Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was the gloomiest bathroom to have ever existed. Under large, cracked and spotted mirrors were chipped and ancient sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched, and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
The washroom's dilapidated conditions were the least of my concerns, however. I was more worried about someone finding my little hideout for my little concoctions. It was no secret to anyone that I was a potion-making addict.
Ever since my first year at Hogwarts, I have been brewing potions in the girls' dormitories. My roommates didn't seem to mind, and actually, they encouraged it. As Daphne would say, it left a pleasant aroma in our dormitory, and I made sure it remained that way.
Most people in Slytherin House were aware of the little tonics and elixirs that I contrived, and it didn't seem to bother any of them in the slightest. In fact, many encouraged it by purchasing some of my potions. Even Snape knew of my little enterprise. When Draco Malfoy tried to snitch on me as an act of revenge for using his Nimbus 2001 without his permission (unbearable, I know), Snape had said that he already knew about it and that he couldn't be bothered to care. He even went as far as to recommend that I pursue that ambition of mine, stating that I had exceptional talent in the field.
Alas, but all good things had to come to an end. After one good year of bartering potions with my housemates, some asshole (I still haven't found out who did it) tampered with my cauldron. A sickening stench had ravaged the Slytherin common room, that day. Apparently, it had come from my cauldron, which had been placed carelessly at the center of the common room. When this had come to Snape's attention, he gave me weeks of detention and, as an additional punishment, I had to flush all of my concoctions down the toilet. Yes, it was quite the scene, and a very painful experience.
I had been looking for a new location to peacefully contrive my potions (and potential poisons for a special snitch as soon as I found out who it was) ever since. Someone had recently given me the idea to use Moaning Myrtle's bathroom since it was deserted... Or, at least, mostly unbothered.
I supposed I was not too worried about anyone coming across my brewing sets. I was more concerned about that narky ghost ratting me out. Although Snape had never specified that I wasn't allowed to brew potions anymore, I wasn't too keen on finding out what would happen if he learned that I was still creating and selling some.
Regardless, I installed myself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom one quiet Thursday afternoon. I was supposed to be attending my first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with our new professor... But this morning's potions class gave me the spontaneous and uncontrollable urge to brew a few things. I figured I'd just tell people I had food poisoning. And if they didn't believe me, I'd just discreetly drink a non-lethal poison that was supposed to make me puke everywhere. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to go that far, but that was the plan.
"Aren't you supposed to be in class right about now?" Moaning Myrtle asked, crossing her arms. She observed me as I carefully arranged my potion set in alphabetical order.
"Yes, well, let's just say I got food poisoning, and now, I'm brewing a cure for it," I lied thoughtlessly. Moaning Myrtle looked at me curiously, cocking her head to the side.
"You could be in a lot of trouble if I told a teacher," she said, giggling deviously.
"Well, I trust you," I said simply. The ghost remained silent, observing me with intrigue. I stopped paying much attention to her as I lit a fire under my cauldron.
"Hermione!" I called out to my bushy-haired friend after supper, which I had skipped. She was walking out of the library alone, yawning, and looking exhausted, a large bag hanging over her shoulder.
"Oh, hey," she seemed to be a little out of it.
"So... you gave me an idea, and it turned out to be a great one," I began, thinking that ought to pique her interest.
"Did I?" She yawned again, vaguely covering her mouth.
"Yeah, er, well, you told me over the summer that you brewed your polyjuice potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, correct? And well, I suppose..."
"You're not really considering brewing potions again? I thought you told me Snape forbade it."
"Yes, well, you know I don't really listen to Snape, anyway. Besides, he'll only get upset if he catches me, and Snape doesn't usually wander off into girls' bathrooms in his spare time, now, does he?"
"Right," Hermione released a tired laugh, before yawning again.
"You look dreadfully tired. I think you ought to go to bed," I suggested. I could almost see the darkness forming under her eyes.
"Yes, that I will do," she gave me a lazy wave of her hand, before setting off, trudging to where I assumed would be the Gryffindor common room.
"Where were you?" Daphne Greengrass questioned dramatically when she saw me enter the Slytherin dungeons.
The Slytherin common room was dimly lit and decorated with green tapestries and black leather couches. Daphne waved her hand at me and gestured that I come to sit with her. She was sat at the black leather sofas in front of the fireplace, which was lit of orange and yellow flames, the cores of which were blue and green.
When I approached her, I thought I saw the platinum blonde hair of Malfoy looming not too far from her. I nearly made a run for it, until I realized that it was just one of the Slytherin Four that Daphne had told me about the other day: Wyatt Nye. And he was seated with his friends who were equally as famous as him (according to Daphne, at least); Jamieson Lancaster, Elijah Hadleigh, and Isaiah Ainsley.
"Why are we sitting here? We never sit here," I asked, noticing how awfully close we were to the S4.
"What do you mean never? We always sit here!" she asserted, her eyes widening and glancing at the S4 who were quietly talking amongst themselves.
"Right," I replied shortly, deciding that I shouldn't push it.
"What's that smell?" she asked all of a sudden as I slumped next to her.
"Huh?"
She moved her face closer to my giant mane of dark hair and sniffed. "You smell like lavender."
"I — what?"
"Have you been brewing again?" she interrogated, brow furrowing in disbelief. "Is that why you skipped DADA?"
"I didn't skip it—"
"Then, where were you?"
"I was there, I swear, it's just you didn't see me—"
"Maeve Veronica Blackwood, do no lie to me," she spoke in the same manner that my mother did, and that made me shiver uneasily. "What is it?"
"Food poisoning—"
"Admit it, you were brewing potions again," she quickly interrupted me before I could give her any of my elaborate excuses.
"Fine. I was brewing potions again — but so were you! You know, we had potions this morning."
"Merlin, Maeve! You're unbelievable. Why are you trying to hide it so badly? You know you can trust me!" she yelled. I was uncomfortably unaware of whether or not other Slytherin students could overhear everything we were talking about.
I dropped my voice to a whisper, glancing around me to make sure that no one was listening, and said, "Okay, but you know what happened the last time everyone knew about it."
"Yes, Pansy placed a dung-bomb in your—"
"Wait, it was Parkinson? But why would she even do that?" I said furiously, my voice decidedly louder than I had initially intended. The S4 glanced in our direction for a second, before ignoring us.
"I dunno," Daphne shrugged. I sighed in great annoyance.
"I don't get it," I began, my mind swirling. "I always considered her a friend. And to say that she almost got away with it too. Oh, Hells, no. I am not letting her get away with it." I rummaged through my robes.
"What are you planning...?" Daphne asked, eyeing me curiously, and her voice suddenly went quiet.
"This." From my pockets, I pulled out the non-deadly poison I had initially planned to secretly use on myself to prove my food poisoning. The vial was clear and oil-like, and when I pulled out the cork, it was scentless.
"Poison?"
"It's not lethal," I assured her, sealing it back with the cork.
"Oh, I wouldn't mind if it was. Only — you didn't hear it from me that it was Pansy." Daphne raised her hands in the air as if that proved her innocence. "So, what does it do, anyway?"
"Well... It's a prototype, I only just brewed it this afternoon. But theoretically, it should give the drinker food poisoning, and make them vomit horribly. Otherwise, I don't know the other side effects. Hopefully, diarrhea."
"Oh, I see..."
"How much?" a voice said close by. I looked over my shoulder to the side. Wyatt Nye was eyeing my bottle with great interest, his friends quietly observing our interaction.
"Huh? This? No. It's not for sale."
"Well, then I suppose Snape would love to hear all about your illegal brewing activities," he insisted.
"Fine, then, fifty Galleons," I said wildly.
"It's a prototype," he said.
"Right! So, one hundred Galleons."
"Fine, then. Fifty it is."
I nearly widened my eyes in shock. Why was this bloke even willing to pay me fifty Galleons for a prototype of a simple food-poisoning concoction.
"Deal."
He swiftly stood up, rummaging his pockets for coins, and gave me five.
"I thought we said fifty," I said, though I knew full well that even five galleons was overselling it.
"Just give it here. I'm doing you a service by testing this for you."
"What? No, I only agreed for fifty — hey!" Nye had snatched the vial from my hand, popped the cork open and downed the entire bottle. My mouth gaped open. I thought he was going to use it on someone that wasn't himself. Even his fellow S4 looked just as surprised as I was.
"Oh, bugger, the texture is so weird," he said, grimacing.
"You owe me forty-five Galleons," was all I could think of saying.
He raised an eyebrow at me. I thought he was going to say something snarky that would somehow make him get away with it, but when he opened his mouth, it wasn't words that came flooding out.
I didn't know what exactly it was that he had last eaten, but I dared not describe the utterly repulsive vomit that expelled from his mouth and onto my front. I wanted to scream, but I kept my mouth closed in fear that he would start hurling again. He tried covering his mouth, but that didn't stop the fluids from pouring out.
"Bloody Hell," said the red-haired S4 member, whom I knew to be Isaiah Ainsley. "I suppose your potion works all right."
At this point, Wyatt Nye was on all fours, projectile vomiting onto the floor and carpet. It was uncontrollable. His stomach appeared to have emptied all of its contents entirely, and now, somehow, his body was rejecting a rainbow-like gooey substance.
The violent belching of a student uncontrollably vomiting everywhere did not go unnoticed in the Slytherin common room. Many students gathered around Nye at a reasonable distance. They covered their mouths in shock as they pointed at him and his rainbow fluids.
Wyatt Nye looked utterly exhausted, and he glared at me viciously. He seemed to have something to say to me, but instead of insults or death threats, more rainbow goo escaped his lips.
"Right, so, how long is this potion supposed to last?" Elijah Hadleigh asked as he and his friends cautiously got up from the couch. His piercing blue eyes were brimming with concern.
"I dunno..." I said breathlessly, unable to keep my eyes off the scene. "I did say it was a prototype."
"Let's not waste time and get him to the infirmary — you!" their leader, Jamieson Lancaster pointed at me. As always, a length of his dark hair covered part of his left eye. "You're coming with us, and you're telling Madam Pomfrey exactly what was in that potion."
I nodded mutely, knowing and accepting the reality that I was going to get into so much trouble for this.
The Slytherin Four grabbed their puking friend by the arms and lifted him up, dragging him out of the common room, and I trailed awkwardly behind them. The other Slytherins in the common room whispered amongst themselves as we passed by. I gave Daphne one last uncertain glance before following the boys out of the Slytherin dungeons.
There was a scattered trail of rainbow goo left behind them wherever they went. By the time we arrived at the hospital wing, Wyatt Nye's unruly retching hadn't stopped, although he was puking a lot less than he was at first. Madam Pomfrey quickly summoned a bucket, and Nye held onto it as if his life depended on it. She then guided him and the rest of us to a bed, where Nye sat down, miserably looking down at the bucket, and silently waiting for the next belch.
Though I knew it was his careless decision to ingest an unknown potion from a stranger, I did feel slightly responsible for it as I was the one who had brewed it. It sort of terrified me to think that I was capable of creating such chaos. And to say that I had thought of drinking it myself just as an excuse for skipping class.
"Oh, it's you again, Miss Blackwood," Madam Pomfrey said upon noticing me standing behind her. "Mr. Malfoy was released this morning."
"Oh, I know that. Actually, I'm here for him," I said, feeling slightly awkward for saying it like that.
"You best make sure your friends stop finding themselves here," she said, pursing her lips in displeasure.
"She's not our friend," Jamieson Lancaster said suddenly and with certainty. "Actually, she's the reason why Wyatt is like this. Gave him a nasty potion."
"He's the one who decided to drink it, knowing full well what it could do to him," I said quickly and defensively. "And technically, he stole it from me."
"No, I bloody didn't!" Nye retorted in a bellow, but before he could expand, he was hit with another wave of rainbow regurgitation. Madam Pomfrey looked around at us in disbelief.
"Well," she huffed, "all we can do now is wait for it to pass. Mr. Nye, I'm afraid I can't allow you to ingest anything until the vomiting ceases completely. Meanwhile, I do ask you all to bring your voices down. Regardless of who did what or not, this is an infirmary after all, and not a quidditch pitch, for crying out loud."
And with that, she sighed dismissively before tending to another student at the other end of the hospital wing.
The S4 all stared at me quietly, examining me as if I were some strange and vicious animal trapped inside a cage.
"What?" I said. Nye hurled in his bucket.
"Do you not have a cure for this?" Lancaster queried.
"No," I responded simply.
"Why not?" he persisted.
"I dunno. I guess I didn't think I would need one."
"I do not want a cure," Wyatt Nye proclaimed, before barfing in his bucket once again. We all looked at him in disbelief. "I'm missing detention with McGonagall."
Jamieson Lancaster scoffed a laugh. "Are you joking? Are you telling me that you took this poison just as an excuse to miss detention?"
"You gormless git," Elijah Hadleigh interjected. "You know she's just gonna move it to tomorrow, or worse, Saturday."
"I don't care! I'm not going."
"So, what, you're just going to keep on buying dodgy potions to get yourself sick just to miss detention?" Lancaster said, sneering at his friend.
Nye retched some more in his bucket, before gingerly lifting his head, saying, "No, just tonight."
"Is this because of Amir—"
"Shut up, Isaiah, you don't know what you're talking about," Nye interrupted his metamorphmagus friend whose red hair momentarily turned a light shade of pink. After one last hurl in his bucket, Nye called out," "Madam Pomfrey! My bucket is nearly filled up!"
She was sat at her desk, rummaging some papers, and when she heard Nye, she mindlessly waved her wand, and the contents of the bucket disappeared. I wondered where she had sent it. Surely, it hadn't just stopped existing like that.
In a moment of semi-silence, semi-retching sounds, I looked down at my damp robes. I suddenly remembered that before Nye's vomit was rainbow goo, it was actual vomit and that Nye had first released his stomach waste onto me. I frowned in disgust as a picked at my shirt.
"Well, at least this time, it's not blood," Isaiah Ainsley remarked, chuckling softly.
"Huh?"
"Your front was covered in blood at the Start of Term Banquet, you know, when we first spoke," he elaborated. I huffed a smiley sigh, closing my eyes momentarily, and cringing as I remembered that night.
"You should leave, Blackwood," Jamieson Lancaster suddenly said to me.
"But I didn't even tell Madam Pomfrey what was in that potion."
"Forget it, just leave — and don't sell any more potions to Wyatt. He's possibly prone to addiction," he advised earnestly, his beetle-black eyes urging me to go away. I looked at the S4 members with uncertainty, before quietly and promptly vacating the Hospital Wing.
Part of me was bitter that Wyatt Nye didn't even pay me properly, but the other part of me felt sort of responsible for his current condition. I tried reminding myself that he wanted to get sick to miss detention, but that didn't stop me from feeling that I had ruined these boys' evening.
I felt particularly awkward the whole time too, and I wasn't sure I could face the S4 again. The entire interaction I had with these lads kept replaying in my head as I trekked to the dungeons, and it drove me slightly bonkers.
I wished I could just forget them and move on with my evening, but there was something about them that just stuck with me. The Slytherin Four acted just like brothers. They were immediately there for each other but also unafraid to be honest and call out each other's bullshit. They had this undeniably unbreakable loyalty for each other, and that was something I wished I could say with certainty that I had with my friends.
The remainder of my evening wasn't as memorable. Upon entering the Slytherin common room, I noticed that the traces of rainbow goo vomit were gone, and I recalled not having seen any in the corridors, on my way here. House elves, no doubt, had cleaned it all up.
"What happened to your shirt? Are you sick?" Pansy Parkinson asked me, as I passed by the black leather couches on my way to the dormitories, where I was hoping to catch a good night's sleep. I stopped in my tracks to pay attention to her for a moment. She was sat with Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and, unfortunately, Draco Malfoy. The latter seemed to be avoiding my gaze, and his arm was bandaged up due to his injury a few days ago.
"No, no, someone else was sick on me," I said. I suddenly remembered what Daphne had told me earlier. Pansy Parkinson was the one who had tampered with my cauldron last year. She had cost me weeks detention with Snape and my loss of hundreds of valuable vials and prototypes of various types of potions. "Right, so..."
"What?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow at me.
As much as I wanted to gauge her eyes for what she did, I was so terribly exhausted tonight, and I desperately needed a change of clothes. So, instead of quarrelling with her, I shrugged and wished her a good night. It was quite painful to do so, but also necessary, for now, as Pansy Parkinson wouldn't know what would come for her. I wasn't necessarily the wrathful type of person, but I also didn't take betrayal very kindly.