way, and take an aeroplane.  The tickets would likely be expensive though.  Hermione knew her savings weren’t up to a last minute plane fare to Iceland.  But she was a witch, and a rather resourceful one.  Her transfiguration skills would come in handy, providing her with her very own plane ticket.  She’d just make sure to choose an off-hour flight, one not likely to be full.

Just one problem, thought Hermione.  Once I’m there, how do I find the dragon?  This would require a little more research.

Hermione finished her tea and headed back to the library.  She should make an appearance in there anyway, she thought.  She made her way to the Magical Creatures section and plucked “Dragons of the World” from the shelves.  Eagerly, she opened it where she stood, thumbing to the “Norse Dragons” chapter and stopping when she found the Icelandic Ice Dragon.  The book was thorough, containing not only pictures and descriptions of the dragons and their habitats but also providing a map of known dragon colonies. 

“Perfect,” said Hermione aloud to herself.

“Reading on the job, Miss Granger?”  Hermione jumped, dropping the book and letting out a bit of a yelp.

“Damn you, Snape, would you please stop sneaking up on me?” Hermione snapped as she bent to retrieve her book. “Maybe Crookshanks will loan you his collar, it has a bell on it.”

Snape let out a small chuckle, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. “My apologies, Miss Granger, I was merely seeking a book.”  He pulled one from the shelf behind her. “It was not my intention to discommode you in any way.  I will now leave you to your dragons.”  And with that he departed, as silently as he had arrived.

Hermione stared after him.  Since when did Snape laugh?  Even more disturbing, he’d refrained from insulting her, which although normally would have been a pleasant surprise was merely bizarre in the present circumstance.  Snape snarky was reassuringly normal.  Snape pleasant was disturbing.

No matter, Hermione thought.  I’ll not let myself be distracted from my purpose. 

“Dragons of the World” in hand, she departed the library and returned to her quarters, where she began planning the details of her trip to Iceland.

I may never be warm again, Hermione thought as she lit the fire in her room and pulled merino wool blanket around her.  She’d accomplished her task, and acquired the ice dragon scales which were being carefully preserved within the cool grasp of a Glacio charmed box.  But she’d had to approach the ice dragon without benefit of magical warming, which would have scared it away.

Perhaps she’d cheated a bit, by taking the scales from a baby dragon.  “Conquering Emotions Through Potions” hadn’t actually specified the age of the dragon and the scales of a young ice dragon were no different than of an adult, save their size.  But clever use of transfiguration and illusion had diverted the mother’s attention long enough for her to carefully pluck several scales from the baby and to apparate to safety.

Ironically, the hardest part of the operation had been getting on the aeroplane.  She’d not only had to transfigure herself a plane ticket but also perform several wandless memory charms on the airline’s staff as well as alter the computer records.  Hermione considered herself quite lucky to have pulled it off at all.  Next time, she’d just transfigure herself some muggle money to buy the ticket; Hermione mentally kicked herself for not thinking of that brilliant idea until after she returned.

No use dwelling on it now, she thought as she dozed off.  Tomorrow, she would brave Snape’s private stores in search of the Molinar dust.