Peace in Potion PV Prof W.D. Finished

Dinner had been an utterly unremarkable affair, as it so often was. The food had been delectable, naturally, but Magdalena was somewhat ashamed to admit that she’d grown accustomed to the spreads prepared by the house elves. The little fellows were utterly blessed with talent, it had to be said, but when you were treated every evening, then one ceased to think of those treats as anything except for the ordinary.

So, the professor had retired early from dinner, as had become her custom. She was hardly the most social of people, not during times that she considered to be her own. The professor was certainly not opposed to networking, nor did she have a distaste for more relaxed social functions. Merely, she preferred her own company most weeknights. There would be time to invite some of the other professors over to experiment with drinks and gossip at a later date, for the time being it was a Monday, and that meant she had work to be done.

Upon returning to her office, her routine was followed impeccably. A swift spell to bring light back to the rather damp and dingy room, ongoing brews and pots checked, their heats adjusted accordingly, and her jacket haphazardly hung on the coat rack. In a matter of seconds she was ready to retire behind her desk, the tell-tale sound of rustling echoing on the stone walls as she pulled paper, ink and quill from a drawer. The next sound to follow was off glass clinking against glass, the Islay scotch and rocks glass retrieved from the lockbox in which it was hidden.

A too-generous nip of uisge beatha was soon poured into the glass and the bottle subsequently returned to its hiding place. The alcohol would serve as accompaniment to her work.

Even as she began to write, intermittent sips punctuating sentences, the professor found her mind trailing away from her treatise. Whilst it went without saying that the analysis of the alchemical effects of the iron in salamander blood in comparison to mid-Georgian era tonics based on armadillo bile concentrate was fascinating, thoughts of her children would continue to grip her.

They’d not be joining her in England for Easter, she’d known as much since Christmas, and she held no resentment toward them or their father for the need for them to remain in Singapore for the duration of the holiday. That did not mean she was not saddened by the prospect of yet more time away from them.

The professor sighed and sank back into her chair. With eyes closed, the goblet of fire-water was raised to her lips and drunk from. Peat and smoke danced across her tongue and burnt as they travelled down her throat and settled in her stomach. She was back home, in the land of her youth, in the castle that had introduced her to magic, and yet she still felt the pangs of homesickness.

Her melancholy was interrupted by sharp knocks on the door.

Magdalena’s eyes opened, and she straightened her posture immediately, the reminiscence dissipating instantly as her mind geared back into focus. She took another swift gulp of her whisky, then opened her top draw, squeezing the glass on top of a messy assortment of papers. It fit neatly, the deepness of the compartments a blessing.

“Enter,” She called, voice smooth and professional.

Were the young Ravenclaw to enter, she’d find the professor as stern-faced and outwardly relaxed as ever, leaning forward over her desk as she greeted her visitor, “Miss Prince, is there something that I can help you with? Was there a matter in one of the lessons you’d like me to clarify?”

@Dealla Prince

Dealla hadn't waited long before trying the door handle, a breath, two. She was already opening the door when she heard the professor's voice inviting her in, not really surprised to find the woman behind her desk, looking for all Dee could tell as if she was just waiting to teach her next class. Perhaps she just sat down here after dinner until classes started the next day. Had she even been at dinner? Dealla couldn't remember. Perhaps being a recluse who enjoyed spending time by themselves in the musty dungeons was a requirement for Potions professors... Although Dee supposed she was in no position to judge, considering she had come with the hope to get to spend more time here herself.

There was parchment scattered over the desk the professor was leaning on, an open inkwell and a quill nearby. So she really had been working still. Grading assignments, maybe? Her curious gaze strayed about the office, pausing on the various cauldrons, trying to identify their contents. A deep breath brought a mixture of scents, some familiar, some not. It was an odd combination, yet somehow soothing, at least to her. She itched to wander over and inspect the potions more closely. They must be complex, interesting ones, not like what they learned in class, most of which could be finished within the lesson on one day.

Her musings were interrupted before they could stray further off-course, and Dee straightened up slightly, a sudden twinge of nervousness in her stomach, a hint of uncertainty that was likely visible in her face if one was looking closely enough. It was an uncommon emotion for her, usually more prone to under- rather than overthinking, doing rather than planning, confidence carrying her high enough to not consider possible failure. It was not like her to worry about rejection, but then, most things did not seem to matter all that much. This did.

She'd stopped just inside the door but now closed it, taking a few steps closer to the professor's desk. "No, the lessons are straightforward enough." Her voice was clear, a hint of amusement while she considered for a moment whether she should feel offended that Professor Wickham-Deakin would think she needed additional help with class. She wasn't here to ask for help, but to offer it... kind of. Close enough to it to pretend, at least. No thanks was added in response to the question.

The slightest pause followed, just the hint of hesitation, enough time for another breath full of comfort before Dealla continued speaking. The hesitation wasn't audible, however, her words as bold as ever. She held the professor's gaze as she spoke, blue eyes clear and direct. There was no use in dancing around it, after all. "I was wondering if you could use a bit of help down here. You probably have a lot of work, right? Preparing classes, teaching, grading, brewing potions for the school supply... whatever else it is you do." Her eyes dropped back down to the parchment on the desk for a moment. It didn't look like student assignments. Curious.

"So I was thinking if you'd want some help preparing ingredients and taking inventory, sorting things, cleaning or whatever." Dee really wasn't picky, strange as it may be. Cleaning potions equipment, making sure cauldrons were in good condition and measuring tools were functioning was part of the brewing process, it wasn't beneath her. Her words were growing more determined as she spoke. "So if you need another pair of hands, I would offer mine." Her hands were raised to punctuate the statement, wriggling her fingers slightly, a flash of a smile crossing her face before it returned to its serious expression.

@Magdalena Wickham-Deakin

Magdalena’s eyebrows perked. Offering help to a professor was certainly bold, and she personally doubted she’d ever be so inclined during her own youth, Ravenclaw or no. It was a peculiar offer, and the potions professor would be disingenuous if she were to claim to have expected it. Most of the visits she received from students took the form of questions or, on occasion, thinly-veiled complaints about the lessons and her grading. She could deal with either inquiry, be they positive or negative, it was a core part of her position description after all. Admittedly, she’d become entirely accustomed to needing to tell students to straighten up and cease their whining. For one to actively approach her, down in the dank dungeons, with an offer of assistance was novel. Granted, she doubted that she needed help, and there were safety concerns to worry about with the relative age of Prince and some of the more dangerous ingredients that she dealt with. Yet, the prefect had demonstrated that one quality that Magdalena held above all others, self-sufficiency. The creation of an opportunity out of nothing, she would be remiss to cast her aside, not when she had dedicated much of her as-of-yet short teaching career to promoting such a value in her students.

Magdalena picked up her quill, allowing the instrument to dance between her fingers as she spoke, “Of course.”

It was a simple answer, but she doubted that Prince needed anything more. Well, aside from the ground rules that would need to be set out. But that was more for the benefit of Magdalena than it was for the student. No doubt, were the eaglet permitted to run rampant around the office and storeroom she’d do so without hesitation.

“I’d be pleased to have your assistance. To be honest, the equipment stocktake is somewhat overdue. We’ll need to review the school cauldrons and mortars for defects, some of the more acidic ingredients are prone to tarnishing and damaging the pewter. We can repair most, but those that are beyond saving will need to be replaced.”

It was not the most glamorous job, but truth be told, the professor had near-compulsively sorted and collected the ingredients needed both for her personal stock and for the students. Granted, her system of keeping track could most generously be described as chaotic, but it was a system nonetheless.

Magdalena stood up from her chair, the scrape of wood against the stone accompanying the movement. A few short steps later and she was by a pot of coffee, the black brew having sat unassumingly behind her desk, bubbling away slowly on a very low heat. Pouring herself a cup of the liquid, the professor continued, “If you’re truly keen, you can get started tonight, I won’t keep you until curfew but you’re more than welcome to work for as long as you like, I’ve paperwork to do and won’t be able to work through it until the weekend otherwise.”

Mug in hand, she would add almost absentmindedly, “Coffee?”

@Dealla Prince

"If you need, I could even... huh?" Caught off-guard, Dee paused mid-sentence, her momentum running into nothing. She'd already had her next argument ready, and the simple of course was an unexpected curve in the path she had expected the conversation to take. While Dealla had all the confidence in her ability to talk people into giving her what she wanted, she hadn't thought it would be quite that easy. But then, who was she to complain?

Quickly composing herself, Dee was still unable to hide the excited, eager spark in her eye, and she stepped forward automatically, nodding. Checking the equipment for damage was something she could do, easily, and she was fishing in her pocket for a hair tie even before the professor mentioned that her help would be welcome immediately if she was up for it. "I'll stay," she agreed with no hesitation, reaching up to tie her hair back while she took another step, quite nearly bumping into the professor's desk.

Her gaze dropped to the surface of the table and she squinted, struggling to read the loopy cursive that she recognised as Professor Wickham-Deakin's writing in its upside down position. Not grading student papers, then. Something about... salamander blood and... armadillo bile? Research? Did the woman do more than simply teach children the same contents from the same standard textbooks in class?

The offer of coffee drew her attention upwards again, and Dee blinked. "Sure," she replied, then frowned. Different from many of her peers, Dealla did not suffer from an early onset of caffeine addiction, and usually stuck to tea instead. The few tastes of the bitter brew she'd had over the years hadn't convinced her to change her preferences, either. She supposed it didn't hurt to give it another go.

"What's this about?" she asked, pointing down at the writing on the desk, her curiosity getting the better of her. "It looks like one of the articles from that potions journal that my mother gets sometimes, with new research on potions and ingredients and new potions or better recipes for old ones... Some of those tend to be really cool, and some tend to be really boring." Dee squinted at the parchment on the desk again. This could be either.

Finally remembering why she was here, Dealla straightened up again, her gaze drifting around the room. It was almost magically attracted by the bubbling cauldrons. Perhaps she could sneak a closer look later. "Where do you want me to start?"

@Magdalena Wickham-Deakin

Magdalena nodded rather absently at her student’s offer to stay, and subsequent acceptance of coffee.

So it was that she poured two cups of the black liquid, sipping it tentatively and grimacing. She’d burnt it, sure, it was still drinkable and she’d hesitate to call it a bad cup of coffee, but there was a definite acidic bitterness that clung to her tongue following the sip.

With an absent waving of her wand, she ceased the fire that sat beneath the pot, before artificially cooling the brew with another well-practised motion. No doubt the act of not allowing the liquid to reach a lower temperature naturally would mortify some sort of coffee sommelier, but she’d no intention of letting the reticent heat continue to burn the liquid.

“I would offer milk, but I'm afraid I have none down here,” she spoke as she offered the cup to her student, “Sugar, though?”

Surprisingly, with the serving of coffee said and done, Prince turned her attention to the papers that Magdalena had been working on. A curious soul, no doubt. Magdalena smiled warmly. Initiative was the engine upon which genius was built.

“Just some research,” Magdalena responded, “A colleague based out of London had conducted some efficacy studies on mental healing potions, some small alterations to recipes and comparison of the end result between the armadillo bile potions and those that use salamander blood.”

She leant back into her chair, flicking her quill between her fingers as she spoke, “He’d asked me to try to replicate the effects here. I did so, and found his findings were pretty much accurate, so I’m writing the addendum to his work.”

Magdalena suddenly halted the spinning of the quill and chuckled, “Sorry, that probably sounds boring as all hell. It’s potions research, I try to keep publishing and experimenting…

“As for where you can start…” She gestured her head toward a far wall, where a series of pewter cauldrons sat neatly stacked beside a number of unlabeled vials of green and amber liquid,
“Those ones over there have shown some warping. If it doesn’t look like it can buff out easily, just put it in a different pile and we can get a house elf to come and collect it.”

Magdalena assumed that would be sufficient enough explanatiation, the girl had proven herself capable enough in classes, and was even deemed to demonstrate the requisite responsibility for the role of a prefect, she’d not need much in the way of observation. Besides, it was a difficult job to screw up. Stocktake work was necessary, yes, but it was also utterly mindless. The professor had sufficient enough faith in Prince’s ability to figure out which cauldrons required replacing. With that, she returned to her papers, content to only observe from the corner of her eye.

@Dealla Prince

Eyes still clinging to the parchment on the professor's desk, trying to decipher whatever (hopefully) exciting discoveries the woman was writing about, Dealla accepted the cup of coffee without looking up. It was raised to her lips in an automatic motion. The scent of coffee was not necessarily a bad one; it could even be pleasant, although it mixed oddly with the already overwhelming concoction of smells in this room.

Tilting the cup, Dee took a sip - then choked, nearly spitting it back out again. This stuff was vile, somehow worse than she remembered, burning her tongue with its bitterness. She forced herself to swallow, then immediately set the cup down, her eyes abandoning the research in favour of scanning the room for something to wash it down with. "How do you even drink this?" she demanded, wishing for tea, water, a piece of chocolate, anything, really. She might even take a potion with only mildly adverse effects. "No, thank you, there's no way sugar can save this." She took a deep breath, rubbing her tongue on the roof of her mouth in an attempt to get rid of the stinging bitterness.

Wickham-Deakin's research did seem to fall more into the boring category, but Dee shrugged. "It does sound boring," she confirmed bluntly. "But even small discoveries are important, right? And maybe you'll stumble across something actually interesting at some point?" Wanting to keep experimenting while teaching was also something she could understand; she couldn't imagine being stuck here, teaching, rather than doing something truly important. Something that could make an impact in the future.

Upon the professor's gesture, Dee followed the direction she'd indicated, spotting the cauldrons. She nodded, that seemed easy enough. Not very engaging, but that was expected and accepted; she had come here volunteering to help with stock taking, and that wasn't what it was about.

Not needing further prompting, she headed over to the stacked cauldrons, leaving the cup of coffee standing on the desk. She never wanted to take another sip of that, thank you very much. On the way, her eyes were again drawn to some of the cauldrons, and she peeked into the ones she passed, always curious.

Reaching to lift the first cauldron, Dee took a deep breath, then sighed softly. While likely unpleasant to many, to her, there was something comforting in the assortment of smells. The components might be different, but the experience wasn't too far from being in her mother's potions lab, a room she'd spent astonishing amounts of time in for a child that had so much energy it could barely hold still at times. She'd used to do her muggle school homework in there while her mother had worked, at a small corner of a desk that her mother had made sure to keep free of dangerous ingredients. It hadn't been her favourite pastime back then, but had turned into a fond memory now.

This office was not the same room, but the feel of it was the closest she'd get.

Dee worked quickly, giving each cauldron a clinical inspection, then sorting them neatly into two stacks. The motions were repetitive but calming in their simplicity, soothing her spinning thoughts into something steadier. It didn't dispel the homesickness, but it made it slightly easier to bear, allaying the tension in her stomach, if not completely.

It was easy to fall into a quiet rhythm, and the number of cauldrons shrank quickly. She paused slightly before setting the last one in the stack meant to be collected by house elves, then turned around slowly. There likely wasn't anything else for her to do but she wasn't sure she was willing to leave quite yet; or if she'd have the chance to come back another day. So instead of drawing attention to herself, she wandered over to one of the cauldrons, trying to guess at its contents. Perhaps the professor would take a bit to notice.

The professor chuckled at Prince’s reaction, it was to be expected, really. Not many third year students had developed the taste for, or the crippling caffeine addiction that was so often associated with, coffee. Another thing she would need to learn when dealing with children in a professional capacity, she supposed, “It’s not that bad once you get used to it, honestly.”

Magdalena offered a smile, “There’s plenty of time for that though… Please don’t feel obligated to finish it.”

The smile persisted as she responded to the rather curious enquiries and comments of her student, “Quite right you are. Discovery is very rarely groundbreaking or sudden. It is far more common for it to occur over time, to be built upon the shoulders of existing work and that which has come before.”

She shuffled her papers, turning her attention briefly away from the third year and back toward the written words before her. Magdalena pursed her lips, before swiftly dipping her quill in ink and rather brutally crossing out part of the text that she had so diligently written not a few hours earlier. A small sigh escaped her lips, before she returned her attention back to Prince. There was no need to disclose that she’d accidentally misremembered the alchemical formula for armadillo bile and produced faulty calculations as a result. Professors had to be infallible, after all.

Silence would eventually settle over the classroom, only the occasional sound of the moving of cauldrons or ink on parchment breaking the comforting nothingness. Magdalena for her part contented herself with her work and the occasional sip of coffee, often finding that she needed not to focus her attention on the Ravenclaw. The few glances she made toward the girl proved her competence at the task well enough, and she was loath to waste time nor energy in interrupting either of their tasks.

In due course, however, she did note that the presence of the room had shifted, and Magdalena’s wandering eyes caught a glance of Prince examining one of her potions. Nothing particularly special, a Draught of Dreamless Sleep she’d been brewing for the benefit of one of her colleagues.

“That’s a Draught of Dreamless Sleep,” Magdalena spoke into the quiet air, the words pointed toward Dealla, but without malice nor accusation, “It’s one of the last potions taught to Fifth Years before their OWLs. A rather interesting drop really, quite good for insomniacs and those suffering from… unpleasant memories.”

Swiftly she added, “Not to worry, the brewing here is academic.” She chuckled drily before adding, “As are most things I do, to be quite honest with you.”

The professor raised herself from her seated position and wandered towards the assembled cauldrons, a few moments passed as she glanced from collection to collection, sharp eyes attempting to find flaw with the girl’s work. There was none.

“Quite well done, Miss Prince,” She said finally, “Five points to Ravenclaw.”

The professor paused for a moment, before adding, “Thank you. I would not be opposed to accepting your help again should you wish to undertake some extra work with potions.”

@Dealla Prince

It war rare that Dealla enjoyed silence this much. There was usually not much of it to be found near the talkative prefect, her days were a whirl of people and interactions, tasks and conversation. Then, enjoyed was likely not an apt description. More that it felt right for this room, this moment, wrapping around her like a blanket; removing the need for words. She was not here to talk.

That didn't mean words were unwelcome, although she would not have minded more time to snoop around the various cauldrons. Draught of Dreamless Sleep, she thought she'd read about that potion. Maybe her mother had even brewed it once or twice, it seemed like the kind of thing that was both useful and not too conspicuous; it would be like an extremely effective herbal remedy to sleeplessness.

She nodded, appreciative of the explanation, as she would not have recognised it in its unfinished state, it was still lacking the purple colour that she vaguely remembered from a description somewhere. The usage examples received a raised eyebrow, however, and she was already opening her mouth to ask which of the two categories Wickham-Deakin fell into. Tact was unlikely to ever keep her from prying. Perhaps the professor had seen the movement, or generally sensed the question coming, because she provided an answer before Dee had the opportunity to get the question out. Impressively, she managed to make her work sound boring yet again.

"Did you change anything in the recipe, then?" Dee asked in place of her original inquiry, gaze dropping back to the cauldron. "Simply brewing an OWL level potion for no purpose can't have much academic value." The difficulty level shouldn't be enough to provide a challenge, certainly.

No matter the answer, it seemed her time here was coming to a close. Dee didn't watch as Professor Wickham-Deakin moved to inspect her work; not because she was nervous about the judgment, but because she was the type that didn't even imagine that she might have made a mistake until it was proven so. Plus, you didn't grow up with a potioneer as a mother without learning how to judge a cauldron's condition. Instead, she used the opportunity to wander over to another cauldron, inspecting it. Her curiosity hadn't drawn any ire so far, and she might as well make the most of the time she had here.

The points she was awarded for her help took her by surprise, and Dealla looked up sharply, taken aback although she maybe shouldn't have been. Performing voluntary tasks for a professor would for many students just be a tool to earn some extra credits, it made sense. Yet her first instinct was to protest... which was, in turn, silly. "I didn't come here for points," she still felt the need to clarify, her nose scrunched up slightly. The expression was quickly replaced by a grin. "Not that I'll complain about them."

The more pressing issue, to her, was whether this was all that was offered and accepted, or if perhaps, she could come back another day, if just to sort more cauldrons, but again, the potions professor seemed to anticipate the question before it was asked. Perhaps Dee was just that obvious, or it was a genuine declaration, encouragement, even, that didn't have anything to do with her own motives at all, but it loosened the tension in her shoulders, and she let out a breath. "I'd like that," she replied, fast enough that it couldn't be anything but sincere, her voice laced with relief. More than likely, she'd be back soon, and return often enough that Wickham-Deakin would soon be sick of seeing her.

For now, she supposed it was time to go, and she turned away, heading towards the door before she paused and took another glance back. "Thank you, professor," Dealla said, the words delivered with no context. It was maybe odd in the situation, but her voice was honest, and when she closed the door behind herself, Dee felt lighter than she had in days.

@Magdalena Wickham-Deakin
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She pursed her lips, trying to think of a way to best explain away her need to brew the potion. Prince had a keen mind it would seem. Magdalena was certainly skilled enough that such a potion would not require much in the way of practice.

The professor shrugged, “Academic value for the students, I mean. It’s for the fifth years to review and to compare their own brews against. I am afraid I don’t have much of a personal use for it, never really struggled with insomnia.”

Magdalena ceased speaking for a moment or two, her attention instead focused on amending and rewriting a formula on the parchment in front of her, followed by the hasty scribbling of a note in the margins of the text, “There are no changes made to the recipe at all, it’s about as textbook as you can get,” She did not look up when she finally continued to talk, “Allows for a benchmark for students to compare themselves against.”

Another few hasty scribbles, and she turned her attention once again away from the parchment and toward the girl. Prince was clever, and ambitious enough to seek out an audience with a professor. Whether she was attempting to build a genuine relationship or to try to suss out the newest teacher of one of her preferred classes, Magdalena did not know nor did she rightly care. It had demonstrated a certain tenacity of character and desire to learn more, and that was praiseworthy in itself.

She thanked Magdalena as she departed, but the professor merely provided a ‘mmhmm’ in response, her attention already back on her work. Besides, she’d not really done much that warranted thanking. After all, she’d gotten the girl to do some of her busy work for her.

As the sounds of footsteps finally faded away, the telltale sign of the third year’s return to her dorm, Magdalena reopened her drawer. The nightcap awaiting her. She still had student papers to review, after all.

@Dealla Prince

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