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


Theresa Carey

November 16, 2011 12:51 AM
On the subject of the Potions professor, her cousins had been vague when they weren’t contradictory, but even the part where Arnold had contradicted himself was nothing unusual, so Theresa came into the first meeting of the class prepared to give Professor Fawcett a chance to be whatever he wanted to be. She arrived early, chose, since she wanted to be able to pay attention and was far from the tallest person in the room anyway, a seat in the front and took out her textbook, supplies, and something to take notes on, and then she folded her hands in her lap – something that would have been difficult, once, but Great-Great-Grandfather’s experts had done a very good job of breaking her from certain habits, at least on the surface – and waited.

While she did that, she began to look around at the classroom, observing details. There wasn’t a lot of decoration, but she liked the symmetry of the posters, the rows of tables lined up for their use. Taking in everyone else’s clothing was, as she’d expected, something that caused a different reaction almost every time she let her eyes move from one person to another, but nothing made her feel horribly ashamed of her own dark blue dress. It was only cotton, but it was pretty, particularly with her favorite silver ring on the longest finger of her left hand and a necklace on.

She twirled the ring absently as she looked at her small chest of ingredients, so similar to the chest of medicinal things Mother kept at home, but with more closing compartments than compartments for little bottles. She hoped nothing happened to mess up her clothes. She’d had to dress nicely to meet a new tutor – essentially – for the first time, but this class seemed like it could be messy.

When her name was called from the list, she answered at once, then committed more names and faces to memory as other people around the room answered. There were second years here, too, which made it more challenging, but she would apparently have classes with them most of the way through Sonora, so she needed to learn who they were, too. Then, the real work began. Listening to a long speech was no work at all for her, learning how to do that was just a natural part of growing up with Arthur, really, but the syllabus made this class sound just as demanding as her cousins had agreed it was.

If they could handle it, she could handle it, though. Learning everything that those two remedial etiquette tutors had imposed on her over the past two years had her convinced that there was absolutely nothing anyone here could put in front of her that she couldn’t do, if she applied herself enough. Doing that might not be pleasant, but that didn't mean it wasn't doable. She smiled pleasantly at the person sitting next to her once they were told to break into pairs and begin working.

“Shall we work together?” she asked. It seemed the most logical course, though she supposed they were always free to say ‘no’ and switch seats with someone. She didn’t remember the professor forbidding it, anyway.
0 Theresa Carey A resolution of contradictory reports 219 Theresa Carey 0 5

Arabella Brockert, Pecari

November 16, 2011 6:04 AM
Ugh, potions. Arabella had not been looking forward to this class in the least. It wasn't that she was grossed out by handling the ingredients or anything. After all, these were things the Pecari had ingested throughout the course of her life. She wasn't even bothered by how unladylike the subject was considered.Being ladylike was a delicate balance for Arabella. She didn't want to bring shame to her family, the first year preferred to pick her battles and save doing things that would make them angry for things that truly mattered. On the other hand, she didn't want to be prissy either.

Her real issue with Potions was that she expected to have to do essays and written work in this class,which Arabella despised. The Pecari doubted such things would hold her attention for long. She wasn't even entirely sure about doing the actual potions. One had to be very precise and Arabella was not a precise person. She lacked patience and lost interest easily and some Potions took an awful long time to brew.

Arabella entered the room sighing to herself. She'd been in less than a hurry to get here and now one of the few seats available was in the front. She figured that she had better just sit down rather than look for a better place to sit. Next time, Arabella would just have to arrive on time. Fortunately, this seat was next to her roommate, Theresa, and it wasn't as if the Pecari didn't want to get to know the other girl better.

Of course, she wanted to get to know most of her classmates better and make friends. Though there were bound to be people at Sonora that Arabella disliked. Or that didn't like her. Truthfully, she didn't care. If she didn't get along with someone, she simply did not need that person. Arabella wasn't like Ryan who had a desperate need to be liked by everyone. She was more secure with herself, she hadn't grown up like her cousin and thus, hadn't developed the need to compensate.

Still, she would give everyone a chance initially. Her roommate seemed like a good place to start. They were both from "good pureblood families" and had been sorted into Pecari, which meant their families would not be happy with them but it was something that they couldn't do anything about. Furthermore, thus far, Theresa didn't seem much more like the Pecari stereotype than Arabella did. She wanted to get on with Jade and Waverly too, but so far she felt more of a kinship with Theresa.

And if they didn't get along, well, that would stink but Arabella would adapt to that too. There was a reason she was in Pecari after all.

The first year listened to roll call, answering when her name was called and briefly wondering if anyone would mistake her and Evan for twins. Arabella barely even knew him. Then the lecture began and the Pecari forced herself to pay attention. Okay, so they were going to make a photo developing solution. Arabella could handle that, she supposed. Although she didn't see the point when she could buy any of this stuff. Still, like everything else, she was just going to do her best as it wasn't worth refusing to do. Arabella was not one to cause a scene. That would only make her look like a spoiled brat.

“Shall we work together?”

Arabella looked over at Theresa. "Certainly." She agreed.
11 Arabella Brockert, Pecari I really only got the one. 217 Arabella Brockert, Pecari 0 5


Theresa

November 17, 2011 11:45 PM
Theresa already knew who Arabella was, if not much about her, from their dorm room, so she didn’t have to go through the spiel of introducing herself. Instead, she nodded once and looked to her potions kit. Dawdling just wasn’t something that had ever occurred to her; at home, there wasn’t time. If she was ever standing for very long without something to occupy her hands, she’d soon find herself doing whatever her mother had been doing so Mother could go do something else. Her father liked to have a drink, a laugh, another drink, a game of cards every now and then; her mother prized efficiency above all else, when she was able to prize much of anything.

Hard not to, now that there were six of them. Some people, Theresa knew, could handle that kind of stress without difficulty – her mother had three older brothers, all Aurors, and her father had three siblings living and had originally been the second-youngest of five – but Mother just did not, which was why Theresa was praying Cecilia would be the youngest. None of them could stand much more, Mother already talked about money constantly, and…well, on a purely personal level, she didn’t really like babies that much.

One day, she was aware, she was going to be married, and the reason she was going to be married was so the Careys would be connected to another family through babies which were as related to her family as to her husband’s, but she was already determined that if she had six, there were going to be very long gaps between them, and that she wanted to just not in the first place. Babies were unpleasant. They were messy and cried all the time so no one could concentrate and were completely useless in every meaningful way until they grew, which took years, and then they were still more annoying than anything until you were both grown, and that was assuming Father wasn’t lying about liking his siblings better now that everyone was older. Which he might be. She really didn’t know. Adulthood still seemed like a long time away for her, much less her younger siblings. She’d most likely be married when Cecilia started school, if not earlier, when Diana came.

None of this was really something that Theresa knew or thought too much about as she studied what she had. Everything was neat and full still, container seals unbroken and compartment edges lacking the traces of ingredient that were bound to accumulate during the year. It would be about the time that began that she could reach for anything in it without looking or hesitating in any way. She was looking forward to that, but for now, she was just thinking mainly about this potion and who had best do what.

“We should halve the work,” she said. “Split it between us. Is there anything you want to do especially?”
0 Theresa Did it manage to contradict itself? 0 Theresa 0 5

Arabella

November 23, 2011 7:43 AM
Hm, apparently Theresa was the get-down-to-business sort. Arabella had really never been like that but then, she'd never had any to get down to doing. Nobody in her family ever did chores or anything, they were all done by house-elves. The tutors that her parents had hired didn't really give Arabella essays or anything either, preferring to adapt to their pupils' learning styles and when she had gotten assigned extra work, she'd avoided it like the plague until the last possible moment.

"I guess I'll crush the shrivilfig pits." The Pecari replied. She didn't really want to do anything, had no deep burning desire to crush anything except maybe her cousin's nose again, no deep burning desire to do any work on a potion but Arabella knew she had to. She took out her mortar and pestle and seven of the pits. Her potions kit was of course, completely new and none of it had been used before.

She placed the pits in the bowl and began to crush. Arabella looked back over at her roommate. She hoped they wouldn't work in silence the entire time. That would just be awkward and uncomfortable. The first year didn't want things to be that way with a girl she was going to be living with for the next several years.

Besides, talking might make the work seem to go faster and Merlin knew that Arabella wanted that! It wasn't so much that she was lazy as she found the work could be tedious. The Pecari got bored easily. When Arabella finally did get around to doing something that she had to do, she tried to get it done quickly so she could move on and spend more time doing things that she actually wanted to do.

So far though, this didn't seem as bad as she thought it would be. Arabella supposed she was more of a hands on person. Maybe brewing potions wouldn't be that awful, at least at this level, though the first year still expected written work to be so. She had just slightly more patience for that than she did for Carrie. Still, as for the actual creating potions, Arabella supposed there were worse things. Like etiquette lessons that taught-or tried to teach anyway-her to be formal and stuffy and prissy. Manners and politeness were one thing, but the Pecari would rather die than become a girly-girl.

"So," Arabella asked Theresa, wanting to start a conversation while they worked. "What class are you most looking forward to? I prefer the wand based ones personally."
11 Arabella No,not really. 217 Arabella 0 5


Theresa

November 26, 2011 8:30 PM
Theresa nodded, noting that Arabella didn’t sound hugely enthusiastic about crushing the shrivelfig pits, but that she was willing to do it. Well, if Theresa only did things she was enthusiastic about doing, she’d spend all her time sneaking away from her sewing to play with the boys, and then Mother would know she sometimes neglected her work to do that and she’d be terribly punished, and if that didn’t bring her ‘round, then she might be thrown out of the family like Gwenhwyfar. Men, Mother said, could do more of they liked, but Theresa was a girl, and girls and women were going to spend most of their lives doing things they didn’t especially care for, or else men and women who’d learned their places would make them regret it.

She didn’t object to talking while they worked, though. Mother frequently had her chatter while they sewed, or while she worked on her music. An accomplished lady had to be able to do two things at once, and sticking herself every now and then with a needle or having everyone look at her if she got a note wrong was what she’d get until she was able to do that. She did not have, on her own, a great deal of money, most of what she had to offer was her name and her connection to greater people, so it was very important – said Mother, who said almost nothing about these things that wasn’t told to her by Great-Great-Grandfather – that Theresa and her siblings be the most alluring, most accomplished young people in society when they got a little older, which would be impossible if they weren’t extremely well-prepared for that now. After all the embroidery she’d been forced to do while carrying on a conversation and sticking herself with needles and not using every oath she’d ever picked up from Father and Grandfather, she was sure she could chat while she brought a cauldron to a boil.

“I haven’t decided what I’ll like best yet,” she said. “But I am looking forward to getting to work with our wands. I’ve been so jealous while my cousins have been here for the past two years, and sometimes I think they’ve talked about school just to tease me.” Lots of people thought Arthur was too humorless to ever think of such a thing; Theresa knew better. It was really Arnold it was harder to tell with sometimes.

“It’s all very different from my lessons at home, though,” she said. “I usually just study with one, maybe two of my brothers. I don’t think Professor Fawcett could watch all of us very closely, do you?”

Which was, in its way, a scary thought, but also…also an exciting one, in a scary kind of way, and similar to one she’d been having every now and then since she arrived. What if she could do things, any sort of things, and absolutely nobody would know about them in all the crowd? What then?

Yes, it was exciting. She couldn’t deny that. The thought of being able to do whatever she wanted! But practically, she knew the family would have eyes on her somehow even if the whole school wasn’t full of cousins, if her own year didn’t have a cousin in it. If she put one toe out of line, she might get away with that; two, and she’d be in serious trouble. Carey girls, Grandmother liked to say in her hard voice, were often bold as well as beautiful – though no one would guess at that to see her eldest daughter; Aunt Emma was pretty, but Aunt Catherine looked just like an irritable old spinster, even though she was married and the mother of more cousins – but they must never take that too far. Some had before, and they all saw where that had ended. Theresa had never pointed out that she didn’t actually know exactly where that had ended, because the truth was that she didn’t really want to know.
0 Theresa Then you're two times better off than me, I guess 0 Theresa 0 5