Fraternizing With the Enemy

Chapter 3: Surprise Surprise

The Weasley brothers discussed their predicament for several hours once they arrived back in the Gryffindor common room. Right before dinner they came to an agreement: They would tell no one about it and mention nothing to either of the girls. The twins would accept their help as if nothing had happened, at least until they had some sort of hard evidence, but the moment either of the girls tried anything, their discovery would be made public.

In the Great Hall, food had not yet been served, so the brothers chatted superficially. Despite the agreement, they couldn’t seem to get the matter off their minds.

Looking around, Harry spotted Arkinea sitting like a statue at the Slytherin table. He pointed this out to Ron, who in turn pointed it out to the twins. They saw that her hair, in this brighter light, was actually a pale charcoal grey, as opposed to black as it had originally appeared. It was cut in a sort of longish bob style, bangs framing her face perfectly, the rest of it rounding smoothly below her ears. Her clothing was predominantly grey also, with thin yellow trim in places. She was actually quite pretty, thought the shapeless dress and cloak seemed to enhance her air of superiority.

Across from her sat a girl whose blue-black hair was clipped neatly to the back of her head, making her recognizable by her backless dress. It was much like the one she had worn earlier, but this one was made of dark green satin that shimmered in the light, with double stranded black and white ribbon lacing up the back and flared forearms. Once again, the emerald and sapphire serpent was visible on her shoulder and neck, its tail trailing down her back. From her present attire, she seemed very spirited about her house.

Presently, she reached across the table and tied a length of green ribbon around Arkinea’s wrist, as that hand pointed toward the Gryffindor table. Frimiare turned around, revealing that the double stranded lacing also adorned the front of her dress, and raised a hand in greeting to her future employers. Fred and George half-waved back to her, and she smiled and turned back toward her sister.

About this time, the professors entered the hall from the chamber behind the staff table and took their seats. Before sitting down himself, Dumbledore gave the command for the feast to begin, and food appeared on all of the tables.

Hermione seemed rather upset to find that they had been dealing with Slytherins, and did nothing to hide the fact.

“I can’t believe you made a deal with them!” she blurted out halfway through the main course.

“We pretty much have no choice,” Fred said.

“Yes, we can’t start our sweetshop on our own,” George added. “That’s why we approached her in the first place.”

“But they’re Slytherins,” Hermione persisted.

“Yes, Hermione, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Fred replied, slightly annoyed. “It doesn’t matter what house they’re in.”

“What about how that...witch treated Harry?” Hermione countered indignantly.

Fred and George looked over at Harry, who had lowered his head, trying to keep out of the conversation.

“Well?” Hermione pressed.

“Leave him alone, Hermione,” Ron interjected.

“No, I want to know what he thinks about all this,” Hermione responded matter-of-factly.

Harry looked up at her. “I don’t understand why you’re saying such terrible things about her,” he answered, sounding hurt.

Ron sighed. “He’s still under her spell.”

Fred and George both looked at him questioningly.

“Frimiare told us that when Arkinea hypnotizes someone, they get this latent attraction to her,” Ron explained. “She said it should wear off soon, but for now it hurts him to hear you speak badly about her.”

Hermione looked at Harry sadly. “I’m sorry Harry,” she whispered.

“It’s ok, Hermione,” Harry replied. “I don’t mind taking one for the team.” He smiled at the twins.

George clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit, Harry!”

Fred grinned. “Blimey...thanks a lot, mate.”

By morning, though, the attraction had not worn off as Frimiare had predicted. Harry had become more aware of it, however, almost as if it were an alien emotion that he knew he shouldn’t be feeling. The first sign of his continued ailment surfaced as he was reading the class schedule for the week, pinned on the notice board. Ron noticed first that he was smiling.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” he asked his friend, not completely taken aback by the unusual change.

“We have Potions with the Slytherins,” Harry replied eagerly, his smile fading even as he spoke the last word. “Oh no...”

On the way to the class in question, Hermione tried reassuring Harry that Arkinea would probably leave him alone, because she would probably sit with Frimiare. But when they got to class, they found the girl in question sitting alone at the back of the room, wearing another shapeless dress, deep blue this time. Frimiare, on the other hand, sat on the other side of the room with Draco Malfoy, who seemed quite interested in her choice of clothing: a low-cut long sleeved grey sweater top, a short green pleated skirt, black knee-high socks and wedge-heeled penny loafers. Harry found himself interested in her attire as well, even to the point where his mind was distracted from the attraction for a short time.

Hermione took advantage of this to sit Harry at the empty table in the back, at the side nearest Frimiare, motioning to Ron to sit next to him, while she herself took the seat beside Arkinea. As he sat, Harry noticed Frimiare look at him, then glance at her sister. He nodded unconsciously.

“I’m sorry,” sounded her melodic voice, startling him.

He looked at her, only to find that she was facing away from him, engaged in conversation with Draco about some sort of repellant potion. Listening for a moment, he learned that the blonde boy seemed to be having problems with girls following him around. The last thing he heard was Frimiare’s voice and a laugh that sounded like bells,

“There’s an easy way to fix that...”

Professor Snape walked through the door, instantly silencing the room. After looking around at the students, he gestured to the blackboard, upon which appeared a recipe and complex-looking instructions.

“The Draught of Blood is one of the most powerful binding potions in the history of wizard kind,” he explained as the students hurried to scribble down the recipe. “Once bound with it there is no spell that can reverse it, nor any potion that can erase it, save one.” He paused a moment to look out at the students, scribbling frantically, before erasing the blackboard and magicking a new recipe onto the board. “Due to its formulation, any number of antidotes should work, in theory, but only one has been proven,” he continued. “This antidote is, however, even rarer than the Draught itself, not only because of its ingredients, but because of the time it takes to prepare. Does anybody know what this antidote is?” After several moments, not even Hermione raised her hand. “No one? I’m surprised, Miss Granger.”

Hermione flushed slightly. Was Snape actually giving her a compliment? She glanced to her right as Arkinea raised her hand slowly. The Potions Master’s eyes widened as he nodded toward the girl.

“The Blood of Eternal,” Arkinea said softly. “It is known for its destructive properties. Consisting of the blood of centaurs, mermaids, unicorns, and thestrals raised specifically for this purpose, it takes over fifty years to brew just one cauldron. It is not only the rarest potion known to man, but the most difficult to make and store.”

The Potions Master was astonished. “Impressive,” he said, keeping the composure in his voice if not his face. “How do you know this?”

“I have done my share of potion making,” the girl replied.

“Are you suggesting that you have made this potion?” Snape asked, unbelieving.

“Made and used, yes,” she replied.

Harry noticed Frimiare shoot a furtive look her way, then glance up at Snape.

“Please, elaborate,” the professor said venomously.

Arkinea paused before beginning. “When I was a very young child, my uncle showed me a recipe,” she said. “He told me he had been working on it for a very long time and it was very special to him. He did not know if he would be around to finish it, as he had been getting very sick, so he wanted me to finish it for him if he could not. I must have been about three years old when he taught me how to make it. At that point, I could not imagine my uncle leaving, but about a week later he died. He left me his laboratory in his will, and requested that only I be let into the back chamber. By age six, I was going there regularly. At that time, I did not fully understand what it was I was doing, but I kept working on the potion nonetheless. When I was nine, a man came to our house saying he knew my uncle and could help me with the potion. I gratefully accepted his help and four days later, he delivered the unicorn blood, the last ingredient. That night I finished the potion. My uncle was so proud.

“My mother and father had been fighting and my mother wanted a divorce, but my father would not hear of it. Finally, mother had had enough. She walked out, but father was too clever. He gave her some tea, her favourite Earl Grey, and slipped the Blood Draught into her cup. After that, she never tried to leave, but she got sick. No matter what we did, she kept getting worse. I knew it was daddy’s fault, even though he had not meant to hurt her. I remembered something Uncle Thomas had said, ‘blood of the eternals can bring death as well as life.’ It was cryptic, but maybe he meant the potion could help mama. Maybe it could stop her hurting. I tried. I gave it to her like daddy had given her the Draught, in a cup of tea, Earl Grey, and she drank it all up, like maybe she knew it might help her.

“After that she started getting better. When she stopped being sick, she kept getting healthier, and daddy loved her more than ever, I think because he almost lost her.” She paused before continuing,

“I was eleven when my mother died of a gunshot to the head. My father killed her, then himself. He blamed me.”

Silence descended upon the room. After a few moments, Professor Snape sat at his desk.

“What are you waiting for?” he snapped, his voice cracking. “Get to work.”