(1938-09-30) 6th Year Potions Class: Volubilis Potion Prep
Details for 6th Year Potions Class: Volubilis Potion Prep
Summary: Volubilis Potion is the subject matter of the sixth year NEWT Potions class.
Date: September 30th, 1938
Location: Potions Classroom
 Potion's Classroom                                             Hogwarts Castle
 Mon Sep 30, 1938 ((Mon Sep 30 18:53:24 2013))                       (Dungeons) 
              It is a fall night. The weather is cool and fair.                

         The Potions classroom is a windowless classroom with stone
 arches running along its walls holding up a low ceiling. Within each
 arch are shelves that hold glass jars with pickled animal remains,
 both Muggle and Magical. Under the shelves are cabinets that stand
 open during class times to give students access to all of the potion
 making materials they might need. The room itself is a big square 
filled with a double row of long tables with enough space for four or 
five students to have a cauldron set up and books open at each one.
 At the end of the room is a stone dais with a desk set upon it from
 which the Potions Master can survey the entirety of the room. During 
classes the entire room is illuminated by guttering torches and the 
burners underneath the students cauldron making for a 
rather gloomy atmosphere. 

Contents:     Alphard  Soleil  Gerald   

Exits:       [S]   Labyrinthine Hall          
OOC Reference Material

Link to Volubilis Potion Info
Link To Mandrake Info

Soleil gives a bit of a sigh, the sort that a teenage girl gives when she's bored and not challenged in a task. The potion the sixth years are being tasked with is the Volubilis Potion, which when drunk alters the drinker's voice. But first, in order to get the ingredients together they must make the stewed mandrake. So she slides on her ear muffs tightly and waits from the signal from Professor Slughorn. Once the signal is given, she grabs the potted mandrake by the base of the leaves close to the soil. A good yank up and out comes the squirming screaming mandrake roots that look a lot like a baby. Swiftly and with a callous slice Soleil brings a knife down and decapitates the root and begins to neatly chop the still squirming (but no longer screaming) root into bits before adding it into the provided cauldron that's at a rumbling boil.

Alphard's nose was scrunchy-wriggled up in absolute concentration - a distinctive improvement on its usual state of high-in-the-air snobbish arrogance - as he did his very best to keep up with the lesson. Occasionally he worried on his botton lip with his canine tooth, too, risking biting it bloody if he ever got startled by anything. In a world of his own was Alphard. He didn't even have time to sling any derogatory remarks around. It wasn't that he was bad at Potions, mind, but it was one of those subjects that just didn't come natural to him. He had to work for the good grades for once.
CHOPCHOPCHOP. At least the brutal massacre of the squealing Mandrake seemed to please him. He was grinning the whole time he was wielding that knife of his. A glance went to Soleil, then became a frown as he complained: "How did you manage to do that so bloody fast?" Grumble. It just wasn't fair. She even seemed bored!

Earmuffs? Check. Cutting apparatus? Check. Creepy, squirming, screaming plant fetus? Yup. Gerald, next to Soleil, gives his actions far more time to sink in. He tugs the planet free, eyeing the wriggling planet with a look of amusement before following suite with the chopping. It's slow but deliberate, and relatively enjoyed by the look on his face. The chopped bits are dumped into the cauldron, his attention slipping lazily toward the others near by.

Door of the classroom opens very silently and a girl, looking as ghost, sneaks inside. She walks on her tiptoes, very silently. Step after step in the shadows of the room. However, her elegancy, all the lady's manners remain in her stance. Her chin is raised, gaze a bit haughty, and she is perfectly natty: soft glinting white skin, perfectly looking Slytherin uniform, and frosted locks, which are swaying freely near her shoulders. And everything would be perfect, if…
If she wouldn't drown into her own minds. If she wouldn't start blushing and chuckling under her nose.S he loses attention and stumbles over something, what shouldn't be on the ground. Books from her hands fall down as loudly as possible, but girl quickly squats to take them. Being so small,so petite,she vanishes behind the table.

Soleil replies primly to Alphard's whine, "I've been decapitating Mandrakes and stewing them ever since you were playing with your toy Auror's Alphard, it's called dedication and practice." She does smirk gently over at the fellow Slytherin. "A good tug with this hand and you sweep the blade across following along a few inches below the arm you're holding it with will give good velocity to take any sharp enough blade clean through the neck of the squirming brat." Barely a glance is given to the tardy Janette, trying not to draw any attention to the girl.

Unfortunately Slughorn does notice, "So good of you to join us Miss Abbott, good thing you were as late as you were, moments sooner and you would have fallen to the floor dead. 10 points from Slytherin. Hope that someone will be willing to give you some of their Stewed Mandrake. Have a seat, and while the Mandrake is stewing, I would like an essay on what exactly was the cause of your tardiness. This is NEWT levels Miss Abbott, I understand if they are too taxing. We can discuss your future in this class after the bell. Yes? Very good. Now, everyone else, begin the count down. Five minutes of study time while we wait for our little ones to stew."

Janette opens her mouth in order to explain about falling boy and bleeding and stuff, but… It is better to speak about everything after the bell, indeed. It is her most favourite lecture, after all. She cusses under her nose, mentioning the boy's name from quite an obvious D letter.
She quite quickly appears near the table and starts working as hard, quickly and good as she can.

"And you make it sound like that's actually a -good- way to spend your time. Merlin's hairy ass, I -hate- these things." Alphard's nose wrinkled. "The only fun part is butchering them." The bastard child of a chuckle and a snort followed, joined with an eyeroll, though it died soon enough. Replaced with a tortured sigh and an eyeroll as Janette was caught white-handed in her entrance. "-Amazingly- subtle entrance, Abbot. Just like a real ghost, floating in and then making a mess!" From the protective way he sheltered his pot, he wasn't going to be giving away any of -his- leftover Mandrake.

Soleil smiles over at Alphard, "Yes, I find the fact that I'll probably be receiving an O in this class without trying while you'll be lucky to get an A if Slughorn overhears you whining more than brewing so hush." Soleil and most of Alphard's female relatives that have recently been through Hogwarts are all relatively good acquaintances or actual friends, so she sounds rather like they do when she tells the Black boy to shush. Very big sisterly. With another sigh of exasperation she slides from her stool and alights over to her storage cubby against the wall. She's had to install shelving inside her cubby for all the vessels to fit within. A quick sorting and she plucks up a glass bottle that's shaped like a mandrake root with the cork of the bottle in the wailing glass roots mouth. It's brought over and set down on Janette's workspace, "Do try not to use it all." When she returns to her seat she does give Gerald a weary smile and whispers, "Do you have any Housemates that drive you mad?"

Gerald listens, and watches, with a vague amusement. He even quirks a brow at the failed sneaking attempt, only to find himself distracted again. It's Soleil's fault. "Eh. Doesn't seem right to say." He chuckles below his breath. "Just keep you're head down and you're opinion wiiiidddeee open." In other words..YES. "You do realize it's a little unnerving that you're so comfortable cutting the heads off things. Which reminds me..you look nice today." Ahem.

"He wouldn't!" Alphard declared confidently, even as he flickered a look in Slughorn's direction just to make sure that the Professor wasn't actually listening in on his earlier gripes. After all, he wasn't in the special Slughorn club of favorites. Which was really unfair, since he was more than special enough to warrant the extra attention, damn it! He shifted in his seat a couple of time, wriggle-wriggling, before opening up his book and then dedicating himself to at least looking like he was studying with an earnest.
Alphard gives you a cookie.

Soleil smirks a little when Gerald admits how disturbing he finds her Mandrake slaying skills. She retorts rather proudly, "We all have our specialties." She can't keep the complete psycho act up and melts in a dry chuckle. "I like to think of it more like I'm saving others. Like slaying a rampaging dragon. If I don't silence the screams quickly, people like our precious Janette would have dropped dead just now. Quick, surgical strike of a /plant/ and no one dies. I'm a hero." The last part is said with teasing mock bravado. "Thank you Gerald. I like the way you knotted your tie today, is that a Windsor?"

As for the Professor, when Alphard glanced his gaze was met, the look exchanged was an expression that yes, perhaps the Professor could hear what's being said thorough his classroom. But it is because Alphard is a member of the special circle that is the Slug Club that he wasn't openly reprimanded. But the moment of silent warning goes by quickly before the Professor returns to picking out colors and swatches of fabric from a box for the Slug Club Halloween Party that he's planning.

"Of course you are." Gerald watches Soleil for the entirety of her speech, but his gaze dims halfway through as his attention again wanders. Still, quiet by nature, he keeps whatever thoughts he's having silent for now. "I'm sure Janette will forever be in your debt. This is said with a small eye-roll as he glances back toward Alphard.

Alphard kept a straight face, like he didn't at all know that he had something he aught to feel guilty about. At the same time, his 'pretend' studying became studying in earnest instead. Just in case the Professor decided to ambush him with some questions later he was going to be ready for it. Five minutes. He could be a good student if he had to. Just add a touch of incentive; like not joining Janette into being talked down to. Once or twice he opened his mouth like he was going to make a comment on the subtle conversation he caught bits and pieces of from between Soleil and Gerald. Every time he chomped his mouth shut again, though, with wary looks towards Slughorn. When Gerald looked at him, he was met with a: 'Its-so-unfair-that-I-get-the-shush-treatment!' sort of look.

Soleil gives another sigh when Gerald loses interest, but it's well timed as soon emoigh the bell on the Professor's desk is given five sharp rings, signaling that the mandrake is stewed! Soliel diligently turns the burner under her cauldron off, full stop and gives the brew within ten clockwise stirs and then ritualistically gives the rim of the cauldron three taps of the spoon handle so it knocks the spoon clean before she whisper counts to 42. Then she begins the process of ladeling the viscous stew into more of those mandrake looking glass vials. Which are specially her own, most everyone else has normal bottles to use.

Gerald is proficient enough that despite his wandering attention, he at least seems somewhat compient in what he's doing. He stirs, carefully, taps..pours..into his plain little bottle which judging by his expression, is fine with him. He does notice the looks spared between the other male and the professor, which earns Alphard a grin and a small jut of his chin. He won't share the pain, but he'll acknowledge it..just for fun! "What's the sigh for? I'm not the /best/ company sure, but I'm better than the root." In other words, his conversation wont kill her!

Once more the Black was the picture of absolute concentration, focused on following the recipy of his book down to the last letter. No inspired augmentations from him, no little tweaks or personal touches. It was all straight laced and by the letter, with the occasional mumble as he talked himself through the process. At least in the absence of any great genius, he did have some steady hands.
"Speaking of heroics. You should've seen Macmillian yesterday. That was a sight!" Whispering while he poured, a nasty little chuckle bubbling up under his breath. "I was at the pitch training by myself.. and he comes along all stupified, doesn't notice there's a Bludger loose. WHAMP! Takes it straight in the rump, does a flip all over, and then tries to -punch it-. His howl was loud enough to kill! Then goes running! I've never seen anyone that fast. Hehe. Finally I got there and saved him."

Soleil presses another cork into the glass vial and arches a brow over at Alphard's bit of gossip, "Who now? Getting a bludger to the arse, it's a wonder he could move at all, let alone run. In practice a couple of weeks ago, Kaiden knocked a bludger and it came veering around behind me in my blind spot, clocked me right in the back of the head, and right off my broom, the bludgers are being especially ruthless this year. Kaiden made sure I didn't hit the pavement, but then of course acted like I was supposed to swoon over him like some medieval damsel in distress." Eye-roll. "Are you trying for the Quidditch team this year Gerald?"

Gerald chuckles as he listens, and while the conversation is welcoming enough, the young man does little more than fill his vials and offer the occasional snickerad wince for the particularly ruthless points. Then again, that expression of ease wavers for a moment as he's not only addressed but questions. "Who, me?" yup, there's a small crack in his 'calm', but he recovers with a casual enough shrug, "Naa. I believe I'll leave Quidditch to those more suited for bone breaking bludger attacks and concussions. But I make a great spectator. Go team." He mocks a small cheer before he corks a vile and sets it aside. "You should have swooned," he then adds with a force look of seriousness, "Guys have especially fragile egos. If you don't swoon, you're potentially sending them into a downward spiral of self-loathing. It usually ends in hero worship or 35 year old men living at home with their aged mothers. You should find him and swoon, just to make sure he's." Yup.

"I don't know his first name.." Alphard looked to Gerald for guidance, seeing as how Macmillian was a Gryffindor. "Donny..? Danny? Douglas? Actually Douglas sounds about right." One of his broad shoulders rolled with the sort of artfully dismissive shrug that only a proper brat of a teenager could produce. "Seventh year." At some point he started paying a bit too much attention to Soleil and Gerald, and had to snap his eyes back onto his bottle before he spilled everything over his desk. Last moment save! That was the practical benefits of Quidditch for you.
Snickering he bobbed his head in agreement. "Yeah, you should've swooned. I can just picture it." Grin. His teasing didn't have any nasty edge, though. Good natured when it came to her. "Oh, Kaiden, Kaiden!" Flutterwave of his hand against his face, as if he was half fainting, while his eyes beat like butterfly wings. Staring up at an imagined hero (a point midway to the cieling) all moonstruck. Then the expression broke with a chuckle, and he was back to the lesson.

Soleil chuckles softly at Gerald's disertation on the fragility of men egos. "Well he can spiral all he likes." Then she has to cover her mouth to stiffle an amused reaction to Alhpard's chirade. "I simply can't bring myself to encourage such a inflation of an already brutish entitled personality. He is very much not my 'type' no matter how much he tries to give his most winning smile and extremely rehersed sounding compliments."

The gossiping has gone on long enough that it's weighing on Slughorn enough that he gives a walrusy tutter from the mouth and glances their direction. "Next fetch the Hellebore Syrup that we made last time and bring it to your station. How can tell me the two remaining ingredients of the Volubilis Potion that you should also fetch from the pantry?"

Gerald grins, choking back his amusement as the two speak..mainly at the subtle (and not so subtle) mocking. "I wouldn't imagine he's your type at all." He chuckles lowly toward Soleil. He seems about to say more when the professors questions (and tone) drum out his attention. Turning on his heels, he makes quick work of fetching, and goes far enough to hold the two bottles up upon his return. He doesn't speak..then again, that shouldn't come as a surprise. But he does go quiet for now, lifting his gaze to scan the room again.

"As long as he didn't do the: 'You can stirr me all night long' line. Who was that again? Oh sure, everybody knows you're the Princess of Potions, but -really-?!" Then he quieted down abruptly as he realized he was attracting Slughorn's attentions yet again, and not for any good reason. He let out a long suffering sigh, like it was really just completely unfair that he not be able to do everything he liked. At least he knew one of the ingredients, nonchalantly delivering one right answer: "Honeywater!" before pretending that he was only stopping there so someone else (the little people) could have a chance for glory and fill in the second. How kind of him! How generous! How so completely out of character that nobody who had spent five years in class with him should believe it for a second.

Soleil fetches the additional ingredients and has spent enough time being lab partners with Gerald over the years that she has learned to determine when shyness is overwhelming him and that he really knows the answer. She gives him a little nudge and whispers, "You know this. Go on." As for alphard, he receives a proud smile and a nod when Slughorn, praises, "Very goooood! Five Points for Mister Black. Well done. Anyone else? What is the remaining ingredient?"

"Mint Sprigs." Gearlds answer lacks the same gusto as Alphard's, but he manages to send his 'partner' a grin, one seeded with something threatening. Forcing him to speak up? Just wait! His head lowers as he shifts the things around in front of him. Someone may be mildly OCD. "Ya know..you could have answered." Spoken lowly back toward the girl next to him.

Alphard grinned at the praise, more than happy to bask in the attention. A little look went over his shoulder to Janette, too. See? He'd just gotten -some- of the points back. Leaning a bit forward he murmured to the other two: "Yeah, but it's not as if she's going to get anything but an O anyway, is she? Damn teacher's special little favorite doesn't need the extra boost." He gave a little eyeroll.

Slughorn claps and points to Gerald, "Well done, Mr. Cornfoot. Five points for Gryffindor. Now, everyone settle down and organize your stations as per the diagram on page twenty-two. You have two minutes to do so, then inspection!" He claps again and returns to his interior designing for his upcoming party.

Soleil neatly organizes everything in a matter of moments without even refering to the diagram. With a little smile she was about to lean over and reply to her partner's murmur but then there's Alphard's face between them and he gets a look that could form bezoars in his gut. "I do know where you sleep, Black. And that you have a warm drink before bed time." Pointing out that the insulted Potioneer is aware that he embibes before bedtime is thick with threat of spiking said drink with some sort of potion goes without actually saying. He also gets and additional, "Shush." Then a grumbled, "Honestly." Is given with a look towards Gerald that's similar to the one she had when Janette lost them points, retrained annoyance.

"Don't you glare at me," Gerald warns easily, "you and your sneers hold no powers here." He even reaches to thump at her before looking back toward his things, "One day our face is going to stick that way, and then you'll be stuck looking constipated forever." He does send her a wink though.

Alphard made a grimace, which became a slowly breathed out - and long suffering - sigh. "Come on, Parkinson. I was just teasing you a little bit. No reason to threaten me!" Huff, puff, and then the Black haughtily sniffed his way back into his book so he could get a clear idea of how to arrange things to Slughorn's satisfaction. Under his breath he muttered somewhat sullenly: "Just no sense of humor." Because obviously he was the wronged party. Horribly wronged. "Honestly." Almost in the exact same tone that Soliel had used. From that point on he was going to stick to paying attention to the class. Mostly. He might've also muttered something along the lines of: "It's not as if I can't throw out my own kind of threats. Hmph. But I'm taking the higher road." Not only could he, but often did. He just (mostly) reserved said threats and bullying for 'lessers', and thus they weren't really relevant right now. Obviously!

Soleil drolls out, "I live for the day of yore when you were so shy you wouldn't even look in my direction." Back when they were new partners and she was outside his realm of comfort. She pulls an even more twisted up face at him playfully before she takes a split moment to turn on her stool to reach over and give a spoon laid out before Alphard a tap that cocks it off to an angle, wholly wrong and would certainly not pass inspection. But she blows him a kiss, "Who doesn't have a sense of humor?" She teases and then gives him a sweet smile that says, 'you know you adore me too much to consider me a 'lesser'.' Then around she spins just in time to greet the Professor for his inspection of her work space. But then in the background a drip of condensation on the underground stone ceiling forms enough that it drips right down into a cauldron that was sitting off to the side board from a previous class. *BOOM!* Suddenly and within moments the room is flooded with a molten (though heat free) marshmallowy substance. "Oh dear! Uhm, class dismissed! Run!" Slughorn turns into the flood however and plays damage control while the entire class clambors to vacate the room without trampling each other.

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