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


Paul Bennett, Crotalus

November 28, 2011 8:51 PM
The family, in the aftermath of his lovely but utterly unoriginal evening with Sally Manger, had been pleased with Paul when he came home for the summer, and the holiday for him had passed unremarkably enough. He knew his sister had lied by omission about her own politically-motivated liaison with that Muggleborn, telling their parents that she had just gone with ‘some nobody,’ but he had let it stand. Eliza had her games, her mad politics, and he was not going to do anything to get himself involved. The longer he could slide under everyone’s notice and not be dragged to the parties she had spent her summer between states of hysteria about and involved in the cloak-and-cutthroat-dagger business of family politics and state politics and courtships and betrothals, the happier he would be.

He thought he might have another two years, three if he played it just right. He was just in second year now, and a boy anyway; it wouldn’t be hugely unusual if he weren’t completely settled when he finished school. It would be better, at least in his mother’s opinion, if he was, but Father was at least a few years older than her and had already been getting himself established when he married Mother and they’d started their family. He might make it to fourteen before they started really pushing the parties – Eliza had been almost fourteen, and she was a girl – and fifteen before they began really trying to find him a girl to marry and make him become involved in things. Paul was good at not being seen when he didn’t want to be seen, so he thought he could manage it.

Whether or not he could manage his classes was always another question. He had his good days and his bad days with them, and while the good and mediocre outweighed the bad by enough, his parents hadn’t been as happy with his grade reports as they had been with his social life. He’d have to actually do work this time, put some effort into his assignments for a while, to make them stop paying attention and assuring him that he’d be ruined if he didn’t.

The problem, though, was that lessons were often so…pointless, really. When was he going to develop his own photos? That was why they had the elf. Maybe, if he got involved in something illicit and there was evidence he needed to develop and hide that even the elf didn’t know about, but Paul didn’t plan to do that if he could remotely help it. That was making a lot of effort at a major risk and for not a whole lot of gain.

Still, he smiled, politely and formally, as he turned to a partner. One reason for sitting not too far from the front, aside from his height, was to ensure that he had reasonably good partners, so he wasn’t too worried about who it was. “Do you have a partner yet?” he asked pleasantly.
0 Paul Bennett, Crotalus Caring would help...but it would also take effort 201 Paul Bennett, Crotalus 0 5


Linus Macaulay

December 27, 2011 1:54 PM
The original enthusiasm for magic Linus had possessed when he'd first begun studying at Sonora had dwindled, but only to the extent whereby he wasn't outwardly and obviously fascinated by every new concept he came across. There were plenty of times when magic still surprised him, and there was much he was keen to learn, but he had now accepted that there were also things about magic that could be impossibly dull. Luckily, he had some interested in the potions class for the day. As a Muggleborn, Linus had never had moving photographs. He'd seen magic pictures moving in papers and magazines in the Cascade Hall and his commons, and had even seen a few actual photographs wherein the people featured were waving, and so the concept was familiar, but Linus had never used it himself. Hopefully the Professor would allow them to test out their successful potions so Linus could try it out on some negatives taken with a Muggle camera. he would actually have to procure a camera with negatives first - the family camera they all shared at home was digital - but he thoguht the venture would be worthwhile for some mild entertainment.

Potions as a subject more generally was not really one of Linus' favorite classes. Some of the ingredients intended for digestion made him feel decidedly queasy, and the foul smelling concoctions created by accident - which admittedly were probably more frequently occuring in the beginners' class than any other - were enough to put most people off. Professor Fawcett also gave them a lot of work, in Linus' opinion, and while he appreciated the professor's enthusiasm for his students' learning, occasionally Linus thought he might appreciate a break. He wasn't an Aladren, after all.

For the first class of the year, Linus ended up sitting next to his roomate. It wasn't intentional; he just liked to sit fairly near the front of the classroom, and apparently Paul had a similar idea. When asked whether he had a partner yet, Linus replied, "No. We might as well work together." Aside from the occasional conversation barriers they experienced, due to culturally different upbringings, Linus felt quite lucky to have Paul as a roomate. They got along reasonably well, kept out of each others' way when necessary, and as far as Linus was aware, neither seemed to have any habits that annoyed the other. As such, he supposed they were well matched to work together in class, too.

"I think I have all the ingredients," he said, pulling open his potions supply kit, "except for the unicoon hair, of course, but we might be lacking in numbers for the fairy eggs. How many do you have?" It was the start of the year, so his kit had been recently restocked over the summer, but there were some items that second year students just didn't carry with them. Like unicorn hairs. He was also a bit disappointed that his entire stock of fairy eggs might be used up in one class. He hadn't counted them out exactly at the apothecary's; he'd just taken a couple of scoops, enough to put in a small resealable bag.
0 Linus Macaulay You care. I'll put in the effort. 205 Linus Macaulay 0 5