Crabbe's Folly
By
Brandon League
Sure, he knew that Polaris Weed was illegal.
That was why he was sneaking out of the castle at two in the morning to check
on the tiny patch of it that he had secretly planted in a dark area on the edge
of the
Vincent Crabbe pulled his cloak around him, his
eyes ever watchful and alert as he tiptoed up from the Slytherin dungeon and
started down the hallway towards the main door of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry, and the chilly November darkness beyond. He was pretty sure that
Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, and his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris had retired
for the night but he had to be careful. If Filch caught him out of bed at this
hour, it would most certainly mean a detention.
And possibly, a letter to his father.
Needless to say, those were both possibilities
that he would rather avoid. Even though his father was a known Death Eater and
possessed a hatred for Dumbledore that was so pure that it almost shone, he was
also a notoriously cruel, and rather stupid, wizard. He would see a letter from
Hogwarts as a carte blanche to put Vincent in a world of hurt at the drop of a
wand. He shuddered, as he remembered the time that his father had used
Wingardium Leviosa on him and slammed him headfirst into the ceiling because
he, Vincent, had woken the elder Crabbe from a nap...
Then there was the time that his father, drunk
on
No, indeed. Discovery of any kind was
unacceptable.
Crabbe reached out and closed a meaty hand on
the doorknob. He noticed with disgust that his hand shook slightly as he did
so. Come on, Crabbe! Get a grip, his mind roared at him. He took a deep breath
and calmed himself, a small smirk creeping to his lips. He was being
ridiculous! After all, it had been almost two weeks since he had planted the
Polaris Weed seeds (Three galleons at Borgin and Burkes) and in those two weeks
he had snuck down to his illicit little garden six times and hadn't been
caught. So what in the Hell was he so worried about? Nothing was going to
happen...
He heard footsteps on the landing on the other
side of the Main Hall.
Crabbe froze dead in his tracks. He couldn't
have pulled his hand back from that door if Lord Voldemort himself had ordered
him to do it. This was it! He was caught!
He watched in horror as Mandy Brocklehurst, a
fifth year Ravenclaw prefect, walked out onto the landing. Crabbe slunk against
the door in terror. Being caught by a prefect would not be as bad as being
caught by Filch, true, but caught was caught. She could (and probably would)
take points from Slytherin, for starters. She also had the right to write him
up and give the report to Professor Snape. Then, Snape would give him a
detention and write a letter to his father and ask him where he thought he was
going in the middle of the night.
What the Hell was he thinking! No, it wasn't AS
bad as getting caught by Filch!
It was a lot bloody worse.
The thought of a letter being sent home was
enough to light a fire under Crabbe. He tore his hand away from the door, and
taking a tremendous gamble, he took three monster steps to his left and fell to
his knees, taking refuse in a giant shadow. If luck was with him, Mandy
wouldn't be able to see him. He took a deep breath as she paused in the center
of the landing and cast a sweeping gaze over the entire Main Hall. As she did
so, time stood still for Vincent Crabbe. Could she see him?
For ten long seconds, Crabbe didn't move a
muscle. He kept his eyes trained on the prefect, and gave a sigh in sweet
relief as she yawned loudly, turned around, and walked back the way she came.
She was apparently convinced that no one was in the Main Hall at this late
hour, or maybe she was just too tired to care? He squashed that idea as quickly
as it had come. She was a Ravenclaw, of course she cared. The whole of
Ravenclaw House were sticklers for the rules.
As soon as she disappeared from sight, Crabbe
jumped to his feet and threw himself at the door. Four seconds later, he was
outside, jogging at a brisk pace toward his destination. He ignored the sweat
beading up on his forehead and just ran. A smile came to his lips as he thought
about his little Polaris Weed garden, now less than a hundred yards away. He
had never been the best Herbology student but he certainly wasn't the worst. He
had put a lot of effort into growing the hair-like weed. If only he could show
Professor Sprout!
But he couldn't. She wouldn't give him extra
credit. She'd give him detention. Plus, she would burn all of the Polaris Weed.
Crabbe groaned. Just the thought of Sprout
burning his garden made him ill. Not only was Polaris Weed extremely valuable
(in the right circles), but it was the key ingredient in the potion that he
planned to brew.
And that was the reason that the Ministry of
Magic had outlawed the planting of, the sale of, and the possession of Polaris
Weed.
Because Polaris Weed was the key ingredient in
the HIGHLY illegal Nightshade Potion.
In one of his father's (few and far between)
loving father and son moods, he had told his son about the Nightshade Potion.
According to the elder Crabbe, Nightshade Potion was a dense, highly concentrated
liquid form of the Imperius Curse. The younger Crabbe had sat spellbound (no
pun intended) as his father told him how, like the Imperius Curse, one could
control a person, mind, body and soul, with the Nightshade Potion. In many
ways, Nightshade Potion was better than the Imperius Curse because one dose
lasted for six months.
Being more than a little inebriated at the time,
his father had told him the recipe for the potion, and Crabbe, in a rare moment
of insight, had written it down. According to his father's instructions, you
wait until the night of a full moon (his father had SPECIFIED this) and you
put, among other things, six strands of Polaris Weed, half a bezoar, and a hair
from your own head into the potion. This made Crabbe think about Polyjuice
Potion until his father told him that the hair was necessary so that the target
would know who to serve.
Otherwise, the potion was so concentrated...that
the target would obey every single person who gave them an order, and that
wouldn't do at all. What if someone made a facetious comment such as, "Why
don't you take a flying leap?" or "Why don't you go jump in the
lake?" The target would unblinkingly do as they were instructed, and it
could be disastrous. It WOULD be disastrous, if Crabbe had his way. He had
special plans for that Mudblood Granger.
Special plans indeed.
Crabbe chuckled as he arrived, sweaty and
aching, at his little garden. He smirked down at the baby-fine patch of blue,
hair-like weed. It was coming along nicely! The young man squatted down and ran
his hand gently across the top of each individual blade of Polaris Weed.
According to his father's drunken, yet detailed, explanation, Crabbe would be
able to harvest the weed in a couple of days. He examined his work carefully,
checking for insects or anything else that might damage his hard work. Crabbe
smirked cruelly.
"Hello, Mr. Crabbe."
Vincent Crabbe felt as though all of the blood
in his body had frozen. His jaw dropped and he was momentarily struck dumb by
the familiar voice from behind him. In those hellish few seconds before he
could force himself to turn around, Crabbe knew one thing and one thing only.
He was SCREWED. Biting down hard on his lip, he rose slowly to his feet and
turned around, unable to breathe, as his eyes confirmed what his ears had told
him seconds ago. Crabbe looked stupidly down at his feet, rather than face the
man who stood before him...
Albus Dumbledore.
Acutely aware of the trouble he was in, Vincent
Crabbe bit his lip again and took a deep breath. "H-h-Hello,
Professor," he stammered.
"Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it,
Vincent?" the headmaster said, inhaling deeply. "You can smell it in
the air. Winter is coming."
A confused look flitted across Crabbe's face.
The illegal herb garden was staring the old wizard right in the face; yet he
was just standing there, calm as you please, discussing the weather! Crabbe
didn't believe it!
"It reminds me of the first year I taught
Transfiguration," Dumbledore continued, "That was in...1873, if my
memory serves. That was a COLD winter."
Crabbe nodded dumbly.
Dumbledore stepped forward and put his hand on
Crabbe's shoulder. "Regardless of the fact that you seem to enjoy a good
walk as much as I do, it is after curfew and you are out of your dormitory.
Therefore, I'm sorry to do this, but I must take ten points from Slytherin. You
understand I only have your best interests in mind."
"Yes sir," Crabbe mumbled. His mind
was working overtime. Maybe he doesn't know what it is? Perhaps Polaris Weed
wasn't that well known? That had to be the case. Otherwise, Dumbledore would be
mad.
"Now, my boy, off you go. If you'll wait a
moment, I'll walk back with you."
Then it happened. Just as nonchalantly as
anything, Dumbledore pointed his wand at the small patch of Polaris Weed and
said, "Incendio!"
Crabbe's jaw dropped as his little garden burst
into flame. In seconds, there was nothing left but scorched earth. Dumbledore
grunted happily and turned back to Crabbe.
"Polaris Weed," he said to Crabbe.
"It's illegal, you know? Dark Wizards use it to make a potion called
Nightshade Potion. It's also known as 'Liquid Imperius.' It's a good thing that
I caught it before anyone else did. It sometimes grows wild around these
parts." Dumbledore stopped and smiled warmly at Crabbe. "Vincent,
while I don't condone your being out after curfew, I would like to thank you
for showing me that Polaris Weed. You did a good thing, my boy. Five points for
Slytherin."
Dumbledore began to walk slowly back toward the
castle. Crabbe turned, with his mouth still open, to give a last look to the
charred remains of his beloved "Polaris Garden."
"Damn it," he whispered softly.
Vincent Crabbe frowned, and sulking angrily,
followed on Dumbledore's heels. All of his hard work ruined! It wasn't fair.
Grudgingly, he admitted that Dumbledore had been extremely fair with him.
Fairer than he should have been, of course. He was still a senile,
muggle-loving old fool...that hadn't changed. He was still the sworn enemy of
Crabbe's Master, that hadn't changed either. For the moment, however...he would
bide his time. He still had over two years left to go at Hogwarts, and he would
have plenty of chances to get that Mudblood Granger. With Draco Malfoy and
Gregory Goyle helping him, he'd succeed sooner or later.
So caught up in his own thoughts was Vincent
Crabbe that he failed to notice the smirk that flashed temporarily across Albus
Dumbledore's face, and then vanished, just as quickly.
Professor and student walked back toward the
castle, each with their own agenda.
THE END.
End Notes: I would like to thank Barb for
inspiring me to write this fic. In her wildly popular fic, "Harry Potter
and the Psychic Serpent," there is a scene where Lucius Malfoy is revealed
to have used an unnamed "Imperius Curse-like potion" to control Hermione
Granger. That little snippet of an award-winning Harry Potter fanfic
masterpiece was all it took to plant this seed in my head, and now that I have
gotten it out, I feel much better. Besides, I'm a big fan of Crabbe and Goyle
and I really dig fics where they are evil. Remember the scene in "Our
Fathers" by Indarae where Crabbe breaks two of Draco's ribs in an attempt
to kidnap him for Voldemort? Good stuff! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this
HALF as much as I enjoyed writing it! If so...you'll have a good time. I'd like
to thank my good friend Thea Zara for turning me on to Harry Potter fanfic in
the first place. Thanks, Thea! And, everyone else...ENJOY!
Brandon League
Somewhere In