Ron was lying on his bed, chewing the end of his pencil as he tried to work out a problem in his notes. It was a particularly difficult combination of ingredients needed to make a powerful potion. Professor Snape hadn't said what the spell would do, but even looking at the different herbs, he could see the problem.
He found the library too sterile to allow him to concentrate. Besides, it made him think of Hermione, and that never improved his concentration. He kept on chewing, as inspiration escaped him, like a eunuch's marriage prospects.
Half of them were known to spoil a potion, causing it to curdle, or rendering it useless. But the twinkle in Hermione's eye made him think that this wasn't a wasted endeavour. If only he could work out the right order to add them to the brew.
If he could make up a batch, then that would get Professor Snape off his back, and impress Hermione. He tried to think which was more important, but pushed it aside. It wouldn't matter if he couldn't solve the problem of the order.
There was a cough behind him, and Ron started. His bed springs creaked at the sudden motion and he turned to see who was there.
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