Potions
Pansy had always enjoyed the first days of classes; they were always easy and undemanding, with the occasional icebreaker activities. These first days are different, harder than the last. Some might presume that an unexpected sentiment on account of last years experiences, but in truth, The rough part of seventh year didn’t come until a number of months in. The initial days of classes were spent in blissfull ignorance. Reality didn’t suddenly come crashing down for Pansy, like it did others. For her, and presumably most of slytherin house, it was a slow descent into cognisance. A leer from an unusual looking teacher didn’t seem too bad, the occasional propagandistic lesson was just an abnormality, even an unforgivable curse left her mind unchanging. It wasn’t until Pansy was witness to a callow second year breaking down, sobbing in the corridors, that her mind began to shift. Supposedly, she had just received news of her younger brother’s repeated exposure to the cruciatus curse and his subsequent hospitalisation.
If she were asked to give a singular descriptive word to chronicle the feel of last year, only one word came to mind.
Frigid.
An adjective derived from the latin word, frigidus, meaning cold, or indifferent.
A lack of friendliness or warmth.
The professors, the hallways, the weather, the décor. Frigid.
Not that Slytherin house was ever particularly affable.
People always say that places hold memories. If that’s the case, hogwarts traps them in its walls. It doesn’t simply ‘hold’ onto them. It retains and fortifies, makes them seem immortal, indomitable. Every turn, every squeak, shout or echo unnerves her. It seems so full of tragedy and hopelessness. To once have been able to view it as a place of academia is unthinkable.
An ever looming presence of anguish and hollowness follow Pansy. Nightmares consumed her. She wasn’t sure whether she dreaded being awake or falling asleep more.
Peering outside her dorm window into the seemingly endless void that is the great lake. A lock of dark hair fell into her eyes and distracted her from her thoughts.
She had been meaning to get a trim sooner or later, but never got around to it. Perhaps she will ask Daphne to cut her hair.
Detached from her melancholic thoughts, she sits up and turns to inspect the cover of the book on her nightstand, that she is now almost finished with. The cover is emerald green with detailing of gold circles and squares.
Moving her attention to Salazar, who is curled up on her dark sheets, she reaches a manicured hand to stroke him.
A gentle knock sound on her wooden door
‘Hello? ’ A feminine voice comes from the other side. Daphne. Its almost time for their first potions class. Like Pansy had hoped, her and Daphne had been placed in the same class. That weird old man, Slughorn, is still the potions professor. Pansy rather liked Snape; it's a shame he died.
‘Come in’
The door is thrown wide. A Baffled Daphne steps in.
‘Why are you not changed? We need to leave in-…’ she peers at her wrist
‘two minutes ago!’ she exasperated.
Oh
She had lost track of time. Standing up, Pansy makes an exaggerated groan.
‘I forgot, you go; I'll be there soon’ She moves over to her wardrobe, quickly grabbing out her black and green robes.
‘…Ok, but hurry up,’ she hesitates.
‘I will, bye’
‘see ya’, Daphne turns away and walks, presumably, to potions. Luckily for Pansy, the potions classrooms are close to the dungeons. Grabbing her wand, She changes and casts a few charms to brush her teeth, accentuate her features and straighten her hair.
One last look in the mirror and she begins the short walk to potions. Rushing through the Slytherin common room, she glances at the large silver clock mounted on the wall. Fifteen minutes late, not too bad.
Pansy knocks three times on the potion’s classroom door, slightly puffed out and ruddy.
‘Come in’ proffessor Slughorns voice calls out
Opening and stepping through the arched doorway. She patiently awaits proffessor slughorns reprimand or instruction and takes record of the students in her class. She already knew all of the Slytherins that would be in this class; Daphne, Draco and Millicent.
Thomas, Looney, Finnegan, Chang, Granger, Potter…Longbottom, to name a few, sit at the thick workbenches. Until sixth year, classes are mixed with students from two houses. Beyond there, when NEWT’s and OWL’s begin, classes are an amalgamation of houses. A few Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in each. This is probably to create better inter-house relations before leaving Hogwarts.
‘Oh, Miss Parkinson! What a surprise! Have a look at the chart just next to you,’ he motioned to Pansy’s right
‘Your assigned bench and partner will be there. I was just about to start telling the class about our new inter-house relations policy,’ he continued
What.
Since when did potions classes have seating charts and assigned partners? Just as she is about to voice her disgruntlement, Professor Slughorm begins a tirade about how ‘important inter-house relations are, especially following what happened the previous year.’
Pansy stood motionless for a moment before turning to scrutinise the chart, Searching for her name.
…
There was no way.
Was the universe playing a sick joke on her?
She reluctantly turns her head to see a pair of green eyes staring at her. Oh, gods, she cringes. Apparently, her feelings show on her face because those green eyes turn away, showing a look she couldn’t quite discern. Trudging towards Neville Longbottom, Pansy scowls, further emphasizing her displeasure at this partnership. Yes, Longbottom may have grown slightly, but he was very likely still horrid at potions, and Pansy did not want to fail because of that incompetent oaf. Pansy maintains a good distance away from Longbottom. Some might say too far.
Keeping her eyes straight ahead, on Professor slughorn’s gesticular motions and passionate speech, still babbling about inter-house unity. Pansy internally scoffs.
After a whie, Pansy decides his speech has gone on for far too long and diverts her attention to the sturdy wooden bench in front of her. She notices a few distinct and childish caricatures of Snape and faintly smiles. Is it evil to find mocking illustrations of a murdered professor slightly amusing? Whatever.
A small huff comes from about a metre on her left. She glimpses in his direction to find him with a faint, barely noticeable smile on his face.
… Are they the beginings of dimples?
…
She abruptly turns away, hoping he didn’t catch her. Although, if he did, she was sure she could play it off as a judgemental once-over.
Focusing back on professor Slughorn, she realizes that he has moved on to a different topic. Our first topic. Pansy has already looked at the syllabus, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to hear what the professor has to say.
‘This semester, in preparation for your NEWT’S, we’ll be focusing on practical potion brewing rather than theory. Theory will be interspersed throughout the semester, but, well, only when necessary. If you’ve read the syllabus, you will know which potions we’ll be brewing in the coming weeks. If you skipped the reading, we’ll be brewing in this order--’ He grabs a sheet of parchment atop his desk, puts on his glasses and carefully reads
‘The essence of insanity, Amortentia, doxyside, babbling beverage, veritaserum, the antidote to veritaserum, Draught of living death and felix felicis.’
Looking up from the parchment, he continues
‘Many of you will have brewed some of these potions before but are likely in need of revision.’
Pansy drowns out proffessor slughorns voice to survey the classroom once again. Barely anyone was paying attention. Some were quietly chattering, some were doodling, and some were staring absently at the wall or floorboards. She was unbelievably bored; the professor was still talking; nothing he was saying was even remotely of importance or helpful; he was just talking for the sake of it. What’s that saying? He liked the sound of his own voice.
A rhythmic tapping fills her ears. She discretely looked around for the source, only to find it to be Looney Lovegood, who looked a few seconds away from humming. Please don’t, Pansy thought. Pansy didn’t really hate Looney; she just thought she was incredibly obscure. Her voice was airy and wistful, and no one could ever understand what she was blithering on about. Sometimes, Pansy even found her entertaining in a weird sort of way, especially when Granger was getting all pinched and irritated when talking to her.
Pansy was so caught up in her own thoughts that she forgot to look away, resulting in an awkward eye-locking between her and Looney. A moment goes by, and Pansy slowly turns and looks away. Embarrassing, She internally winces.
The tapping stops.
‘uhm..Parkinson’ a meek voice calls. She looks to her left, leaning her hip on the bench.
‘What? ’
…
‘we need to get the ingredients prepared for brewing’ he sheepishly responds, shifting from one foot to the other.
‘Okay, get cracking then, go get the ingredient list. What are you standing around for?’ Pansy inspects her nails.
A silence envelops them as the classroom erupts in movement and chattering. Pansy looks up at him expectantly, only to see his back to her, walking towards Professor slughorns desk. Grabbing one of the many replicated parchments on the it, he turns and begins conversing with a bushy-haired brunette. Pansy, being the patient person she is, looks behind her and walks over to where Daphne is standing with her partner, Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw who dated the famous Harry Potter.
Daphne and Cho Chang’s silent awkwardness could be observed from metres away. They wordlessly organised their bench, hands knocking together every now and then.
‘Hey’ Pansy greeted Daphne, both girls looked up. Seeing who it was, Chang focused her attention back on crushing beetle eyes.
‘hey…. So, you got longbottom?’ she said with a grin. Pausing her dicing of frozen frog brains. Her hands were blue, pale, and bloodless from the cold.
‘Yea, unfortunately’, she makes a face that hopefully silently conveys her annoyance at the situation.
‘He is completely incompetent at potions. Yes, he pulled a sword out of a hat and killed a snake, but let's be honest, that doesn’t necessarily require an high level of intellect, only stupidity disguised as bravery and a reasonably fast reaction time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knocks over our cauldron a minimum of 4 times this semester,’ Pansy snorted, shaking her head, leaning on the desk closest to her and crossing her ankles.
‘Yeah,’ Daphne stifles a chuckle. Daphne, still smirking, moves her gaze just past Pansy, looking at something behind her. Her lips pursing slightly. Pansy turned her head to see what she was looking at. It's Longbottom, staring at Pansy and Daphne, looking slightly abashed. Well, she guesses he heard what she said. Whatever. Pansy stands by it. Sighing, she says goodbye to Daphne and strolls back to her desk ready for the impending awkwardness between her and Longbottom.
Longbottom had set the list on the bench, his back leaning on it and hands holding the edge of it. Walking back to their shared bench space gave Pansy some time to study him. He was wearing his Gryffindor robes; the colour washed him out, she thought. He would look much more sophisticated in Ravenclaw blue. Something about him had changed, not only his appearance. He seemed more sure of himself, less than an average person, but for Longbottom, it was a serious improvement. He was still the definition of meek, that hadn’t changed.
His Gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him, and he seemed to be chewing on his lip, not in a sexy or playful way but in a nervous-compulsive sort. When Pansy reached him, she took the piece of parchment off the bench and started reading. She could briefly remember some of the ingredients from when she brewed the essence of insanity during sixth year.’
Sensing his gaze almost piercing a hole through her head, she turns to glance at him. His face was completely blank of emotion. No nervousness. No meekness. He was simply staring. Once he noticed her looking at him, he went slightly red and averted his gaze. Annoyed, Pansy huffed and started off to grab the ingredients.
The essence of insanity causes irrational decision-making in the drinker. It’s a deep swampy green colour and is thin and opaque. It’s an advanced-level potion, first brewed in the sixth year; Snape was the professor then. Grabbing the ingredients, she makes her way back to the bench.
Everything neccessary to prepare the ingredients sit atop the bench. Longbottom must have gotten them. Pansy places the ingredients down and begins opening jars; grabbing spoons, and a knife, she starts dicing the frozen frog brains into small squares. A large hand reaches over to seize the jar of pearl’s and the mortar and pestle to grind the pearls into a fine powder.
They silently work until all ingredients are prepped and sealed, ready for the next lesson. Once The clock hits 10, students rush to leave, bumping into each other, loudly laughing and gossiping.
All other classes go on as usual. That day, Pansy had DADA second, Charms third, a free period, and Finally, transfiguration.
After a quick hangout in the Slytherin common room, Pansy decides to retire to her room for the night. As far as Pansy was aware, all eighth years have their own dorm rooms. It was a blessing for Pansy. She never did have a penchant for sharing her things. She was basically an only child, a rich one at that. Spoiled since birth, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves being wealthy and adores nice things; she isn't ashamed of it. In fact, her imminent wealth is the only reason she is going along with her mother’s wish for her to be married to a wealthy pureblood. Pansy didn’t particularly care about blood status; she only cared about money, and as it happens, most purebloods are exceedingly wealthy.