𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗘

ACT ONE, CHAPTER FOUR
penelope lestrange loves ron
weasley . . . didn't we see this
coming?

SEE, PENELOPE WAS excited for her first day of classes as a sixth year. She had gotten into the N.E.W.T. level classes of all the subjects she needed to take to become a Healer, and her schedule was looking great. Professor Snape, his face just a little more alight with glee than usual because he finally got the job he wanted, had given Penelope her schedule that morning at breakfast.

She had first period Charms with the Slytherins. Penelope always had a knack for Charms, so whatever spell Flitwick sent their way, she was the first one to ace it. After that she had her break, along with Daphne and Tracey. The three of them sat by one of the windows in the Slytherin common room, the sunlight shining through the Black Lake, giving the room a greenish glow. They spent more time catching up as they had been for the past two days and ignored the slight glares they got from some of the others in the common room at the time.

Finally, it was time for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Penelope took the familiar trek up to the classroom with Tracey and Daphne, obviously curious to see what Snape's class would be like — well, whatever it was, it would have to be a hell of a lot better than Umbridge's (Penelope even hated saying her name still — she fucking hated that woman.)

When they got there, they saw a queue outside. Penelope smiled upon noticing the boy with the flamingly red hair, whom she hadn't seen yet today. With a quick look of questioning towards her friends — in which they reassured her she could leave them for a moment — she walked up to Ron and instantly kissed his cheek. Ron looked down at her and smiled as well, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Hey, baby," Penelope greeted, and then turned to Venus and Harry, who had their hands interlocked as usual, Hermione, who was carrying a lot of books, and Charlotte Thomas and Elijah Rogers. "Hi, guys. Good morning."

"Morning, Pen," Harry replied. "You excited to see how Snape teaches this class?"

"Yeah, I'm practically bursting with joy. Can't you tell?"

The classroom door then opened. Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow faced by two curtains of greasy black hair. The whole queue immediately went silent. Penelope raised an eyebrow.

"Inside," Snape ordered.

Ron was forced to drop his arm from around Penelope as they entered so Snape wouldn't yell at them. As she looked around when she entered, she could tell that Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already. It was way gloomier than usual since the curtains had been drawn over the windows and was lit solely by candlelight. New pictures of people appearing to be in pain, having grisly injuries, or showcasing strangely contorted body parts adorned the walls. Penelope shook her head as she sat down next to Ron at the table next to Tracey and Daphne. What were they, in a fucking haunted house?

"I have not asked you to take out your books," Snape announced, closing the door behind them and moving to face the class from behind his desk. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention." He looked around the classroom. Penelope kept a straight face — she had spent enough time dealing with Snape to know that showing little to no emotion with him was best. "You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."

He said that as if he hadn't been waiting to get the job for years and definitely knew how many teachers they had. Fucking ridiculous.

"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced." Snape began to walk around the edge of the room, speaking in a lower voice. Penelope rolled her eyes in annoyance and tried to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Kind of suspicious how he was speaking of the Dark Arts with a sort of fascination in his tone.

"Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo," Snape continued, raising his voice a little louder. "These pictures—" he gestured to them as he swept past "—give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse—" he waved his hand towards a witch who was shrieking in agony, and Penelope felt a shiver run up her spine remembering how agonizing it actually was "—feel the Dementor's Kiss—" a wizard lying slumped against a wall, huddled into himself with blank eyes "—or provoke the aggression of the Inferius—" a bloody mass upon the ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil asked in a high-pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past, which means you would be well advised to assume he might use them again," Snape answered. "Now . . ." he set off again around the other side of the classroom towards his desk. ". . . You are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?" Hermione's hand shot in the air, and Snape took his time to make sure he had no choice before calling on her. "Very well — Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage," Hermione recited.

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, but correct in essentials," Snape said dismissively, and Penelope glared in the direction of Draco when he chuckled. "Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spellcasting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some lack. You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Penelope decided to let Ron pair up with Harry and Tracey pair up with Daphne, so she decided to pair up with Venus instead. She knew that Venus was exceptionally good at Defense, and so was Penelope, but nonverbal spells were fucking hard. Hermione was the first one to accomplish it — no surprise there — and Venus wasn't too long after. Penelope could feel herself getting close, she just had to believe—

"Pathetic, Weasley," Snape then commented. Penelope's head snapped over to their pairing and frowned immediately. "Here — let me show you—"

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry apparently forgot how they had to use nonverbal spells. With a shout of Protego!, Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. Penelope's eyes widened slightly as she watched, with the rest of the class, how Snape righted himself with a scowl.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?" Snape questioned.

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me sir, Professor."

Penelope's eyes widened further and she raised a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Oh shit.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," Snape voiced. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter . . . not even the Chosen One."

After that fiasco, Penelope found herself back in the Slytherin common room for another break. She didn't have another class until double Potions later — she had dropped Arithmancy due to the fact that she wanted to focus solely on the classes she needed to become a Healer. Together, her, Tracey, and Daphne all worked on Snape's homework, which was incredibly complex. The two then left to go to their other classes, while Penelope went off to N.E.W.T. level Potions alone.

When she arrived, it was evident that only about a dozen people were progressing into N.E.W.T. level Potions. Blaise, Draco, Charlotte, and two other Slytherins had made it, along with four Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff (Ernie Macmillan), Hermione, Venus, and to Penelope's surprise, Ron and Harry.

Penelope's face broke out into a bright smile as she walked up to him again. "Hey, I didn't know you were in this class. Thought you dropped Potions after not getting an O."

Ron shrugged. "Slughorn apparently is letting students who got an E on their Potions into N.E.W.T. level."

She gave him a knowing look. "I can tell you're practically bursting in excitement about it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don't like it, but it's requirements for an Auror."

The dungeon door suddenly opened to reveal Slughorn. As the queue filed in, he greeted Penelope, Blaise, Harry, and Venus with particular enthusiasm. Penelope couldn't help but notice that the dungeon was already full of vapors and smells — much different from what Snape's Potions class used to be like. She followed Ron over to a table with a gold-colored cauldron. However, once she got there, she realized that there was only five seats — and Harry, Hermione, Venus, and Charlotte had already sat down. Ron looked down at her sadly.

"It's okay," Penelope said quietly, glancing for a moment at the table where Draco, Blaise, Theodore, and another Slytherin were sitting. "I'll go join them."

Ron discreetly kissed the top of her head. On the way, Penelope passed that cauldron. It was emitting one of the best smells she had ever smelled. The smell seemed to be a combination of hot chocolate, the ocean, and a spearmint scent that was so familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on where it could've come from. Penelope shook it off and took her seat next to Blaise, sharing a very quick smile with him whilst ignoring the stares she got from Draco and Theodore.

"Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn began, moving throughout the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making . . . "

"Sir?" Harry cut in, raising his hand.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything — nor's Ron — we didn't realize we'd be able to dothe N.E.W.T., you see—"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention . . . not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all," Slughorn reassured him. "You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts . . ." Slughorn strode over to the cupboard in the corner, and after a moment, he gave Harry and Ron two copies of the book before returning to the front of the class. "Now then, I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.'s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

He gestured to the cauldron that was nearest to the table Penelope was sitting at. She looked to see that the cauldron was holding a substance that seemed to be plain water boiling. Hermione instantly raised her hand, and Slughorn pointed to her.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," Hermione answered.

"Very good, very good!" Slughorn praised happily. "Now—" he pointed to the cauldron nearest to where the four Ravenclaws and Macmillan were sitting "—this one here is pretty well known . . . featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too . . . who can—?"

Hermione raised her hand again. "lt's Polyjuice Potion, sir."

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here . . . yes, my dear?" Slughorn continued, looking slightly puzzled as Hermione's hand raised again.

"It's Amortentia!"

Slughorn now seemed to be impressed by Hermione's intelligence. "It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask, but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" Hermione replied.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals, and it's supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and books."

"May I ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn inquired.

"Hermione Granger, sir," Hermione responded.

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"No. I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

Penelope heard sniggering. She glanced over to see Draco and Theodore huddling together, whispering something. Penelope rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Slughorn.

Slughorn beamed from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her. "Oho! One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year! I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

Penelope raised her eyebrow and turned back to Malfoy, who looked like he just got sucker-punched in the face. She shook her head.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course," Slughorn explained. "It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes," he paused, nodding gravely at Draco and Theodore, who were both smirking skeptically. Penelope rolled her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time today. They were just fucking ridiculous. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love . . . and now, it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," Macmillan reminded him, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk that was the color of molten gold.

"Oho," Slughorn stated, and Penelope knew that he had forgotten it purposely so someone could ask about it — for the dramatic effect, or some shit like that. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it—" he turned with a smile to Hermione, who had gasped "—that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," Hermione revealed excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"

Penelope raised an eyebrow once more. Liquid luck? She suddenly got the ridiculous thought of maybe if she drank it, her mother would disappear off the face of the Earth and never hurt anyone again. How foolish of her — Bellatrix definitely wouldn't go down without a fight, even if Penelope had taken a whole cauldron full of Felix Felicis.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor," Slughorn voiced. "Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis. Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed . . . at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" Terry Boot asked.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence. Too much of a good thing, you know . . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally . . ."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" Michael Corner questioned with great interest.

"Twice in my life," Slughorn admitted. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days." He gazed dreamily into the distance for a moment. "And that is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson. One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis." He took a small glass bottle with a cork out of his pocket and showed it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions . . . sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only . . . and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary! So, how are you to win this fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

To be honest, Penelope wasn't really that interested in getting the Liquid Luck. Draco, however, seemed to be. He was flipping feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making and his eyebrows were knit together in concentration. Penelope looked at him weirdly for a moment. Why was he acting so strange? She couldn't find a reason why Draco needed to be lucky so desperately.

And in the end, it didn't matter anyways. After an hour of Penelope's hair getting curlier by the minute (she hated the frizz — she knew it just made her look more like her mother) and struggling to make the stupid fucking potion, Harry was actually the one to win. Penelope was surprised. She would've guessed that either Venus or Charlotte would get the Felix Felicis because they were so good at Potions.

Class was finally dismissed. Penelope packed up her things and left an angry Draco — she really did not want to deal with that right now. When she exited the classroom, she saw that Ron was waiting for her outside, along with Harry, Hermione, Venus, and Charlotte. Penelope grinned and took her boyfriend's hand, their group beginning to climb the steps to head to the Great Hall for dinner.

Penelope suddenly got a waft of that same spearmint smell that had come from the Amortentia. However, they were well out of the dungeons now — there was no way the scent would go that far out of the classroom. Penelope turned to see where the smell was coming from, and upon discovery, it made her heart completely stop.

It was none other than the redheaded boy she was holding hands with.

Hermione has distinctly explained that whatever somebody smelled in the potion was what attracted them the most or what they loved. That meant that Penelope loved Ron Weasley . . . which, in short, was making her mind spin.

Dating Ron was one thing. The hand holding, the kisses, all the sappy shit normal couples did. But loving him was another.

She remembered telling him last year in the kitchens that she was fucked up. It was true. Even though Ron constantly reassured her that he liked her, she couldn't help but think that he deserved someone better, someone who didn't have a batshit crazy mother that enjoyed killing and followed someone so fucking evil that wanted to kill his best friend.

Everything was crashing down on her now. She couldn't tell him — thinking it out loud was scary enough. And saying it? Especially to him? What if he didn't feel the same way? There were too many factors to this revelation, and Penelope couldn't keep up.

"P, what do you think—" Ron suddenly stopped. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She looked up at him, her head spinning. "What?"

"You look like you're about to be sick."

"I — um," she stammered, barely focusing. "I don't — I don't feel too well, I think I'm gonna go back to the common room."

"But dinner—" Ron began.

She shook her head, not making any eye contact with him. "Not hungry. I'll make Tracey or Daphne get me something later — I have go."

"Oh," Ron's voice suddenly said, trailing off as she completely left the group in a rush. "See you tomorrow."

The Slytherin headed back towards the steps to the dungeons, her heart racing, her stomach churning, and her mind going haywire.

Penelope Lestrange loved Ron Weasley. Oh Merlin, she was fucked.

☆ 彡

OOP

anyways

penelope? rising from the dead? omg she's made an appearance after like a month!

lol sorry for the lack of updates lately, I've been so busy with school work and stuff like that and it's been so hard to find time to write :)