Potions and Possibilities
Beatrice Mulhern was, by all accounts, a perfectly normal teenage, muggle-born, witch. She did her homework, hung out with her friends a bit more than she probably should, went to the school Quidditch matches without fail and argued with her friends over which one of them would try it on with Professor Longbottom first.
In short, Beatrice felt like she had a pretty normal life. The one thing it was missing, compared to some of her friends, was teenage romance. The kind of flirtatious engagements that her friends told her about, snogging on the Astronomy Tower, avoiding the ghosts and Filch as they ran back to their dorms. For Beatrice boys were just a thing that happened to other people. She didn't mind. Most of the time. There'd be plenty of time for that later, she told herself.
But later became sooner, and still nothing. Nothing true. There had been a couple of boys, for that's all they were, and they'd been nice to a point. Then they'd either gotten bored or tried something on and she had sent them packing. Abigail Finch, Beatrice's best friend and fellow seventh year Hufflepuff, said that she was too picky. Other whispers, which Beatrice tried to ignore, said that she was frigid. They'd kept her up for more than one night – that was for sure.
Still, plenty of time. Yeah, loads.
She looked over as they were finishing breakfast at Abigail and her new boyfriend, Tom. That was probably his name, or Tim. Tom or Tim smiled and Abigail laughed. Then they kissed. God, it was disgusting.
Suddenly off her food, Beatrice muttered her goodbyes and headed down into the Dungeons for Potions. It wasn't an especially large class. Professor Morgan did her best to drum up interest, but Potion wasn't flash or impressive. It took patience and calm methodical practice. Anyone who took it for their N.E.W.T's had to either be passionate about it or too stupid to realise how hard it was going to be.
Beatrice would've dropped it, had it not been for Professor Morgan's dogged determination to prove to Beatrice that she was actually good at it. More often than not before her O.W.L's Beatrice would find herself ruining potions she knew she could do, and then not even attempting those she couldn't. The Professor, having seen Beatrice's frustrations for weeks, had taken her to one side after a class and offered a few words of advice – chief among them that nerves were the body's way of showing that something mattered. It wasn't that she wasn't good, it was that she cared too much.
"Good morning class," Professor Morgan beamed happily when everyone had filed in. "Now today we're going to be doing something a little bit different. Instead of setting you all individual tasks I thought I'd split you up into four teams of two. Each of you will have a set of possible potions that you can make, an ailment that needs to be cured. I want you to pick the best potion for the job, and then brew it for me.
"Now to keep things interesting I'm splitting up your normal groups." The room moaned in protest. "Yes, I know, but it'll be a task not only to see if you can brew the right potion, but can you brew it with someone you're not used to working with."
It had a strange logic, Beatrice had to admit, even if she didn't like it. God, she hoped it wasn't Ince.
Professor Morgan began to list the teams, Beatrice could feel herself scanning the room. Not Ince, please not Ince. He had the intelligence of a troll. Anyone but Ince. Was he, smiling at her? Or was that wind?
"Beatrice Mulhern, you'll be with Albus Potter over there."
Potter. Not too bad. Sure, he was a little quiet but he looked nice enough. An awkward half smile pulled itself across his kind features as Albus moved towards the cauldron that had been pointed out to them. Stupidly Beatrice felt herself do the same face. Great, good job, now he thinks you're a simpleton.
"You've got one hour," Professor Morgan announced once all the teams had paired up. She waved her wand and the parchment before them, which had been blank, suddenly was now filled with instructions. "Begin."
Sharing an awkward look, the kind that two people who've been in the same school but have never spoken before and never intended to either, Beatrice and Albus took up their positions at the desk by the cauldron. Between them sat the parchment, and after setting down her bag and tying back her hair with the ribbon her mother had given her, Beatrice began to read.
'Dancing Mania', otherwise known as the 'Dancing Plague', is an illness that can affect a variety of age groups and genders and it inflicts the sufferer with a peculiar mania. Once afflicted the victim, or victims as this disease is only recorded as happening in large groups, is forced dance until exhaustion and has been cited as the cause of death for thousands. Chiefly reported cases have been cited as afflicting muggles, however, there have been instances where witches and wizards have also been afflicted.
Available Potions:
The Draught of Living Death: Bring the patient into an uninterruptable stupor, can be revived once effects of the disease have worn off. Warning: if too much is ingested this slumber can be permanent.
A Tonic for Tranquillity: Grants the user a sense of calm, reduces stress, blood-pressure and creates a sense of ease. Warning: over-indulgence can lead to addiction, possible substance abuse and hallucinations.
Purging Potion: Causes an immediate case of vomiting, however, it requires a counter cure to prevent the purging from continuing known as the 'revival remedy'. Warning: if cure is not administered worst case scenarios can result in permanent stomach damage, and if left unmonitored death.
"Well," Beatrice began when she was sure that Albus had finished reading, "they all sound fun. Whacha thinking? Living Death feels like it might be good, I mean, not forever but it'd stop them, you know, dancing themselves to death."
God, it sounded as ridiculous as she had feared. It couldn't be a thing, could it? The image was bizarre, groups of people dancing themselves to death. What happened if people died earlier than others? Were they trampled or did they move to a new spot? What happened to the last one standing, did they solo dance to death?
"We covered this in History of Magic, I think." Albus said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the parchment. He looked like he wanted to carry on talking but stopped himself, like he wasn't sure if he should.
"You mean it's a real thing?" He nodded, emerald eyes scanning over the words, re-reading them. "Wow, guess people didn't have a lot to do before TV's were a thing."
"What's a TV?"
"It's a… You really don't know what a TV is?"
"No. Should I?"
"It's a muggle thing, like a box, I guess, and there's shows on there. People acting out stories, but in your living room, and you can watch them on it. Sort of like the portraits here, but they're not alive, it's all recorded."
"Like a wireless with pictures?"
"Sure." He seemed happy with that, a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips at the thought. It suited him. "So, what you thinking? Living Death, yeah?"
"I mean, maybe… if you think that's what's best."
"Not what I asked, Albus." From the other side of the dungeon, Beatrice was sure that she could feel Professor Morgan's eyes watching them, but when she looked over the Professor was talking to Ince and Crawford. Well, Crawford anyway, Ince was just nodding. "What're you thinking? We're a team, got an idea, tell me."
"It's just, isn't it a little drastic? If you wanted to knock them out, why not just stun them? And look, here, it says 'mania'. I think this is actually taken from the time, a wizard o-or witch watching and trying to figure it out. Mania generally refers to the brain, like how now you'd say someone was stressed or depressed, back then it would be called a mania or melancholy."
"So you're saying go for the tonic?"
"It affects the brain, I think, makes more sense to try and fix the problem. Dancing is just the symptom."
It made a lot of sense. She'd been thinking of how to stop the problem, rather than actually cure it. If it was stress related, or something else, then actually reducing stress levels and creating an aura of calm could work.
"I can get that, sure, let's go."
"Okay, cool."
For the first time he looked excited, and Beatrice couldn't help but wonder if people listened to him. The baby brother of James Potter, second son of Harry Potter, he had a lot to live up and other people around him who soared. Yet Albus was in Slytherin, the mistake that might be forgotten, he didn't walk round getting into fights. If Beatrice was honest with herself, she didn't really ever remember seeing him much before. He had just been there, like a chair or a pot plant, staying out of the way. The thought of her made her heart melt as she watched his face shine with joy. It helped that he looked cute too.
The lesson progressed quickly after that. Together, Beatrice and Albus began to craft the potion they'd chosen. Along the way they would give each other pointers. Albus kept her measuring precise, whilst she kept him from being too focused and uptight. Potion making should be as much about caring about what you were making as it was being exact. That's what Beatrice's father had always told her about baking and they were basically the same thing.
As the potion brewed they began to talk about their favourite subjects, outside of potions. It turned out that Albus loved History of Magic and that he was looking at becoming a scholar after he left Hogwarts. He wanted to go to America, because apparently there was some thinking that George Washington had been a wizard. Some said that they'd seen him long after his 'death', walking the fields of Virginia in search of a quiet life. Beatrice, on the other hand, was desperate to become a curse-breaker. Use the language of magic to help crack the darkest of curses, explore places that others had never found before and see the world she had dreamt of as a little girl.
All too fast, the lesson came to an end. Each potion was brought forwards and judged by Professor Morgan. Not knowing what the others had brewed, Beatrice had no ideas if theirs was the best or not. However, as the judging began it became clear that the potion's brewing was only half the battle, choosing the right one was important. Crawford, miraculously, had brewed the perfect potion yet failed to choose the right remedy. Whilst Wiggins and Matthews had picked the right one, but almost melted their cauldron.
Only Khan and Rayner had managed to pass both parts of the test. Beatrice watched as Rayner smugly lapped up the praise. It was only seeing this outpouring of self-worship that Beatrice suddenly remembered that this was competition. She'd been having such a good time with Albus that she had been completely forgotten about it. What she wouldn't give to wipe that stupid, smug smile of her stupid, smug face. Ever since Third Year, Jessica Raynor had been the bane of Beatrice's life with her condescending remarks and 'jokes' that were about as funny as an opera or dental surgery. All for no good reason, well no reason Beatrice cared about anyway.
"And finally, Miss Mulhern and Mister Potter, what have you got for me?"
"A Tonic for Tranquillity, Professor." Beatrice answered quickly, so that Albus was forced to. From what she'd figured out about him he hated being in the lime light for any amount of time, even if it was only to answer a question.
"Very good, well deduced. The disease is suspected to attack the brain, so any other remedy on your list wouldn't combated it. Now let's see if it works, shall we?" From her pocket she withdrew a small spoon, which moments later she dipped into the potion and put into her mouth. Slowly the Professor's eyes closed and a small sigh escaped her lips.
"Excellent, perfect even," she said once the momentary peace had passed. "You didn't over-egg it, which can often cause it to be too potent, nor did you take it off the boil too early. You two should work together more often. Twenty five points each."
Behind the Professor's back Raynor's face had gone slack. Beatrice shot her a little wink, just enough to tip her over the edge from seething to fuming.
"That's everything for today. Remember, I want your essay on the uses of mandrake root and its varying affects in potion making by next week. No delays, that includes you Mister Ince. Off you go."
With a wave of her wand the cauldrons were emptied and the class began to file out, falling back into their usual groups. All except for Albus and Beatrice, who found themselves walking out of the dungeon together. They fell into a sort of comfortable silence, punctuated by moments of careful thinking. As they neared the tops of the stairs and going out into the rest of the castle, Beatrice couldn't help hope that they'd do this again. She'd liked working with him, liked talking him, and liked it more than perhaps she wanted to admit. He'd been funny, kind, sweet and man, was the boy cute.
Maybe next time she'd say something. Yeah, next time.
"I guess I'll be going then," Albus said when they reached the Entrance Hall. People were milling around, most of them heading to their next lesson. Beatrice had a free and had already promised that she would see Abigail in library for a serious revision session without Tim/Tom. Albus had History of Magic and had already told Beatrice in great detail why he was excited to learn more about the way magic had impacted muggle medicine (it was why he'd heard of the dancing disease, or whatever it was called).
"Yeah, I'll see you around."
"Sure."
Next time.
He turned and began to walk away, Scorpius Malfoy beamed at his friend and bounded forwards from the position he'd taken by the stairs, like a puppy seeing its owner. Some people looked on sniggered, pointing at the pair of unlikely friends. A flicker of sadness tore its way across Albus' face. He might not say it but their words hurt. She wasn't sure why she did it, whether it was the laughter or seeing him suffer.
Whatever it was, Beatrice found herself taking a step forwards and before she knew it was she was shouting: "Albus, wait up!"
Both boys turned. Suddenly anything she had thought to say vanished from her head. Her legs felt heavy, her arms too long, her hair was still tied up. Stupid Potions, she always looked better with it down. Why did it matter? Then it clicked, dropping like a penny in the piggy bank of her brain. She liked him. Really liked him.
"Sorry, I know you've got to be somewhere, it's just… Are you doing anything tonight? Only I wondered if maybe you fancied doing that Potions essay together and then maybe do something after? If you haven't already done it that is, I mean, you might have done it. You probably already have, it's just today was cool and it'd be nice to work with you again. If you want? You don't have to, I just thought. Yeah…"
Smooth, Beatrice, real smooth.
Scorpius was openly staring. She was pretty sure some of the on-lookers were taking in the show too. God, this was embarrassing. Was she breathing? She was pretty sure she was breathing.
"Yeah, that'd be nice. See you there about seven?"
"Yes, wow, yes. Okay, awesome. See you then."
He smiled and her heart exploded.
"See you."
It was only when he had walked away, Scorpius muttering excitedly to him once they were out of earshot, that Beatrice became aware of an all too familiar gaze. She'd forgotten that they were meant to be meeting in the Entrance Hall. Abigail had been just a few feet away the entire time and was now beaming at her best friend.
"Don't say anything."
"But –"
"Not a word."
"That was –"
"No I don't want to hear it."
"Albus Potter, I didn't know you even knew each other."
We didn't. We don't. I'd like to.
"This is so exciting, I'm so happy for you. Wait 'til I tell Tom."
Tom. Well, Beatrice thought as she let herself be dragged up the stairs towards the library, at least that was one mystery solved for the day.
AN: The challenge for this was: Fairy: Write about someone who has a very likeable disposition but is awkward or shy.