All Harry Potter related books, merchandise, or otherwise Harry Potteresque
belong to JK Rowling, not me. This is just supposed to be a descriptive
little -- thing.
There's no point to it really, but I kind of liked it. Hope you do too.
_________________________________________________________
A bright-eyed boy stumbled into a dimly lit dungeon. One of the plethora of dungeons in the castle. Hogwarts Castle, to be exact. It was one of the largest, and dreariest in the school for magic.
The frail boy took a step, he was inside the class. He caught a smell of sulphur. The aroma filled his nostrils and a slight murmur escaped his thin lips.
Harry brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, revealing the lightning- shaped scar on the right side of his tired face.
The pale boy guessed that the professors had placed a charm around the class, capturing the smell inside and keeping the rest of the cheerful castle smelling like ripe Shrivelfruit.
Harry grabbed his wand-woven bag more tightly, hauling the strap around his shoulder and revealing the words 'Rathelda's Receptacles". He moved a bit further toward his seat, next to his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. He brushed the sweat from his brow, slowly wiping his finger along the top of his strained eye.
Time seemed to slow down as he sat down, slowly, and then sank into his chair. He was the last one to arrive, though Professor Snape had yet to appear.
Harry peered over at Ron. Ron smiled, his tarnished, second-hand robes stained with blood, pus, and other flora and fauna they'd used in potions class.
Harry slowly removed the wand from his baggy pocket and raised it into the air, he made a swift movement to the left, then a tiny flick of his wrist while reciting the words "Fiora Siempra", a new spell, actually. It'd just been released to the wizarding world by the Council for Experimental Charms. It was an everlasting fire.
A blue flame shot from his wand onto a tiny candle under his pewter, black cauldron. The candle concentrated temperatures, so instead of being the normal fifty degrees, the temperature had stopped just above one- hundred.
Harry stuffed the wand back into his pocket as a greasy-looking man stormed into the room, he informed the class (in a rather matter-of-factly way) that they would be making a Luck Potion.
A trembling hand reached into a sack, scoured it, and retreived a book. Harry glared at the glossary quickly searching for the recipe that the impatient professor had requested.
Page 192. Harry waved his wand, murmuring some well-chosen words, and the book moved its pages quickly to the ingredients page.
Shrivelfig pus, Unicron tail hair, Mandrake root. Boomslang hide? The boy thought to himself as he shoved the neglected wand back into his pocket after he muttered the words "Apprato", causing his ingredients bag to appear out of nowhere.
Harry quickly retrieved the ingredients, and followed the instructions carefully. He spent the next fifteen minutes cutting the Unicorn tail hair and Mandrake root into perfect parts.
Harry made a dash for the cupboard, slowed by his fellow students. He managed to grab a measuring cup, and returned to his broth.
He grabbed a Shrivelfig and quickly squeezed the pus from the blisteresque scabs on its surface. Luckily, it was in its zenith, and he only had to gently press on the Shrivelfig to squirt its juice into the tiny measuring cup.
Half a cup, he measured out. And quickly launched it into the cauldron, a sea of foam erupted, it barely scraped the rim of the cauldron.
He threw the Boomslang hide into the concoction, he didn't need to measure it, the bigger the hide the luckier the potion, Snape had told them.
A purple smoke emitted from the cauldron and Harry quickly compared his potion to the drawing in his ancient looking book.
His potion was a bit thick, it should still work, he thought. He filled a vial and proudly strutted towards Snape's battered desk.
The hard man took a look at the potion and sneered, he took a drink and gave Harry the most encouraging comment he'd ever reciever from the grudge-holding professor.
"Too thick. It will still work. Seven out of ten, I'd say."
Harry laughed silently. He walked back to his seat, just as the magical buzzer sounded. He gathered his things and headed toward the greenhouse with Hermione and Ron following closely. Harry smiled, as he left the charmed dungeon and the smell of shepard's pie envelloped his sense of smell. He picked up his pace, eager to finish Herbology.
There's no point to it really, but I kind of liked it. Hope you do too.
_________________________________________________________
A bright-eyed boy stumbled into a dimly lit dungeon. One of the plethora of dungeons in the castle. Hogwarts Castle, to be exact. It was one of the largest, and dreariest in the school for magic.
The frail boy took a step, he was inside the class. He caught a smell of sulphur. The aroma filled his nostrils and a slight murmur escaped his thin lips.
Harry brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, revealing the lightning- shaped scar on the right side of his tired face.
The pale boy guessed that the professors had placed a charm around the class, capturing the smell inside and keeping the rest of the cheerful castle smelling like ripe Shrivelfruit.
Harry grabbed his wand-woven bag more tightly, hauling the strap around his shoulder and revealing the words 'Rathelda's Receptacles". He moved a bit further toward his seat, next to his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. He brushed the sweat from his brow, slowly wiping his finger along the top of his strained eye.
Time seemed to slow down as he sat down, slowly, and then sank into his chair. He was the last one to arrive, though Professor Snape had yet to appear.
Harry peered over at Ron. Ron smiled, his tarnished, second-hand robes stained with blood, pus, and other flora and fauna they'd used in potions class.
Harry slowly removed the wand from his baggy pocket and raised it into the air, he made a swift movement to the left, then a tiny flick of his wrist while reciting the words "Fiora Siempra", a new spell, actually. It'd just been released to the wizarding world by the Council for Experimental Charms. It was an everlasting fire.
A blue flame shot from his wand onto a tiny candle under his pewter, black cauldron. The candle concentrated temperatures, so instead of being the normal fifty degrees, the temperature had stopped just above one- hundred.
Harry stuffed the wand back into his pocket as a greasy-looking man stormed into the room, he informed the class (in a rather matter-of-factly way) that they would be making a Luck Potion.
A trembling hand reached into a sack, scoured it, and retreived a book. Harry glared at the glossary quickly searching for the recipe that the impatient professor had requested.
Page 192. Harry waved his wand, murmuring some well-chosen words, and the book moved its pages quickly to the ingredients page.
Shrivelfig pus, Unicron tail hair, Mandrake root. Boomslang hide? The boy thought to himself as he shoved the neglected wand back into his pocket after he muttered the words "Apprato", causing his ingredients bag to appear out of nowhere.
Harry quickly retrieved the ingredients, and followed the instructions carefully. He spent the next fifteen minutes cutting the Unicorn tail hair and Mandrake root into perfect parts.
Harry made a dash for the cupboard, slowed by his fellow students. He managed to grab a measuring cup, and returned to his broth.
He grabbed a Shrivelfig and quickly squeezed the pus from the blisteresque scabs on its surface. Luckily, it was in its zenith, and he only had to gently press on the Shrivelfig to squirt its juice into the tiny measuring cup.
Half a cup, he measured out. And quickly launched it into the cauldron, a sea of foam erupted, it barely scraped the rim of the cauldron.
He threw the Boomslang hide into the concoction, he didn't need to measure it, the bigger the hide the luckier the potion, Snape had told them.
A purple smoke emitted from the cauldron and Harry quickly compared his potion to the drawing in his ancient looking book.
His potion was a bit thick, it should still work, he thought. He filled a vial and proudly strutted towards Snape's battered desk.
The hard man took a look at the potion and sneered, he took a drink and gave Harry the most encouraging comment he'd ever reciever from the grudge-holding professor.
"Too thick. It will still work. Seven out of ten, I'd say."
Harry laughed silently. He walked back to his seat, just as the magical buzzer sounded. He gathered his things and headed toward the greenhouse with Hermione and Ron following closely. Harry smiled, as he left the charmed dungeon and the smell of shepard's pie envelloped his sense of smell. He picked up his pace, eager to finish Herbology.