7 Jul 2022, 16:45
Playing with Death
PV. @Magdalena Wickham-Deakin
Time: Early evening, after class.
A new year at Hogwarts. Somehow it didn't feel any different. Of course, this year was different. Most students were figuring out what they wanted with their future. What they aspired to be, even finding out their Patronus'. Falentra however now started to take each day with a pinch of salt . She didn't get her hopes up for anything anymore. She didn't necessarily care where she ended up in the years to follow. Maybe it was just her teenage hormones throwing a fit, maybe it wasn't. But whatever it was, the timing wasn't great. The newly graduated sixth year was always secretly bright but there was a part of her this year that just seemed to be missing or lost, hence the go with the flow attitude. She still enjoyed certain classes, Potion being one of them, but she never outwardly really showed the enthusiasm. To her, Potions was a touchy subject. She knew more than she let on to, still renaming to be the quiet kid of the class; never daring to raise her hand to answer a question for the dreadful sake of heads turning to judge her and her answer. If she was correct, she was a cocky know it all. If she got it wrong, she was an embarrassment. She couldn't win, so, silence it was.
Now, back to the reason for her particular interest in Potions. Since she started here at Hogwarts, Falentra has always carried a small journal like book with her everywhere. Never once has she made it obvious that she did. Never has she told anyone about it. There had never been even a hint of curiosity in her to wonder what her closest friends could have thought of it. She couldn't risk it. Besides, it was too late now. To bring such a subject up to even those closest to her was risky... what if they judged her or told a professor? She could have been screwed for holding onto something like this.
It was her fathers book. The only thing she had left of him, and her mother-- in a sense. They once had their own Potions shop, though she remembered very little of it. What she did know was that her father was utterly obsessed with it. It was like his perfect creation that he sadly showed more love to than he did her.
Within it contained noticeable experiments that weren't concerning. Most was trail and error. The odd sketches of magical creatures, unique and rare ingredients scribbled around them. A few torn out pages. Some notes that had be scribbled out beyond recognition with anger; harsh scribbles that resulted in tears scattered throughout. Coffee stains and unknown liquids were stained on some pages too. It was obvious this book had been through the wars. But.. the further you read into the book, the darker it got. Death. Resurrection. Potions which she had never heard of and most likely created by her father. Falentra didn't understand. She was too young to, but she knew it had to be some form of dark magic. She figured it had to have been after her mothers death. It was around that time that her father spiraled into madness. So it was only fitting that this is what that was.
Falentra hoped that once day, after holding onto something she knew nothing about for years on end, that she would come to understand its meanings. Maybe one day there would be a part of her that could sympathies or understand her fathers madness, his strictness and harshness towards her.
It wasn't long since her final class had ended for the day. She was a good walk away from the classroom by now. Her hand rested in her bag that hung close to her shoulder. It did it's usual routine; to have a quick pat around to make sure everything felt as though it was in place. It was only her urges of wanting everything perfectly in place kicking in.
Only seconds later would she stop in her tracks. She eyes darted down to the bag which she now opened and started to search. The journal wasn't anywhere to be seen. Shit.... shit shit shit! She cursed in her head before turning and going back on her tracks. They glanced over the corridor desperately. Her pace increased and her mind raced ahead of itself. It wasn't long before she ended back at the door of the Potions Classroom. She never prayed, but right now she was praying to every god there was that her Professor wasn't inside, or worse... have her book.
She entered with caution though it was noticeable that she was anxious. Droplets of sweat trickled down her face and her cheeks were flushed, popping out against the rest of her pale complexion. The first thing her eyes did was set themselves on the only other figure in the room. ''Fuck..'' She mumbled under her breath. Why did she have to still be here? There were no time for questions. She just had to risk it and head straight over to her desk in hopes that the book was still there.
''... Evenin'.'' Her gazed broke nervously from Magdalena's. ''I.. I just forgot somethin'. I'll be gone in a sec..'' She painfully murmured under her breath. Her eyes dared not to make contact with the professors for a second time round. Instead, she quickly hurried over to her desk and started to search around it. It wasn't here. It had to be here! She had it here, she remembered!
With her back to the professor, her nails scrapped and tapped against her desk. She wanted to look over her shoulder to the other but knew at this point she had to have had it. That or another student had mistakenly taken it.
Pre-warning: May contain strong language and talks of death throughout.
| Falentra Black Fearless . Perfectionist Ⅰ & II . Healing Sage . Non-Verbal Magic . Imperio | Rain Günther |
17 Jul 2022, 11:53
Playing with Death
The sixth year potions lesson had been the last class for the day, and for the most part it had gone very well. Those students who’d remained with the subject into the NEWT-level courses were either interested in potioncraft, or at the very least, were competent enough that the professor no longer needed to wear the proverbial kiddy gloves. She’d made her expectations known quickly and rather pointedly, if they wanted to learn the more advanced and dangerous elixirs and poisons that she’d be teaching them for the next two years, they needed to treat the subject with the utmost respect. A miscast spell or an incorrect ingredient could lead to serious consequences, and she had neither the time nor patience to deal with larrikins who felt the need to test boundaries.
Fortunately, she’d not needed to bring the hammer down, and in due course the small cohort of sixth years had funnelled out of the classroom and back towards their common rooms or the great hall. Magdalena for her part, had taken to tidying up the classroom. Some of the ingredients and recipes provided throughout the course of the classroom were rather dangerous, and it would be an unmitigated disaster were a first or second year to accidentally stumble upon them. There were many things that twelve year olds could be trusted with, the Draught of Living Death was absolutely not one of them.
Thus, she’d wandered around and collected the few scraps left, when the most peculiar sight struck her. The book was hardly standard school issue, and it certainly did not seem to be one of the more advanced tomes that certain Ravenclaws borrowed from the library and poured over in their freetime. Were she to hazard a guess, the potions professor would assume it was a journal, but it did not appear to be one of the personal diaries that some of the students opted to keep. All in all, the book seemed somewhat out of place. Yet, not to any extent that would bring about suspicion. She wasn’t in the habit of patrolling what her students read, not where it did not put them or others in danger, micromanagement of self-guided learning was the antithesis to that very goal.
Innocently, and truth-be-told absent-mindedly, Magdalena picked up the book to flick through its pages. If she could discern a name then she could return it to the student during their lesson tomorrow, a simple solution to a simple problem.
Yet, the pages contained magic that was far from simple, and certainly not the sort of material that a student should have been in possession of. As she parsed through its latter pages, consistent theming was readily apparent, and in due course, she found herself enraptured by the content. Not so much by what it contained, but by what it was, and the mere fact that a child had been in possession of it. Death and rebirth, necromancy, a foul school of magic, practised by even fouler wizards. She could feel her jaw clench as emotions of equal parts concern and rage bubbled to the surface. With a resolute snap, she slammed the book shut then took a breath to consider her options. No matter whom it belonged to, she’d need to speak to the student, that much was certain. While she doubted that it would serve as a true grimoire for dark magicks, nor an instructional handbook as to how to raise the dead, the content itself should have been restricted to the more secure parts of the library. Yet, a student had been wandering the castle, no doubt studying its text.
She sniffed as she took the book to her desk, placing it within one of the drawers, where she could deal with it at a later date. Not soon after she had put it away, and returned to the last cleaning required before she could turn her mind to it in truth, one of her students re-entered the classroom.
Falentra Black was clever enough, but Magdalena never would have presumed her the type to be studying the sort of material contained in the tome she’d located. Nonetheless, she all but made a beeline to the desk from which the journal had been taken, her words betraying her intention just as much as her actions had. The book had belonged to her, and no doubt she’d not intended for any adult eyes to fall upon its content.
“The book, you mean?” Magdalena asked, placing her hands in her coat pockets as she did so, “I take it that it’s yours?”
She was careful to keep her expression and voice as stoney as possible, lest her intentions in interrogation be betrayed, even for the slightest moment, “Interesting content in that, Miss Black, I suppose you know that I have to ask whereabouts you found it?”
@Falentra Black
The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts