Mind Over Moderation |
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Calming Presence in Effect: Figaro Affected
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26 September 2025
"Study Hall" Period
"Study Hall" Period
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Just as much as Groucho Marx was correct when he said that reality was the only place to get a decent meal, so too could it be said that while Hogwarts was not the place that Piérre was crazy about to returning to in the fall, it did happen to be one of the only places that he could obtain ingredients at a very inexpensive cost due to his student status.
That being said, it was finally his last year at the school, so it would (thankfully) be one of the last times that he would have to plight the halls as one of the most underwhelming students that the school would likely ever graduate and--truth be told--were probably grateful for the fact that he was never again going to shadow their doorways. His report cards had always been enough proof towards that assessment, remarks on how he could "benefit from applying himself in the classroom", that he "has great potential but does not seem interested in participating" and that if he "spent just as much time on his schoolwork as he does in creating magical mayhem in the academic setting" being found in spades that had only proliferated ever since the close of his fourth year.
It was very true that he did not apply himself to the taught schoolwork that he was given. He often gave half-baked answers and efforts in his homework due to the desire to want to finish it quickly and work on more important things. His spellcasting was often messy, resulted in many disasters, so instead of embarrassing himself by doing so he often focused his efforts on skills pertaining to his hands and form--his cardistry, agility, and slight of hand had gotten quite good by now indeed. His prowess on a broom was remarkable, though he was humble enough to admit that it was far from "peerless", and he often felt more comfortable in the sky than on the ground. His wardrobe, too, was delinquent in regards to the uniform standards of Hogwarts--he had finally entirely shunned the colors of the houses and instead had decided to dress to his own desires: today it was a white undershirt with a leather sherpa lined with sheepswool and "dress casual" black slacks.
He found that he was often tired. Bored. Half-hearted bordering on perpetually crestfallen. Sure he found a sparkle of pleasure at times when it came to watching the younger students rush and mill about, chattering like starlings with their classmates in a way that caused a slight smile to come and go like a phantom dancing across his features, but when they left he found that the same darkness alit on his heart once more, his thoughts swirling with concepts and ideas that had no real start nor end.
There was, however, one class that he had started to excel in--actually started to excel in. While he was a natural in Muggle Studies, Astronomy, and to some degrees Divination, the magic art that required actual practice that he had truly started to outstrip some of his peers in was Potions. How this was could have been any stranger's guess, but Piérre himself knew the secret that he held in his satchel. The rather intimate source that he possessed.
The knowledge held within that he wanted to capitalize on, that he wanted to experiment with directly.
Their new Potions professor, a Samuel Sauber had been searching for volunteers for something or other related to potions. Piérre had put his name forward, perhaps hoping that he would gain something of interest from the little gallivant under the severe professor's eye. It always seemed that the serious professors were always the most intriguing to the Britalian. They always had been, for some reason--always so interesting to try to peel apart and dissect layer by layer. And, if nothing else, fun to mess with. He had taken to fondly calling the man "Sammy" in correspondences whenever he had questions on the classroom content for a reason, after all. It was an old tradition of his, if nothing else, but something a little deeper in him simply piped up that giving that particular nickname was right.
So... Professor Sammy it was.
The dungeons no longer frightened the boy. Not really, considering they had never really "frightened" him before. Uncomfortably cold and remarkably damp, maybe, but never as "eerie" as so many of the students liked to gossip about to each other. So he knocked on the classroom door twice before trying the handle and attempting to let himself in if it had been left unlocked. "Didn't mean to be late." He mumbled as he fumbled with the books in his arms and his cat winding around his legs while his eyes flicked to the ground in a desire to avoid eye contact for the moment. His mind was occupied with other things. "Oreo's lecture ran long and then he lectured us on... Nevermind." Someone in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class had stupidly tried to attempt a personally contrived variant of the Finger Removing Jinx that had resulted in a bloody mess and a conjuring of the Nurse to fix the boo-boo.
He dropped his satchel on a desk chair, his eyes finally lifting to meet Sauber's with a piercing poison green gleam before asking: "Can I put my things over here, and where do you want my cat?" He tipped his head.
The bag jingled with many strange and obscure artifacts that he had collected throughout his time at the school. If he was lucky perhaps he wouldn't be asked to turn it inside out and then asked about why or how he had access to but a fraction of the things he possessed in phials and the general liminal space within--the artifact of his sudden interest in potions included.
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@Samuel Sauber
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight