Being Muggleborn, I had no prior experience with potions, nor magic of any type before receiving my acceptance letter to Hogwarts. My parents, dubious
at first, finally thought it would be fortuitous to have the house to themselves for some reason, and dashed me off half a day before the train departed,
leaving me with a packed bag, a sack of cash, and no clue where to start. I happened to find myself staring for some time at a shop most people
couldn't seem to bother a glance at. A gaggle of strange folk wearing robes and waving sticks, 'Adults waving sticks?,' I thought, "didn't I need a stick?'
I found myself following them into a pub.
Not moments later I heard a fight break out, and two inebriated fools in dressing gowns started pointing sticks at each other, followed by a howl of pain,
one of the fellows collapsed in a heap clutching his face. My allergies kicked in as a puff of smoke overwhelmed my sight for a moment. Just as suddenly
as the smoke stopped, a bobby shoved me aside and took the offending drunkard away.
The poor sod on the floor was weeping in pain, and the bartender offered to cook him up a cure. Odd verbiage, I thought, but I was curious
place and what it would lead to.
"Darned books 'er soaked wit' butterbeer!" the barkeep barked. "I can on'ly make out half tha cook in either one!"
"Don't you even try it, Tom!" a barfly laughed at the gangly barman.
Tom on the other hand, seemed confident. A loud clang brought a large metal pot from beneath the bar, and onto the cooking fire. Tom turned to the
bar and opened both sodden books again. He endured the mockery of the patrons of the bar while he danced back and forth between the pot and a
mortal/pestle.
"Please Tom," cried the attacked man, I noticed his face was covered in nasty sores and blemishes, but such things never bothered me. Who cares if he
looked like a cats swollen sphincter. "Please, this hurts, don't use the Magical Drafts and Potions version, it takes too long!"
"Yeh shut yer gob! I'm makin' due wit' what I gawt! And yah got on'ly yerself to bla-!" Tom had turned his attention from his kettle and was vigorously
stirring after dumping in dark spines. The whole concoction had turned red! The back of my neck tingled, and I quickly dove under the table I was sitting
at a split second before an explosion erupted from the pot spraying the boiling contents everywhere. Raucous laugher and screams followed my
consciousness as I followed a gaily, belly laughing older fellow out the back of the bar where he tapped a stick of his own against a wall.