Professor Fawcett

November 12, 2011 12:32 PM
The classroom where Potions classes were held was spacious and well-ventilated for obvious reasons, and placed adjacent to the hospital wing for almost equally clear ones. Now, at the beginning of the year, it was also as close to keeping paper to a minimum – just three cases of Potions texts and periodicals at the front of the room, and the one by the door had its top occupied by a stacked set of wire baskets for the three class groups to hand in assignments and a box of tissues – as logic would dictate and a former Aladren of the classic type could help, but John didn’t expect that to last long. It never seemed to, somehow, particularly around his desk and, to a lesser extent, the smaller, lower table at its right.

Happily, there was a generous space between his desk and the first of the student seats, all two-person tables taller than normal desks, with stools instead of chairs and surfaces treated with potions and then charmed against flammability. John had checked the continued effectiveness of those himself, repeatedly, before the year began, and would periodically through the rest of it. Fires were not on the list of things he wished to deal with this year, and were one of the ones he was more capable of preventing. At the back of the room, there was a door leading to the storeroom shared with the hospital wing, a set of spickets(with basins underneath; routinely drying puddles was another thing he did not wish to do and could largely prevent) for water, and a pair of large black cabinets, one holding supplies the students might not have or have enough of, one empty for the moment.

There was little else in the room besides two long rows of posters portraying famous potioneers along the walls which did not contain the blackboard and the supplies in the back. Student projects might begin to accumulate here and there as the semester progressed – certainly the empty cabinet would be used at some point to hold long-term potions from the Advanced class – but on the first day of classes, the room was as neat as it would ever be.

A few of the posters were murmuring about it, too. John chose to ignore them.

Once the class had been gathered in and the door closed with the ringing of the bell, he stood before the first and second years, feeling somewhat taller even than usual in front of those who generally included the school’s smallest students. “Good morning,” he said. “I am, for those who do not know me, Professor Fawcett, your Potions instructor.” He opened a red folder and removed a sheet of paper. “Please answer when I call your name from the roll.”

He finished that, getting through all the new first years’ names without emphasizing or, he thought, badly mispronouncing any of them, and then waved his wand, causing a packet of papers to go to each student. The second years would know what it was, but he explained for the benefit of the new students. “This is your syllabus. I suggest you keep it somewhere safe, somewhere you will be able to refer to it regularly, because you have before you what we are – unless I tell you otherwise – to study each class period until midterm, along with descriptions of your major assignments.” The projects they would work on this year paled in comparison with what lay ahead of the Advanced class, but they would be taken seriously nevertheless.

“I would also like to draw your attention to the section entitled ‘Classroom Rules and Procedures.’ You are going to be interacting with dangerous materials in this class, as has every class I have taught this subject to, and I do not intend for this to be the first class in which there is serious injury. If you are having difficulty, I am prepared to work with you to find a solution, but if you cause trouble in my classroom, I assure you, I will see to it that you are punished to the fullest extent allowable.”

He smiled then. “If you do not cause trouble, however, we can get along very well, and you may have an informative and, I hope, enjoyable experience in Potions. Now. Everyone take out your textbooks.”

He rearranged his syllabi every year, tinkering and adjusting, experimenting with different ideas and bits of educational theory in the half-conscious hope that he would eventually discover the ideal way to organize each level and perhaps come to be considered something of an authority on the subject. This year, he was taking the tact of beginning the class on a bit of a challenging note – not too much, not out of their league, but something that wouldn’t bore the second years to tears and which they could all have a use for. It would, if his recollections of being eleven were anything to go by – he was technically, he supposed, a half-blood, but had been a good bit older than these children when he finally found out his mother was a witch; sometimes, he thought that she really had convinced herself that her five years as a Muggleborn Crotalus had never happened until he and Carlene both turned out to have magic – hook the Muggleborns, and even the pureblooded children might want to send images of their new classmates and school and themselves home to Mother and Father and whatever other family they were particularly close or obliged to.

“Muggle photographs, as you may or may not know, are generally stationary – that is to say, the images in them do not move.” He said ‘generally’ because he had just enough contact with the Muggle world to know they were starting to do some interesting things with portraiture, and he would rather not be corrected by the Muggleborn version of Mr. Melcher on the first day of class. “In the magical world, however, they do, something which is accomplished through the use of a specific potion during the development of the photographs. This is what you will work on today.”

He tapped the board with his wand, and a list of instructions appeared, printed rather than in his handwriting to give the students every sliver of advantage. “This potion requires considerable attention to detail, so feel free to group yourselves between years for it if you wish. Take care with your counting and your crushing, and to add each ingredient in the proper order.” One of the good things about this potion was that it was not very volatile even if it went wrong in most ways, but he saw no need to tell them that just yet. "The ingredients are eight cups of water, seven powdered shrivelfig pits - you'll need to crush them yourselves - two boiled murtlap leaves, thirty-two crushed fairy eggs, five hippocampus scales, and one unicorn tail hair. It is a long list of ingredients, but the potion itself is not complex. Just be very sure to fully crush the shrivelfig pits, count the fairy eggs, and stir the correct number of times after putting in the unicorn tail hair. You may work together in class, but I expect your homework short answer assignments, from the syllabus, to be done individually. You may begin."

OOC: Welcome, all, to Term 15 Potions! Standard posting rules apply: 200 words minimum, no writing for other characters, decent spelling and grammar, and keep your part of the story realistic. That said, have fun!
Subthreads:
0 Professor Fawcett Lesson I for Beginners (1st and 2nd Years) 0 Professor Fawcett 1 5


Mellie Goodwin, Pecari

November 20, 2011 6:41 PM
Potions was…Potions was….

Honestly, Mellie didn’t know what Potions was, even after a year of taking it and having all her things together for a second year. She thought the fact that she was glad they were going to be working with the first years was probably significant, but the thing was, she didn’t entirely dislike the class. There were plenty of days when she could just bang her head against the desk as easily as she could end up with what Fawcett wanted her to end up with, but there were others when she almost liked the complications of it.

She didn’t know what kind today was going to be, though she was hoping it was just going to be something easy and straightforward since some of the first years might have never studied Potions before, or even really heard of it until last month. The opening speech didn’t give any clues; it was just the introduction, she guessed it wasn’t a lot different from what she’d heard in her first lesson last year, though she didn’t really remember the specifics to be sure. She had paid attention, she was sure she had, but it just wasn’t sticking out in her head from the mess of first-day memories she had. There was just a sense of familiarity now, that she had heard some phrases before, and gotten the sense of others.

The potion, when it came, wasn’t as completely bland as she had been half-expecting, but it didn’t sound too bad. Mellie smiled, thinking this was going to be a pretty good day, and turned to her Potions kit before she remembered that Mom had taken her to the apothecary just the other day in order to make sure that everything was restocked and good to go for the new year and turned instead to the person sitting next to her.

“Working together, right?” she said. “This sounds like a fun one. I mean, like, it’s useful, yeah? Instead of just ‘hey, we could get the same thing but better if we went to the hospital wing.’” She wouldn’t take her own potions for a problem, anyway. She was okay at Potions, but not enough to risk swallowing the ones she made in class just yet.
16 Mellie Goodwin, Pecari Not a total beginner anymore. 206 Mellie Goodwin, Pecari 0 5


Michael Grosvenor, Teppenpaw

November 22, 2011 4:33 PM
Michael was glad to be back. The same heavy feeling he'd had after Midterm last year hadn't been a problem this time around. After he'd stopped trying to hide his hearing impairment, life at school had become much easier, and his second term had actually been enjoyable. He even liked most of his classes, although he'd discovered that missing half the instructions hadn't been the sole cause of his difficulties – magic was hard! Potions could be a tricky subject because it was all about everything being precise. Michael didn't mind that so much because slow and careful suited him quite well. And, although there was usually a low level of chatter, it was a lot quieter than a room of people all chanting the same incantation. Plus, the potion they would be working on today interested him. The fact that wizarding photographs moved had fascinated him since he'd arrived at Sonora, and he'd thought it must be terribly complicated magic. The thought that it might be within his capabilities was really quite cool.

“Hey,” he smiled, realising it was Mellie who had sat down next to him. “Yeah, it's neat,” he smiled. “I've always wondered how they do it. I mean, always since I found out obviously,” he ammended. “The shrivelfig pits go in pretty early and they need be thoroughly crushed, so I guess that's the best place to start,” he noted, skimming through the recipe. He counted out the pits into a mortar and pulled his stool around to the other side of their bench so that he was opposite Mellie rather than next to her. He expected most of his class had seen him do this by now but he wasn't sure he'd worked with Mellie last term so he explained “So I can see what you're saying more easily,” and perched himself on the stool. He picked up the pestle and began crushing as firmly as he could, the pit stones giving way but with some resistance.

“How was your summer?” he asked Mellie, feeling like he might be in for a long job on the crushing front.
13 Michael Grosvenor, Teppenpaw But still a total amateur 199 Michael Grosvenor, Teppenpaw 0 5


Mellie

November 25, 2011 12:44 AM
“Yeah,” Mellie agreed about finding out how it was done. “Mom told me it was a potion when I asked where pictures came from one time, but I didn’t know, you know, we could make it okay.” Though there still was the question of whether or not their combined Potions savvy was really enough to produce a developing potion that would work, but Mellie didn’t really think of that. It had been assigned to the first years, so it couldn’t be too bad, and how things could go wrong didn’t always occur to her when it came to her schoolwork until something did, in fact, go wrong. Then, it was easier to see it as a temporary setback instead of as a real failure, or at least she tried to see it like that. It felt better than thinking too much about a failure.

Her parents couldn’t do that, at least on the occasions when Mom had to use a wand to get someone to come along when she was arresting them, which was why Mellie was already pretty sure she didn’t want their jobs. If Mom or Dad bungled something, it was just well and truly bungled a lot of the time, or at least needed a Healer or two or six to get un-bungled. She didn’t think she ever really wanted to deal with that kind of pressure.

She was confused for a moment when Michael moved his seat, but smiled again when he explained. “Oh, okay,” she said. “I guess I’ll boil down the murtlap leaves while you’re working with the shrivelly things.”

First, she had to remember how to heat the pot, but that only took a minute, and she was grinning at her triumph when Michael asked about her summer and she looked up to answer him. “It was pretty good,” she said. “I didn’t really do a lot. Mom and Dad were usually at work, so I, you know, hung out with whoever was around a lot.” She didn’t really want to admit to throwing Quaffles around more than anything for some reason, just as she’d rather not admit that Russell had lent her some books, but she’d eventually - pretty quickly, if she was going to be honest - given up on them because she didn’t quite understand them and had gotten bored trying to. They just weren’t good things to talk about, somehow. She didn’t trouble herself with why. “How about you? Do anything fun?”
16 Mellie Maybe someday we'll make it to being pros. 206 Mellie 0 5