Professor Fawcett

January 21, 2012 8:50 PM
Aside from one deeply unpleasant cold, which had taken both him and Allison by surprise and which it had taken two doses of Pepperup to completely cure, the Christmas season had not been unkind to John. He suspected he had been invited to the faculty and staff wedding of the winter by default, since, though he made an effort to be pleasant to all his coworkers, he was not especially close to Professor Crosby or Mr. Brockert, but that had been time when he was not around any member of his family, close or extended or in-law, except for his wife, which had been most pleasant indeed – he did care for them all, he supposed, or could at least tolerate them all, but over the holidays, he tended to see them all in far larger doses than his constitution was accustomed to, especially now that he spent most of his year at a boarding school and never saw them at all – and he had gotten a lovely complete set of the writings of Fraser, a comparatively obscure nineteenth-century philosopher he’d read about half of in his college library but had never gotten around to finishing. Keeping up with abandoned academic interests of his and then reintroducing him to them years later, when she was out of anything else to get him for Christmas besides new shoes he wouldn’t wear anyway, was an art at which Allison had become highly proficient, and he imagined it didn’t hurt that he was seldom around to keep her from breaking into his office and going through the files of notes on his reading he’d kept from twenty years ago and such.


He had reread the half of Fraser he was already somewhat familiar with before his return to Sonora, though comparing his reading notes now to his ones from college hadn’t been gotten to yet, and the second half was waiting for him back in his office, along with the prospect of very hot tea. If there was a complaint he had of Sonora, it was that it had variable weather; he had been born in a warm climate, and while he’d moved around occasionally before he married Allison, almost all the places he had lived in his life after he was born had been warm, too. The building here was well heated enough, his office better still, but he was aware that sometimes the Sonora January tended toward temperatures well below freezing, and that made things like good chairs, stacks of books which reached over his head when he was seated at the desk they were stacked on, fires, throws, and tea quite appealing at this time of year.  

His Potions classroom was rather less appealing, at least on this particular day, but he could not allow his occasional, erratic tendency to wish to hibernate with his books (a tendency which was growing stronger as he got older, however much he wished to deny that he was doing so) whenever the leaves were off the trees to get in the way of continuing to conduct his classes, and so he’d brought himself along with the thought that while it might be uncomfortable in summer, there was one thing to be said for a room full of cauldrons in winter – it got warm. The Advanced class had less of that, being rather small, but he had the Intermediates after them, and while he normally rather disliked having so many students in one room at once, preferring the smaller classes, they would mean he would be able to trust his self-reassurances at the end of the day a little more firmly than he had at the beginning.


“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said as his Advanced class settled. “Welcome back from your holidays.  

“At the beginning of the year, I gave you all a list of potions you should be able to brew by the time you take the exam I shall not name, which several of you shall do in a very short time.” He would miss this group of seventh years – as far as he was concerned, Mr. Hernandez and Miss Stephenson in particular had both earned the status of honorary Aladrens, the former through his ingenuity in getting around his moral issues with the subject and the latter through sheer determination, and he imagined the Quidditch teams would very much miss the thee captains in this room – but he was fond of all his seventh years each year, and expected to be sorry to see next year’s group go on with their lives, too. And there were always the new first years to consider. “You may have noticed a certain…lack of practicality about most of them. Generally, their use is very strictly legally regulated, if not outright forbidden in most contexts.” Amortentia was frankly dangerous, and he couldn’t say he always felt comfortable about teaching Polyjuice, Veritaserum, Felix Felicis. Proper law enforcement were generally the only ones who were exactly supposed to use those, and even in that field, they were…controversial. John had gained a new appreciation for the Potions periodicals in circulation since he’d begun to actively teach the subject, and he enjoyed reading some of those debates himself, even though they did sometimes make him uneasy.  “We will continue to cover that list, as the general purpose is to enlighten you to the extent of Potions and to make you hone your skills, as these brews are generally among the most difficult in the field to brew, but for your semester project, which we will begin today, part of your challenge will be to find Advanced potions which you feel you may use in your adult lives.”


He waved his wand, sending a sheet of paper to each student. “Your instructions,” he said, absently adjusting his rectangular, wire-rimmed reading glasses at the same time. “We’ll go over them. You’re to find at least five potions, each of which takes at least a week to fully prepare, and present them to us the week before exams, along with a cumulative portfolio explaining the rationale behind each selection, the preparation process, the principles and laws of Potions you saw particularly in effect, any patterns you saw recurring between potions. To help you resist the temptation to leave it all to the last moment, I will require a brief reflection at the end of each week.”


He looked at them over the glasses now, despite the fact they were still a bit blurry while he did this. “I am, of course, glad to assist you, either in your planning or with technical issues. For now, if no one has any immediate queries, you may begin your planning; I’d like to see something brewing by the end of class. Begin.”
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0 Professor Fawcett Lesson II for Advanced (6th and 7th Years) 0 Professor Fawcett 1 5

Marissa Stephenson

January 30, 2012 5:09 PM
Midterm, to put it one way, hadn’t gone well. Marissa had started off pretty okay, only, about four days in, to wake up one morning convinced she could not get out of bed. It had been days before she could carry on a conversation without worrying she was going to collapse into tears or miss crucial bits of information, a situation which could have only been worse if she’d had any desire to do anything but stay in her room, eating popcorn and ice cream and watching Disney movies and rereading books she knew would make her cry. In more emotional, anxious moments, she had wondered if she was losing her mind.

Her friends and older sister had, though, come to the rescue on that front, assuring her she was not crazy and even being amused with her attempts to apologize for her flip-out and time of just dropping out of life. It was just, she’d been assured, the senior crash; they’d all been in and out of it for ages. Addison claimed she had only spent a few hours a day awake for the first week or two after she finished her junior year, she’d just been close enough to better and out of it by the time Marissa finally got home to function again. If she had stayed home, in real school, with multiple sports and mountains of AP homework and a big social life, she would have discovered what it was sooner. No one took it personally.

Marissa still felt a little embarrassed about it anyway, but she couldn’t deny that she did feel a little better now. And, in a way, about life in general. Her hair had been thinning a little before Christmas with all the hassles of all the tests she was studying for, and at Christmas, she’d had time to rest and knew she wasn’t going to have to go through the additional stress of training for a Final. RATS still put a slight knot in her stomach, which she knew would start to grow more and more the closer they got, but right now, for the most part, she felt optimistic about the rest of her seventh year, even enthusiastic. There was so much to do.

Including a new Potions project. She took notes with interest, already brainstorming. Potions might or might not be that relevant to her future, but she could lie. This was going to be fun. Something to do during some of the endless time that would have been spent preparing for the Quidditch final.

“Okay,” she said, looking over her things. “Where to begin.”

That was the key. She just needed to find a place to start, and then things would move along very well. Getting started was the hard part, the one that made her think she was going to lapse back into her elementary-school habit of having panic attacks over school stuff. Once she got through that part, it would come together for her like always. She was sure of that.
16 Marissa Stephenson Fun! 147 Marissa Stephenson 0 5