Chapter 11

As Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way to Snape's potions class, Ron wondered if Hermione would carry her little joke too far. The night before the Gryffindor common room had witnessed the second annual Useless Spell contest, and Ron was still suffering under the effects of the curse Hermione had placed on him. Harry's offering for the contest was a charm that untied a person's shoelaces. But this was judged by Fred and George to have a practical use - it could be done not just to one's own shoes but another's as well - it did have very slight value as a prank. Dean's spell fared rather better with the judges - his charm could tell whether a coin was heads or tails - but only if you were looking at the coin. And indeed it looked like the sure winner, until Parvati demonstrated a breathtakingly pointless charm. Everyone agreed that no one could benefit from spell that could determine whether a sample of ear wax was from someone's left or right ear.

Hermione's submission to the contest had been a curse, which she demonstrated by using Ron as the test subject. At first there was no sign that the curse had achieved anything, but as the evening wore on there was general agreement that his speech was a bit odd. Finally, in exasperation, Hermione had spoken up.

"He's speaking in iambic pentameter," she explained. "You know - like in one of Shakespeare's plays." George had disqualified her on the spot, explaining that the curse was in fact extremely useful - Shakespeare had routinely subjected himself to it before sitting down to write.

After the contest was over, Ron had waited for Hermione to lift the curse, and when Hermione refused, with unusual eloquence he pleaded in most poetical language that he be restored to his pre-blank verse state. But Hermione would have none of it. She'd caught him again admiring Imogen earlier in the day, and so she'd cheerfully skipped up to the girl's dormitory where no boy could follow, Ron's poetic entreaties echoing up the stairs behind her.

But enough was enough, thought Hermione as the Gryffindors and Slytherins mingled on their way to the dungeon. She'd let Ron suffer through breakfast and his first class the next day, but she knew Potions class was no place for such fun and games. In the line outside the door to Snape's class, she relented, casting the counter-curse on the long-suffering Ron.

"But be careful," she admonished. "For the next while you'll speak in lymericks, and after that, rhyming couplets. Only then will you be able to speak properly - or at least as properly as you normally do." Ron entered Snape's class in terror that he might be asked a question - if he spoke to Snape in silly poetry, he was guaranteed a long detention. Then the Potions door opened, and the students all streamed into the classroom.

Snape waited with more patience than usual as the class seated themselves. Usually his face bore an appearance of bored contempt, but this morning it had been replaced by a glare that was almost predatory. He waited until everyone was in their assigned spots, Imogen now in the back row at a desk instead of the far dark corner, Parvati sitting next to her. Once everyone was settled in, they waited for Snape to speak, and he spent a minute looking over the class. Some students allowed themselves to lock eyes for a second with Snape as his gaze swept over them, and in such cases, Snape easily picked up a fleeting thought or too from each student. Pansy Parkinson was thinking about how much fun it would be to see Professor Trelawney removed from her position. Crabbe and Goyle - Snape knew better than to steal into their minds, for he knew what he found there would disgust him. Harry for some reason was thinking about shoelaces. But it was in Weasely's mind he found what he sought. For years the students had noticed that Snape somehow knew which student was the least prepared. And he always knew who had forgotten his homework. And in Ron, Snape detected clearly that he did not want to be asked anything at all - that he just wanted to get through the class without being questioned.

"Weasley," said Snape sharply. "Did you do the homework?"

"Yes, Professor." Ron's strategy was simple - keep the sentences really short - too short for Snape to notice any poetry. Hermione stifled a laugh, for Ron did not know that Hermione had been joking when she said Ron would be speaking in rhyme for a while - when she had lifted the curse, its effects were completely gone. Snape wondered what was the reason for Ron's fear of him today, if not unfinished homework. But Ron was staring at his desk, and thus his mind was unknowable at the moment. Snape heard Hermione's giggle, but did not hear where it had come from.

"It seems someone here is feeling rather amused," said Snape. "We shall see who is amused by the end of class, for I have set you a very difficult potion indeed. It will draw on everything you've learned this term, and it demands the utmost attention and skill. Is anyone here familiar with the "Contendo" potion?" Snape was not surprised that no one volunteered an answer - he had expected that even the Granger girl's annoyingly broad reading would not have encountered it. He was about to explain when he saw Imogen somewhat hesitantly raise her hand.

"Ms. Iorworth?"

Imogen stood, glad that she had looked carefully about Snape's office the previous evening, and had managed to correctly read what would be the potion for the fifth years the next day. She had looked it up that morning, taking careful notes.

"The 'Contendo' potion is a potion with no purpose other than the making of the potion itself, for it has no magical effect. It is a contest potion, which tests the skill of the maker. When more than one witch or wizard makes the potion at the same time, the better potion reveals itself by turning a gold colour."

"And the loser's potion?" asked Snape.

"It turns a leaden colour," replied Imogen.

"Ten points for Gryffindor," said Snape, unable to help himself, and immediately wishing that he'd bitten his tongue. "Now as Imogen has explained, the potion itself will be the judge. Whoever the potion judges to be the winner will earn his house twenty-five points. But someone's potion will be the colour of lead, and the unfortunate house to whom that student belongs will lose twenty-five points." He waved his wand, and the instructions for the potion appeared on the board.

The Gryffindors were delighted that the judge would not be Snape, for if he were, they could be assured of losing twenty-five points this morning. It was even worse to lose those points to Slytherin, for it would change the gap between the two houses by fifty points. The Slytherins were also delighted, for although they would not have the advantage of a biased judge, they all knew how utterly hopeless Neville was at potion-making. They could count on him falling apart under pressure. Even if a Gryffindor was the winner, Neville's almost habitual poor performance would take away whatever was gained. Snape's next words confirmed what the Slytherins were thinking.

"Before you get started, Parvati - you will exchange places with Neville. Neville, should you have the time, you may assist Imogen with the antidote she is working on - it is rather advanced for her." At Imogen's table, there was no chance of Neville getting any help, and everyone knew that Neville would be of no use to Imogen. He was by far the weakest student in the class, and without assistance whispered urgently in his ear, he was sure to finish last. Imogen was nonetheless highly pleased that Neville had been sent to her table, for it was clear proof to her that Snape was being more and more influenced by the thoughts he read from her mind.

The students set to work with intense effort. The more ambitious of them hoped to win the prize for their house; the mediocre prayed only that their result would not be judged the worst - the loser was sure to have a rough time in the common room that night. Malfoy was one of the more confident - that he was Snape's pet did not take away the fact that he was genuinely talented at potion-making. The instruction he had received from his mother had been very thorough, and he had acquired a good knowledge of the basics before setting foot in Hogwarts. He tackled the potion with enthusiastic optimism.

Of the Gryffindors, Hermione of course was the student on whom her house placed the most reliance. She knew that her table-partner Dean would ask for no help from her, for the last thing he wanted to do was distract her. The two set to work independently, staying out of each other's way. The only interaction between the two was when Dean noticed Hermione's sleeve accidentally brush her diced foxglove off the table. He immediately passed Hermione his own, then began to salvage for his own use the bits that were now scattered on the floor.

Neville had almost despaired when he saw the complicated instructions. Almost immediately he began to make a hash of it, for he was unwittingly about to start with the wrong ingredient when he felt Imogen's hand grasp his firmly.