Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Secret Lives Of Potions Masters
(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, or anything contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)
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‘POLICE STATION’ read the lettering over the glass doors. In the few minutes it had taken Hermione to navigate through the parking lot, the sky had grown considerably lighter. ‘Almost sunrise,’ Hermione thought, noticing that the bright lights off in the distance were finally beginning to dim, ‘and I thought New York was the city that never slept.’ "Ah, well," she said, bracing herself, "here goes nothing," as she pushed open the door and walked into the foyer. ‘It’s nice,’ she thought, not really expecting that from a police station, ‘a little sparse furniture wise, but very clean, bright and … cold. The plants in the corner, for instance, looked like they could use at least a week long visit to Professor Sprout’s greenhouse. Maybe it wasn’t so nice.’
‘However,’ Hermione thought, ‘the fact that they were able to grow anything in this climate is a testament to their dogged perseverance,’ she paused, ‘or their stupidity. Why would anyone choose to live here?’ Hermione pondered this as a faint buzzing reached her ears. She moved out of the doorway and over to one of the plastic chairs, choosing one facing the receptionist. Hermione looked around trying to pin point the source of the increasingly annoying buzzing. The receptionist, Hermione noticed, appeared to be holding a one-sided conversation, with the air. ‘Arg,’ Hermione grimaced, looking up at last and squinting, ‘fluorescent lights.’ Hermione shrugged and shuddered repeatedly, fluorescent lights always made her twitchy. She froze when she realized the receptionist was watching her.
"Um. Hi," said Hermione, standing and trying to cover her embarrassment, she walked over to the desk. Strangely Hermione’s display hadn’t evinced much of a reaction from the receptionist. ‘Then again,’ Hermione reasoned, ‘she does talk to invisible people, she’s not really in a position to throw stones.’ "Good morning, my name is Rachel. How can help you?" Hermione was about to reply when Rachel began talking again. Hermione tuned her out, rolled her eyes and bit her lip, ‘what if there are invisible people … Stop it, Hermione,’ she chastised, ‘you’ve been spending too much time with Luna,’ Hermione looked around again, ‘it’s making you paranoid.’ "Hi there, how can I help you?" Rachel spoke again. Hermione just stood silently, contemplating the nature of invisibility. "Hello?" said Rachel, waiving her hand in front of Hermione’s face, "are you alright? You look a little pale."
"It was just a … rough landing," covered Hermione. "Do you know if this person works here?" asked Hermione, straight to business as usual. She took out the parchment and handed it to the receptionist. "Not really," Rachel replied, she raised her hands, palms facing up and shrugged her shoulders, the universal gesture for ‘I Don’t Know’, "I’m a temp, actually, just for a few days, thank God." Hermione heard the door to the outside open and close but didn’t turn around. "You know," continued Rachel lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "the labs here deal in some pretty freaky shiii-oops. Sorry, ma’m," Rachel directed that last comment, rather sheepishly, to the woman now standing behind Hermione.
"Rachel, right?" the woman asked brusquely, "how many times have a I told you, don’t call ‘ma’m’,"she continued with mocking sternness, "Catherine might be okay with it, but I’m really not that old, am I?" she asked with a smile as she reached for the sign-in log book. "Grissom’s not back yet?" she questioned as she scanned the sheet, frowning slightly as she signed it. "I don’t think so, Miss Sidle. I haven’t seen him, I could phone his office and check for you…" "No, that’s alright," the woman sighed and finally noticed Hermione standing there, looking out of place. "New intern? I’m Sara," the woman introduced herself, "you’re here kinda early, night shift hasn’t ended yet, but that’s good Ecklie a stickler for that kind of thing." "I’m always early,"said Hermione, "it’s a point of pride and that came off sounding really pathetic, didn’t it?"
"Don’t worry about it," Sara said, commiserating, "I get that all the time. Some people just don’t get having pride in you work. You know maybe you should switch to night shift, I think you’d enjoy working for Grissom more than Ecklie," in an aside just to Hermione, “no one really likes working for Ecklie." Sara walked away from the desk and over to a door that, presumably, led to the labs the receptionist had mentioned earlier. "Come on," Sara said eagerly, opening the door, waiting for Hermione to go through. "Actually," Hermione began, feeling guilty at having misled the woman, unintentional though it had been, "I’m not an …" however, before she could clear up Sara’s misconception, the receptionist interrupted. "I thought you were looking for someone." Rachel said, her voice rising in accusation, waiving the parchment in the air as proof. "Sorry about that, I’m not an intern," Hermione said apologetically, grabbing the parchment from the receptionist’s still waiving hand, "my name is Hermione, and I am looking for someone. It’s very important, do you know where I can find him?" she asked, handing Sara the paper.
‘That’s odd,’ Sara thought, looking up at Hermione and then back down at the paper, to examine it more closely, ‘old paper, thick too; more like parchment, that’s hard to come by, and the writing, you don’t see that everyday. I wonder what kind of ink it is …’ "Huh," Sara grunted. "What is it?" Hermione asked, "don’t you know him?" she continued worriedly. "No, that’s not it," Sara reassured her, "he does work here. I’m just surprised is all." Sara gestured again at the open door, this time Hermione entered without hesitation, followed closely by Sara. "Oh wait, Miss Sidle," began Rachel the receptionist, as the door clicked shut, "she needs to sign in." she finished lamely, deflated. ‘Ah, well’ she thought as she pushed a blinking button on one of the machines on her desk. "Good Morning, my name is Rachel. How can I help you. Hold please."
On the other side of the door Sara began to lead Hermione through the labyrinthine halls and continued talking, "surprised that any girl would get up this early just for Greg." Sara handed the parchment back to Hermione, all the while itching to keep a hold of it and analyze it’s composition. Hermione read again the name Dumbledore had written there; Greg Sanders. "Well," said Hermione hoping to stick to the truth as much as possible, "Strictly speaking we haven’t met, what does he do here?" Sara replied, eyeing Hermione, a bit dismayed, "you haven’t … um he’s a lab tech. He would say he’s an aspiring CSI," she amended, "but mainly he’s a lab tech. You haven’t met?" she asked incredulously, ‘curiouser and curiouser,’ she thought.
"What’s a CSI?" asked Hermione, deflecting Sara’s question and falling easily in a familiar role, that of the inquisitive youth. "Crime Scene Investigator, you know Criminalistics, Forensics, that sort of thing. You seriously haven’t met him?" Sara asked again, never one to let go. "Right, well," Hermione paused inventing on the spot, "he attended my school, and … a few of the teachers and students are in town; and they, the teachers, were wondering if he could stop by; tell us how he’s doing, give a lecture; you know alumni things. They might also ask him for money." Hermione offered weakly, cringing at how stupid her story sounded. ‘God, she’ll never believe this.’ "And they sent you …" Sara queried, still trying to puzzle Hermione out. "Everyone else was tired, from the flight, and I’d never seen a lab before so I volunteered. Are you a CSI?" Hermione asked in an attempt to change the subject. "Yeah," answered Sara coldly, "I started in San Francisco, then transferred here a while back."
The two continued walking in an uncomfortable silence. "Wonderful,’ thought Hermione, ‘I’m lying to a police officer, or as good as. I’m a criminal in a foreign country. Aagghhh!’ The ladies had just walked past an office overflowing with bizarre artifacts, most of which were floating in jars of formaldehyde. It succeed in diverting Hermione’s thoughts to the more mundane. ‘I’m glad Hogwarts doesn’t have a biology class,’ Hermione thought as her stomach rolled, complaining that it was, in fact, still empty, ‘I don’t think I could take it.’ ‘Hmm,’ thought Sara Sidle as they reached the DNA lab, ‘I’ve got to keep my eye on this girl, something’s off about her.’
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‘POLICE STATION’ read the lettering over the glass doors. In the few minutes it had taken Hermione to navigate through the parking lot, the sky had grown considerably lighter. ‘Almost sunrise,’ Hermione thought, noticing that the bright lights off in the distance were finally beginning to dim, ‘and I thought New York was the city that never slept.’ "Ah, well," she said, bracing herself, "here goes nothing," as she pushed open the door and walked into the foyer. ‘It’s nice,’ she thought, not really expecting that from a police station, ‘a little sparse furniture wise, but very clean, bright and … cold. The plants in the corner, for instance, looked like they could use at least a week long visit to Professor Sprout’s greenhouse. Maybe it wasn’t so nice.’
‘However,’ Hermione thought, ‘the fact that they were able to grow anything in this climate is a testament to their dogged perseverance,’ she paused, ‘or their stupidity. Why would anyone choose to live here?’ Hermione pondered this as a faint buzzing reached her ears. She moved out of the doorway and over to one of the plastic chairs, choosing one facing the receptionist. Hermione looked around trying to pin point the source of the increasingly annoying buzzing. The receptionist, Hermione noticed, appeared to be holding a one-sided conversation, with the air. ‘Arg,’ Hermione grimaced, looking up at last and squinting, ‘fluorescent lights.’ Hermione shrugged and shuddered repeatedly, fluorescent lights always made her twitchy. She froze when she realized the receptionist was watching her.
"Um. Hi," said Hermione, standing and trying to cover her embarrassment, she walked over to the desk. Strangely Hermione’s display hadn’t evinced much of a reaction from the receptionist. ‘Then again,’ Hermione reasoned, ‘she does talk to invisible people, she’s not really in a position to throw stones.’ "Good morning, my name is Rachel. How can help you?" Hermione was about to reply when Rachel began talking again. Hermione tuned her out, rolled her eyes and bit her lip, ‘what if there are invisible people … Stop it, Hermione,’ she chastised, ‘you’ve been spending too much time with Luna,’ Hermione looked around again, ‘it’s making you paranoid.’ "Hi there, how can I help you?" Rachel spoke again. Hermione just stood silently, contemplating the nature of invisibility. "Hello?" said Rachel, waiving her hand in front of Hermione’s face, "are you alright? You look a little pale."
"It was just a … rough landing," covered Hermione. "Do you know if this person works here?" asked Hermione, straight to business as usual. She took out the parchment and handed it to the receptionist. "Not really," Rachel replied, she raised her hands, palms facing up and shrugged her shoulders, the universal gesture for ‘I Don’t Know’, "I’m a temp, actually, just for a few days, thank God." Hermione heard the door to the outside open and close but didn’t turn around. "You know," continued Rachel lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "the labs here deal in some pretty freaky shiii-oops. Sorry, ma’m," Rachel directed that last comment, rather sheepishly, to the woman now standing behind Hermione.
"Rachel, right?" the woman asked brusquely, "how many times have a I told you, don’t call ‘ma’m’,"she continued with mocking sternness, "Catherine might be okay with it, but I’m really not that old, am I?" she asked with a smile as she reached for the sign-in log book. "Grissom’s not back yet?" she questioned as she scanned the sheet, frowning slightly as she signed it. "I don’t think so, Miss Sidle. I haven’t seen him, I could phone his office and check for you…" "No, that’s alright," the woman sighed and finally noticed Hermione standing there, looking out of place. "New intern? I’m Sara," the woman introduced herself, "you’re here kinda early, night shift hasn’t ended yet, but that’s good Ecklie a stickler for that kind of thing." "I’m always early,"said Hermione, "it’s a point of pride and that came off sounding really pathetic, didn’t it?"
"Don’t worry about it," Sara said, commiserating, "I get that all the time. Some people just don’t get having pride in you work. You know maybe you should switch to night shift, I think you’d enjoy working for Grissom more than Ecklie," in an aside just to Hermione, “no one really likes working for Ecklie." Sara walked away from the desk and over to a door that, presumably, led to the labs the receptionist had mentioned earlier. "Come on," Sara said eagerly, opening the door, waiting for Hermione to go through. "Actually," Hermione began, feeling guilty at having misled the woman, unintentional though it had been, "I’m not an …" however, before she could clear up Sara’s misconception, the receptionist interrupted. "I thought you were looking for someone." Rachel said, her voice rising in accusation, waiving the parchment in the air as proof. "Sorry about that, I’m not an intern," Hermione said apologetically, grabbing the parchment from the receptionist’s still waiving hand, "my name is Hermione, and I am looking for someone. It’s very important, do you know where I can find him?" she asked, handing Sara the paper.
‘That’s odd,’ Sara thought, looking up at Hermione and then back down at the paper, to examine it more closely, ‘old paper, thick too; more like parchment, that’s hard to come by, and the writing, you don’t see that everyday. I wonder what kind of ink it is …’ "Huh," Sara grunted. "What is it?" Hermione asked, "don’t you know him?" she continued worriedly. "No, that’s not it," Sara reassured her, "he does work here. I’m just surprised is all." Sara gestured again at the open door, this time Hermione entered without hesitation, followed closely by Sara. "Oh wait, Miss Sidle," began Rachel the receptionist, as the door clicked shut, "she needs to sign in." she finished lamely, deflated. ‘Ah, well’ she thought as she pushed a blinking button on one of the machines on her desk. "Good Morning, my name is Rachel. How can I help you. Hold please."
On the other side of the door Sara began to lead Hermione through the labyrinthine halls and continued talking, "surprised that any girl would get up this early just for Greg." Sara handed the parchment back to Hermione, all the while itching to keep a hold of it and analyze it’s composition. Hermione read again the name Dumbledore had written there; Greg Sanders. "Well," said Hermione hoping to stick to the truth as much as possible, "Strictly speaking we haven’t met, what does he do here?" Sara replied, eyeing Hermione, a bit dismayed, "you haven’t … um he’s a lab tech. He would say he’s an aspiring CSI," she amended, "but mainly he’s a lab tech. You haven’t met?" she asked incredulously, ‘curiouser and curiouser,’ she thought.
"What’s a CSI?" asked Hermione, deflecting Sara’s question and falling easily in a familiar role, that of the inquisitive youth. "Crime Scene Investigator, you know Criminalistics, Forensics, that sort of thing. You seriously haven’t met him?" Sara asked again, never one to let go. "Right, well," Hermione paused inventing on the spot, "he attended my school, and … a few of the teachers and students are in town; and they, the teachers, were wondering if he could stop by; tell us how he’s doing, give a lecture; you know alumni things. They might also ask him for money." Hermione offered weakly, cringing at how stupid her story sounded. ‘God, she’ll never believe this.’ "And they sent you …" Sara queried, still trying to puzzle Hermione out. "Everyone else was tired, from the flight, and I’d never seen a lab before so I volunteered. Are you a CSI?" Hermione asked in an attempt to change the subject. "Yeah," answered Sara coldly, "I started in San Francisco, then transferred here a while back."
The two continued walking in an uncomfortable silence. "Wonderful,’ thought Hermione, ‘I’m lying to a police officer, or as good as. I’m a criminal in a foreign country. Aagghhh!’ The ladies had just walked past an office overflowing with bizarre artifacts, most of which were floating in jars of formaldehyde. It succeed in diverting Hermione’s thoughts to the more mundane. ‘I’m glad Hogwarts doesn’t have a biology class,’ Hermione thought as her stomach rolled, complaining that it was, in fact, still empty, ‘I don’t think I could take it.’ ‘Hmm,’ thought Sara Sidle as they reached the DNA lab, ‘I’ve got to keep my eye on this girl, something’s off about her.’
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