Hermione Granger had always believed that any problem could be solved with sufficient research, careful preparation, and a methodical approach.
This belief was about to be tested in ways she could never have anticipated.
It started, as many disasters do, with good intentions.
The Room of Requirement had become Hermione's sanctuary for "special projects"—the kind that weren't strictly against the rules but would certainly raise eyebrows if conducted in the Gryffindor common room. Tonight's project was particularly ambitious.
"Essence of Empowerment," she murmured, consulting the aged tome propped against a cauldron stand. "A potion to enhance magical vigour, strengthen one's core, and provide lasting vitality."
The book was a rare find from the Restricted Section—obtained legally, thank you very much, with Professor Slughorn's signature on the permission slip. He'd been so pleased that his "best student" was pursuing extracurricular brewing that he'd barely glanced at the title.
Hermione's motivation was simple: the war was coming. Voldemort was out there, Harry was off doing mysterious things with Dumbledore, and she refused to be a liability. If this potion could enhance her magical stamina, help her cast longer and stronger, then the slightly questionable origins of the recipe were worth overlooking.
"Let's see," she muttered, ticking off ingredients. "Ashwinder eggs, check. Powdered moonstone, check. Rose thorns, check. Essence of... wait."
She squinted at the page. The text was old, the ink faded in places, and whoever had written it had possessed truly atrocious handwriting.
"Essence of somethingwort." She tilted the book toward the light. "Lungwort? Lungwort. That must be it."
She added three drops of lungwort essence and stirred counterclockwise seven times.
The potion turned a pleasant shade of pearl-pink.
"Perfect," Hermione smiled, feeling that particular satisfaction that came from successful brewing. "Now it just needs to simmer for twenty minutes, then—"
The potion belched.
A massive bubble rose from the surface and popped, releasing a cloud of glittering magenta smoke that smelled inexplicably of arousal—no, that wasn't right—of roses. Definitely roses.
"That's... not in the instructions."
The pink colour was deepening, shifting toward a vivid, almost aggressive fuchsia. The surface began to roil despite the low flame.
"Oh no. No, no, no—"
Hermione lunged for her wand to cast a stasis charm, but the potion gave one final shudder and went still. The colour settled into a deep magenta, shimmering with an opalescent quality that was decidedly not mentioned anywhere in the recipe.
She stared at it.
The potion stared back. (It didn't, obviously, but it certainly felt like it did.)
"Right," Hermione said to the empty room. "So that's a failure."
She consulted the book again, trying to identify where she'd gone wrong. The expected result was "a clear golden liquid with mild luminescence." What she had was... definitely not that.
"Probably the lungwort," she sighed. "Or maybe the stirring. Or the moon phase. Or—" She rubbed her temples. "It doesn't matter. It's ruined."
The responsible thing would be to vanish it. Potentially unstable potions shouldn't be left sitting around. But vanishing three hours of work felt like defeat, and Hermione Granger did not accept defeat gracefully.
She ladled the magenta liquid into several glass bottles, corking them carefully. She'd analyse it later, figure out what went wrong, and learn from the mistake. That was the scholarly approach.
For now, she needed to clean up before curfew.
"Scourgify," she cast, cleaning the cauldron. "Tergeo." The work station gleamed. She gathered her things, tucking the bottles of failed potion into her bag, and hurried toward Gryffindor Tower.
She was halfway there when she encountered the house-elf.