Craving Familiarity PV Prof O Closed

The Potions master had been attempting to catch some brief shut-eye in these after-class hours. Away from all the loud and obnoxious students. Trying and failing as it turned out. His mind wrought with visions and memories of days past, blackened skies and claws glinting in the moonlight. The sound of footsteps in the distance becoming ever quieter. The same re-occurring nightmare.

He did not wake with a jolt, in a cold sweat, deathly pale. Instead like most days it was a slow process of his eyes blinking open as his ears perked up at the sound of fingers touching the door of his classroom. He rolled his eyes and waited for whomever it was who sought to bother him to make their way through that door. He gently traced a finger down one of the large scars on his face as he mentally braced himself for what was to come next.

Contrary to popular believe. The Professor did pay attention, and was quite good at remembering names and faces, even if he didn't much care to. So when he saw the face of the young student, someone who was apparently too good for knocking he already had some semblance of an idea of why she would come to this room specifically.

"Miss Prince... He said in a calm but commanding tone. "Your enthusiasm for potions outweighs my enthusiasm for teaching, class is over, go...play in a sandpit...or whatever it is children do." He was joking, even he wasn't that out of touch, but by the way he presented the joke it would be rather hard to tell exactly.

"Unless of course you were planning on stealing supplies like some of your peers have taken to doing. Then may I recommend you come back in a few hours when it's a little darker."

He looked away from her and closed his eyes for a moment, expecting to here the sound of footsteps getting further away. When no such sound came he opened one eye and looked over at her, finally noticing the nervousness and trepidation on her face. He'd seen this look before, a student seeking some kind of comfort.

"Please, if you're seeking guidance or a pat on the back, go talk to Professor Jensen. She's just up the hall, I don't do consolation." He grumbled, turning his head away. Hoping if he ignored this issue it would go away.

Interacting with: @Dealla Prince

Well, at least one thing was obvious: Professor Ostrowski seemed determined to fill any and all expectations she'd had of him. Unwelcoming? Check. Unreliable? That too. Didn't like children? Quite obviously. Although, she did have to give him credit for remembering her name - assuming it wasn't a coincidence.

Dealla bristled at his words, her temper rising, and, funnily enough, immediately felt better. If he'd been here longer, earned some of her respect, that might have held her back, but as it was, the words were out before she could stop them, not that she had tried to. She did have a habit of letting her mouth get away from her on occasion - very frequent occasion.
“I don't think it's very hard to outweigh your enthusiasm for teaching, Professor Ostrowski,” she said in a clear voice. “Seeing as it doesn't look like you have any. And I believe the local sandpit is called Quidditch Pitch, but I don't do Quidditch, sorry.”

Perhaps she should have stopped there. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything at all - she'd managed to avoid detention so far in her time at Hogwarts, had been very well-behaved, really. The teachers from her old Muggle school probably wouldn't have recognised her.
But she couldn't, her irritation at his condescension and the ultimate dismissal of just turning away from her like that running too close to the surface, thrumming through her veins like a beat. Condescension, whether to her or to others, had always been a safe way to set her off.
Also, she had to admit, it felt good. Mouthing off at teachers was something she knew, something she had (too much) experience with, and it provided a welcome distraction from the very unfamiliar sensation of insecurity she'd had to battle before. She settled into that feeling with easy comfortableness.
Truth be told - she hadn't even tried to keep her temper in check. She'd just let the words come.

“I'm not here to steal supplies,” Dealla continued, indignation at the accusation climbing to the surface, her temper flaring hotter. Did he think she was an utter idiot? Like he'd said - who came to steal anything right after class? She was smarter than that. “What would I do with them, anyway? It's not like I can brew potions in my dorm room. If I could, I wouldn't be here.”
And then, the last straw: “Do you really think I'd come here if I wanted a pat on the back?” Did he think he gave the impression that he was available for such things? Not that Professor Jensen would have been her first choice - why would she go to the Head of Slytherin with her problems? “I'm here for the potions, because there's so much going wrong at this school, and I want to be prepared next time. That dealing with potions involves you is just an unlucky coincidence for both of us.”

And, well, there it was. She'd probably talked herself into a corner. Her chances of getting what she wanted had been slim in the beginning, and likely gotten lower with every single insolent retort she'd given him. Her temper ebbed off, leaving her feeling lost, confused. She almost turned around, to just leave, but... She wasn't quite ready to give up yet.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look up, meet his gaze if he was looking at her. For all the things Dealla was, her temper and quick mouth, her pride and overflowing energy, she could also admit she was in the wrong, her parents had drilled that into her stubborn little head. She'd come here to ask for a favour. She should act like it.

“I'm sorry,” she said a little more quietly, but just as clearly, her blue eyes open and serious. “I just want some time here to brew a potion. It can be something we learned in class, so you wouldn't even have to do anything. You can ignore me.” There was just a trace of urgency in her voice, a little desperation. She'd much prefer making Burning Bitterroot Balm or Essence of Dittany, but she'd require at least some instructions for those, and she probably wasn't in a position to ask for that. “I can pay you for the ingredients,” she added, a little more meekly. Probably. She'd saved up her allowance over the year, there hadn't been much to spend it on, but she didn't have a clue how much the ingredients would cost.

She bit her lip for a second. There was a pressure quickly building in her chest, the comfort that talking back at him had given her gone already. She felt antsy again, wrong in her own skin. The next words slipped out without her meaning to. “Haven't you ever felt helpless in a situation? Wouldn't you want to make sure that next time things go wrong, you could do something? I'm not asking you to talk to me, or help me, or do anything. Just let me brew a potion.” She swallowed. “Please.”

@Aleksander Ostrowski

The Professor sat back a little bit in his seat as it became evident that he'd annoyed the young student in front of him. He wore a slightly surprised but mostly amused expression as her tirade against him continued. It was a spiel that he was quite used to hearing at this point. His personality wasn't exactly the best at making people feel comfortable and happy, but hearing it from a child was more of a new feeling. Most students would fear a detention talking to a Professor like this, apparently not Miss Prince. Or if she did, she was excellent at hiding it.

Although he wasn't doing a brilliant job of showing it, he was listening as she spoke, watching her face for any signs of deceit or underhandedness, and he was quite pleased when he saw nothing of the sort. Here was simply a student who was passionate enough about potions to chew him out for his attitude.

He held up a hand to silence her when she attempted to apologise. "People only apologise if they don't mean what they say." He explained, icy blue eyes staring intently at her. "So think carefully before you say sorry, because if you do, you have wasted both of our time." He told her, standing up from the chair behind his desk and stretching.

He walked to the door as she rephrased her request. Turned away from her he rolled his eyes at her lame attempt to save face by asking nicely after her rant. Only raising an eyebrow when she offered to pay for the ingredients. "Oh? Do you have forty galleons on you right now?" He asked with a dead-serious face, letting the question hang for a few moments before he smirked and chuckled quietly.

For a moment he turned to leave again before she asked a question that made his breath stall in his throat as he gripped the handle for the door and looked up, forwards, towards the exit, with her standing just behind him. He looked down at the ground, as if thinking for a moment before sighing softly and shaking his head again.

"Come on then, I am going to go collect some ingredients. I am not walking slower for you so if you cannot keep up that's your problem." He told her, gesturing his head towards the door as he opened it, indicating that she should follow him.

Briefly walking around the castle grounds.

"You mind if I smoke?" He asked her, even as he pulled a cigarette out of the packet with his teeth, indicating that he didn't really care to wait for her response as he fished the lighter out of his pocket.

"I need you to go get me some nettle leaves. I need five minimum but more is fine. Do you think you can handle that?" He asked her, casting an eye downwards as he ignited the tip of the cigarette. "You will be able to find them out in the grounds. DO NOT go into the Forbidden Forest." He warned, the girl was probably smart enough to know this but he could never be too careful.

"Come find me at the Greenhouses when you have the leaves."

Dealla snapped her mouth shut with a sharp click. Of all the things she'd, said, she hadn't expected to be reprimanded for apologising. He wasn't completely wrong, though - she had definitely meant what she had said, and the apology had come more from a place of what she felt was proper for the situation, her coming to ask for a favour, than because she hadn't meant her words.
She felt a little confused, like she'd been thrown a curve ball, although she wasn't sure why, unable to sort out this deviation from the social norms she'd been taught. Still, even while blood rushed to her cheeks, she refused to drop her gaze, unwilling to back down from his icy stare. "Fine, then I'm not sorry," she retorted, just a hint of petulance in her voice.

Her eyes followed Professor Ostrowski as he walked through the room to the door - what, was he just going to leave? She supposed she'd take that as an invitation to just do whatever she wanted here then - but then her jaw dropped at his claim for the price of the ingredients. "Fort..." She trailed off, narrowing her eyes.
Most of the ingredients of the Burn Healing Paste were dirt cheap - Flobberworm mucus, grapes, and potato peels. While she wasn't sure how much Angel's Trumpets or Pufferfish Eyes cost, she knew her mother had a stash of both at home, and Burn Healing Paste wasn't a luxury good, so they couldn't be that expensive. Her parents weren't rich. Also...
"You don't even know what I wanted to brew," she said, then wrinkled her nose at his chuckle. Fine, so he was making fun of her offer. She'd just wanted to get any accusations of stealing out of the way, sue her. Not a mistake she'd repeat, apparently.

When he turned to leave again, she internally debated making another attempt - maybe rant at him again, that, for some reason, seemed to have garnered the most positive reaction from him so far - but then he paused, and told her to come with him to gather ingredients.

Dealla blinked, for a second convinced she had misheard. That... why? How was that the result of the conversation they'd led so far?
But Professor Ostrowski immediately made good on his promise of not waiting for her, so with a last, longing look towards the tables and the ingredients in the shelves, she set off to follow him, only pausing for a second to close the door behind her.

~~~

The brunette Ravenclaw wrinkled her nose as he pulled out the cigarette. "I thought you weren't supposed to smoke near children," she said. Dealla had been rather quiet on the way up, for her at least, figuring Professor Ostrowski would be less likely to send her away if she stopped yelling at him. Or talking in general, maybe. Not that she was all that keen on talking to him, anyway.
She still wasn't sure where they were headed, exactly, but her best guess were the Greenhouses, considering he said he needed potions ingredients. "One thing to poison yourself, a different thing to poison those around you." But it seemed that he didn't expect her to stay around the smoke for a longer time anyway, considering his next instructions.

She was about to open her mouth in protest, but then clamped it shut again, her thought process likely playing across her face almost as clear as if she'd said it out loud.
She hadn't brought her protective gloves with her, nor anything to collect the leaves in, since, when she'd first made her way down to the Potions classroom, she hadn't even known what exactly she was looking for. It was a stupid oversight, looking back - so many potions ingredients required to be handled with gloves, so no matter what she'd been hoping to achieve, she should have brought them. Alas, she hadn't.
For a second Dealla considered running back up to the Ravenclaw tower to retrieve her gloves, but her pride wouldn't let her. She'd been around the Hogwarts grounds enough to know where to look for nettles, and had spent enough time outside at home around Whitehaven to know how to pick some nettle leaves without getting stung.

Next, she was tempted to ask why she was even here, but stopped herself there, too. If she was honest, this was much better than being alone with her thoughts, and... he hadn't said no yet.
"Okay," she agreed, waving her hand in front of her face in an overly conspicuous attempt to get rid of the cigarette smoke wafting towards her, and turned to stalk away. "It won't take long."
She stiffened a little at the reminder to stay away from the Forest, her shoulders rising in an automatic defensive reaction. She really hadn't needed the warning - after the last catastrophic venture between those trees which had almost led to the death of her and several of her house mates, she wasn't likely to wander there again, especially not alone. It was one of the reasons she was here right now in the first place. But she didn't say anything, nor did she look back.

Her feet carried her over to a patch of nettles in sure, unfaltering strides. She was still wearing her robes, so most of her body was covered well enough - all except for her hands.
Hesitating for a second, Dealla's eyes roamed over the nettle plants, looking for ones that hadn't flowered yet, as the leaves would be younger and more tender, better suited for both teas and potions. It was late in the year for that, but there still were a few in between, and since Professor Ostrowski had only asked for five, they would do well enough.
Stepping closer to one, she carefully reached out for one of the top leaves, paying attention not to touch the stem which was covered in the fine hair that caused the stinging, and pinched down near the top of the leaf, so that the only friction between her fingers and the plant occurred in direction away from the stem. She'd gathered nettle leaves that way before, used it to impress her friends back home - the trick was to know that the fine hair on the underside of the leaves all aimed away from the stem, towards the tip of the leaf, so following that direction, you could safely touch them.

Repeating that same action, she soon had a bunch of nettle leaves - more than the required five, a dozen maybe? She hadn't counted - gathered in a makeshift pouch made by gathering up her robes and tying a knot in them, as her ankles and calves were still protected by the trousers she wore beneath them.
She had only received a minor sting on her wrist from a nearby leaf, so when she made her way towards the greenhouses, she was crushing a different plant onto her skin to relieve the pain: Jewelweed. It was a trick she'd learned from her mother. And just with that tiny connection, she felt a little calmer, was able to breathe a little easier, without even noticing.

When she neared the Greenhouses, Dealla glanced up from her wrist, casting the remnants of the jewelweed aside, the sting gone already. She'd expected Professor Ostrowski to be in one of the Greenhouses, gathering whatever other mysterious ingredients he needed, and that she'd have to look for him. Instead he seemed to be waiting outside.
Dee made a small face before smoothing her features again, hoping that he hadn't seen it from the distance. What, was he just here to watch her do his work for him?

Still, she couldn't keep the curiosity inside of her from rising when she stopped in front of him and looked up, her blue eyes bright and clear. "I got them," she pointed out unnecessarily, gesturing towards her bundled up robe-pouch. "What now?"

@Aleksander Ostrowski

It didn't take long for the Potions Master to gather what he needed. He'd already owled ahead regarding this recipe earlier so he found most of it laid out for him. Including Nettle Leaves, which he promptly discarded somewhere. Eventually he heard the determined footsteps of Miss Prince approaching nearby. With a small sigh he mentally prepared himself for more conversation.

He watched silently as she presented her haul to him, a few more than needed but that was fine, it just left room for error. However, there was a slight concern. "Why were you not wearing gloves?" He asked her, as took his own off of his belt and pulled them over his hands. He scooped the nettle leaves up from her pseudo-pouch and placed them in his own small satchel, something he easily could've given to her. "Rather dangerous to handle stinging nettles without wearing gloves." He was fully aware of how unfair his assessment was, how could she possibly have known she would need them? That was exactly it, she couldn't, and he wanted to see how she'd react to his unfair assessment.

"Try not to make the same mistake again..." He scolded calmly as he finished packing away the ingredients. "Although these are decently collected, I will give you that, and you do not seem to have done yourself an injury. Well...apart from that Jewelweed smell on your wrist, but let us pretend I did not notice." He teased, his overly sensitive nose easily picking up the smell of the makeshift salve.

"Come on!" He called impatiently as he strode out of the Greenhouse, quickly pacing his way back to his classroom in the dungeons, annoying little eagle in tow. Though even he had to admit, she had some tenacity, even he wouldn't like putting up with him for long. She must really want to brew this potion.

Back in the classroom he started getting the ingredients out whilst calling for Dealla to grab some items. "Cauldron, Scales, Vials, Mortar and Pestle." He told her, presuming she would know where all those things were.

If all went smoothly the pair would find themselves looking at an empty cauldron with a flask of Honeywater, Two roots of Valerian, Five Nettle leaves, A handful of Rose petals, Five Dittany leaves, Two fairy wings and some Silverweed Extract sat next to it.

"Bruise the Nettle and Pulverise the Valerian, hurry up." He ordered, his voice not raised but his tone commanding as he gently poured the Honeywater into their cauldron, and turned the heat up to bring it to a low simmering point. It would take a little while to heat, but that was all the time he would give her to prep the ingredients.

"Do you know what we are making Miss Prince?" He asked her as he watched her work.

Interacting with: @Dealla Prince

Dee stiffened at the question, but, well, it was true, and there was no use denying it, the absence of her gloves plain to see. "I didn't have them with me," she replied, shrugging, and untied the knot in her robes to let them fall smoothly to her feet again. "For something more dangerous I would have gone to get them, but stinging nettles aren't really dangerous, just inconvenient. Not this variety, at least. Plus," there was a rather obvious trace of smugness in her voice, "I know how to handle nettles without getting stung. It was a calculated risk." Which had mostly paid off, she thought. He probably would have left in the time it would have taken her to go get her gloves.

She was tempted to roll her eyes and promise to take her gloves absolutely everywhere from now on, had the comment already on her tongue, when the comment about her usage of Jewelweed caught her off-guard. She flushed slightly, a streak of light pink high on her cheek, and wiped her wrist on her robe in an involuntary gesture. How had he even noticed that? Jewelweed didn't have any strong scent she was aware of, and even then, she hadn't used much of it, and they were outside, surrounded by other plants. The smell of fresh nettles was a lot more noticeable in the air.

Professor Ostrowski didn't give her time to figure out that particular mystery, already off again, leaving her to scramble after him as if he had no doubt she'd follow. Which, of course, she did. The chance of getting to brew a potion like she'd asked was easily enough to keep her hooked and following orders, even if her obedience was spiked with cheeky remarks on the side. Also, she had to admit, she was a little curious about what he'd planned - and why he allowed her to tag along. She'd expected him to kick her out a long time ago.


Back in the classroom, just half a step behind the professor, Dealla reacted to his instructions without even half a thought, her feet carrying her over to the shelves with the equipment with automatic surety. It was only when she placed the vials and mortar and pestle down next to the cauldron and scales that she halted, a question on her tongue, begging to be asked. But no, she thought, shutting her mouth with a click. Better not push her luck. Professor Ostrowski was rather more likely to suffer her presence if she was quiet for once - or however quiet she could manage to be.

And her relative silence paid off, too: When she realized she would actually get to help brew whatever he was planning to make, Dealla's eyes lit up like stars on a clear, new moon night. While she tried not to show it too clearly, her excitement was obvious in every movement as she snatched a pair of gloves from a nearby shelf and reached for the nettle leaves.

Bruising the nettle was quickly done. Dealla had seen her mother perform the same motions dozens of times, and her hands were sure and precise as she prepared the leaves and moved on to the roots. This was something she felt certain about, a familiar routine, soothing, almost.

Blinking at the sudden question, Dealla's hands halted in the steady, smooth motion of grinding the Valerian root into powder for just half a second before she resumed. Her eyes slid over the gathered ingredients, and she frowned in thought. They'd worked with some of the ingredients in class this year, but Silverweed was something she was sure they hadn't handled. The same could be said for the rose petals and fairy wings. She also couldn't recognize this particular constellation of ingredients from any of the other potions books she'd gone through.

"No, I don't," she replied slowly. But what she could do was make observations. "Valerian is usually used in potions that have a calming or soporific effect. Dittany has strong healing properties, so does Silverweed. Nettle is also a common ingredient in healing or calming potions. Fairy wings..." She frowned, racking her brain. She knew she'd read about some potion they had been used in, but she couldn't remember what it had been. She shook her head, moving on to the next ingredient, the one he'd already poured into the cauldron. "Honeywater has some recuperative properties if I recall correctly. I'm lost on the rose petals." She shrugged, finished grinding the root, and set it to the side. "All in all, it looks like some sort of healing potion to me."

Finished with her tasks, Dee cocked her head to one side as she looked up at the young Professor, awaiting further instructions. But then, the question rose back up and slipped out before she could stop it, although it might have been smarter to hold it back, all things considered. Although it rose from genuine curiosity, she should just count her blessings and leave it at that. She didn't. "Why are you letting me help?"

@Aleksander Ostrowski