A Taste of the Medicine Potions Championship II

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Calming Presence in Effect: Figaro Affected

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"Antivenom is useless to me." Piérre muttered to himself, flipping quickly through his notebook again. Flashes of sketches and lopsided notes in smeared and indistinguishable handwriting in both Italian and English flashed through his mind's eye as he passed them by quickly. "Nothing in the Sixth year curriculum helps me either--I don't want those things to fall in love with me or something." A deep-seated frustration rippled through him for a moment. "I would like to make something easier to make, cut out the middleman of potential failure entirely, but none of it is helpful to me in this situation...!"

He hesitated for a moment on Scintillation Solution, turning the idea in his head. "I like the idea of something to help me think more clearly... something that can boost my reflexes... I'm probably going to have to dance at some point during this task..." Baruffio's... "Too much of a gamble." Wit-Sharpening... "Could offset the psychosis... but if I'm already done in like that... No. I need to avoid it to begin with." Girding potion... "Energy yes, good. Stamina is good... but I need faster reflexes."

That, of course, meant that by nature the remaining candidate was: "Vitamix. I was hoping I wouldn't have to do two difficult brews back to back." He ruffled his hair in frustration as his brow furrowed heavily. "I can do it. I don't like it but I can do it." Figaro rubbed on his leg with a deep purr before starting to make biscuits. A small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "But you know what? That would make it all the more rewarding when I do pull it off. I can prove that I can do this on my own. On my..." He paused before setting his jaw again as the smile erased itself once more.

"Yeah. On my own. Because I need to grow up, don't I." Despite himself, he pinched his right hand's palm between his left's finger and thumb, feeling the metacarpels glide beneath his skin. He could still feel the sensation of friction burn--as well as its former blisters--there that had long healed from the summer. "Played around too much. Found out a bit too much." He flexed his fingers. The metacarpels glided. "Ran my mouth, sang and played my song. Got egged." A snicker came from him. "Yeah. Egg on my face. Just the idiot anyways. Oh--come off it, Piérre!"

The hiss resulted in his spinning on the stool as he went to go collect the materials. A copper cauldron became the temporary holder of a phial of Essence of Wormwood, a melting rock, pliers, and a jar of armadillo bile and in his free hand he held the bundles of standard ingredient, asphodel root, and dried aconite. "What is wrong with you anyhow? What's always been wrong with you, huh?"

Figaro watched his master whilst sitting on the table, black tipped tail flicking back and forth with amused observation. It wasn't a new sight to see his mater talking to himself--indeed the boy often went on the verbal soliloquizing tirades in the confines of the Niffler Nook that he inhabited on his lonesome. The subject of the day often varied from the events of the day to worrying over an upcoming assessment, to rambling over ways to remember important topics, to roleplaying aloud to practice how he would try to approach a conversation or a circumstance he was always too cowardly to actually pursue. "Trying to butt in where you don't belong. Thinking that people want to associate with you. Mucking it up and getting emotional when you're not supposed to. Aguamenti!"

The copper cauldron filled with water. "You have four people that maybe tolerate you: three of them are family and one of them is a cat." He spared a glance at Figaro. "Maybe five. Remains to be seen. Incendio."

With a hiss of fire, a fireball blew back onto the boy's hand, causing the Britalian to yelp and drop his wand before beating out the fire on his sleeves and tearing off the burnt black glove that had once been on it. While the tinder beneath the pot had successfully been made to burn, so had the boy himself, and with a hissing grimace of his own, he fought back the pained tears that accompanied the deep and laughing sinking in his chest. Pressing his now burned left hand to his chest for a few seconds, he took a few deep breaths and then picked up his wand in his right again, ignoring the redness and blisters that were forming once more. "Ferula." He said softly, to the response of white cotton bandages wrapped supportively about the burns to contain and conceal them.

Maybe he should stop thinking. Stop talking. On the wild pendulum swinging between offensive and obnoxious, Piérre couldn't seem to find a way to break himself off from the thing that was propelling him. How content was he to watch other people succeed, to find their places at the price of his staying behind to catch or to be the very encouragement that parents warned their children not to become? Was it a matter of contentment? Was it a matter of serving a purpose, of being the point?

Preparation of the mortar and pestle while the cauldron heated: three drops from the phial of essence of wormwood with the help of a pipette, one full measure of standard ingredient and then another half, and then an intense crushing and grinding until the material was reduced into a thick paste. Collected from the sides of the mortar and turned in his hand as he ensured that every bit was properly blended in, Piérre's brow furrowed as he lightly held a hand over the copper cauldron to determine its heat. Hot but not unbearable. Likely ten seconds before he would have felt the need to pull his hand back.

In went the paste, scraped even from the edges, and then on went a few more branches to increase the heat and sustain the flame. He peeled the remnants of the non-root of the asphodel from the heads, and then the cleaned damask blade sliced the root into thin slices. Collecting all the pieces, the heads were then sliced perpendicularly to the first cuts, creating tiny pieces of similarly sized cubed root. A glance at the potion told that it was finally grey, and with the help of the flat of the blade, the diced root was swept into the cauldron in kind.

More branches were added to the fire, the hue shifting slowly from grey into crimson red as the asphodel was allowed to steep into the mixture. Right hand still covered by a single black glove, Piérre held the dried out aconite over the red liquid, gently sprinkling the plant into the cauldron in a slow, controlled rate. He was watching for the hue shift again, the gradual color change as if by titration as with bit and bit of aconite administered the potion transformed into a dark tiger lily orange.

"Melting rock time. Come here, you." Up the stone was swept into his right hand and then gently slipped it into the cauldron without so much as a ripple of disturbance. Now it was time for more fuel. And a bit more help from himself and his magic--just in case. "Incendio."

Between his magic and the pre-existent flames, the chromatic shift from orange to turquoise came quickly, and when the full color was nearly present, Piérre extinguished the flames of his wand and then retrieved the stone from the bottom of the copper cauldron with the help of the tongs. Immediately after came another gout of flame of "Incendio!" to assist the further heating of the cauldron. It was a good thing that copper was melt-resistant, Piérre reflected, as the turquoise began to shift back into its comfortable crimson red once more. Probably the reason it had been necessary for this brew.

As soon as the color was nearly settled, the yew wand was extinguished again. A cleaning of the measuring tool and then then three whole measures of armadillo bile were added to the concoction. A strangely unfulfilling resolution to the brewing of the mixture, a bit of an uncomfortable realization of the thing that this potion was made of... but it was complete. There was only one last thing to do.

Bottle them. Bottle them, and bottle up with a smile that was trained to conceal. "Hah... well... I guess it's showtime."

Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 8 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 9

Abilities:
Keen Eye • Calming Presence • Beast Master [Cat] • Cat's Grace • Animagus • Muggle Condition

Items:
Wand [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | [Violet] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Soda
[Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife