It was early afternoon in Hogsmeade when Samuel Griffith appeared out of thin air on the corner of Wright Street and Bonham Close. No one paid him much mind, as this was not an uncommon occurrence in the village. Griffith was well-dressed, as he usually was, and every strand of his silver-streaked hair sat exactly where it was supposed to be.
He entered the house of the Potts Family that stood right at this corner and exchanged pleasantries with the maid. When Mr. Potts came down to greet him, he complimented him on his orderly kept plants that could be seen all over the house. Mr. Potts was a herbologist and worked for the Ministry of Magic.
Griffith did not come to the house for a mere social call. He was to help the young Miss Potts - a girl of 15 years, he had been told - to improve her skills in making potions.
The girl was not terrible, Mr. Potts had informed him, but to get the desired E in her OWLs, she had to improve quite a bit.
Griffith had sent a letter with requirements for the lessons:
- A room with a fireplace fit for brewing potions
- The exact cauldron and tools Miss Potts used at Hogwarts
- To be undisturbed for the duration of the lesson (except, of course, for a governess or chaperone)
In the room where the lesson was to take place, Griffith introduced himself to Miss Potts:
“Miss Potts, I am Professor Griffith. I will be teaching Alchemy at Hogwarts for the new term. But today, as you surely know, I am here to help you improve your potion skills.”
When greetings were exchanged and after giving her a chance to ask questions, he motioned towards the fireplace with the cauldron.
“First, you will brew a potion from your last school year and I will observe you to get an impression of your abilities. Please, start by setting up your place of work, but do not begin with the recipe yet."
He set the bag with the ingredients and the recipe on the table, stood back and watched her intently.
How to get an O in potions
June 18, 2024 – 8:17 AM
Alchemy Professor
June 18th, 1894 - At the Potts' House
July 16, 2024 – 5:31 AM
Fifth Year & Book Club President
She found him imposing at first, having to crane her head up even farther than for most of the Hogwarts professors. The young witch was not frightened, though she made certain to curtsy quite intentionally when he was first received. Professor Griffith was something of an enigma, even his letter had been terse and to the point. Meeting him in person, Millie had the unusual sense that she should remain quiet, moreso than her natural inclination.
Following her instinct, and the requirements in the professor's letter, she brought him to the workspace that Papa had cleared away for her. The Potts house held many rooms, more than enough for four children to finish growing amid the important duties required by Cecil Potts' job. This room had once been a playroom, which had been turned over to crafts, and then to greenery that couldn't live elsewhere. Which had found new homes for the summertime, some outdoors where they could stretch their leaves unimpeded to the sun, and others to various alcoves or the small greenhouse out back.
She crouched at the fireplace first, which hadn't been used for long time and the coals were growing unevenly across the wooden fuel. That would need tending before she could start. Millie turned to listen to Professor Griffith, whose words itched in her ears even after the sound had faded in the room. She shook her head without questions, it was clear why the man was here, and the young witch felt embarrassed enough by it.
Other students certainly didn't need the school's newest expert in Potions, and one that the whispers while still at school suggested was even better than Professor Valenduris, to tutor them to a passing OWL grade. For a summer that Millie had hoped to spend under her favorite tree in the nearby grove, or at least visiting her cousins' shops to lend a helping hand, filling her time hunched over a smoky cauldron on the hottest of days felt even worse than doing it in the chilly dungeons at Hogwarts in the dead of winter.
Millie relented, however. First to Papa a week ago, now to the professor in the room with her. There wasn't much else she could do. The young witch did want to improve, but she thought that was something she had seen happening with her guidance from Anne and her diligence during classes.
After placing another piece of wood on the fire, she opened the professor's bag to draw out bouquet of lavender. Those were common enough, and while peppermint oil wasn't nearly as much, it was the crocodile heart that told the young witch the kind of potion she was creating. For a Calming Draught, she would need precise measurements. The measuring spoons would aid her, but at the last minute Millie retrieved her scale as well to set alongside the array of instruments for the potion's making.
She needed no direction to pause before starting, the young witch felt uncertain enough about what was assembled so far. Perhaps there would be a need for the mortar and pestle as well, or she might wish for her Potions textbook after all. Reaching up to her throat, where the silver links of her necklace lay, she took them in her fingers and rubbed gently. Letting out a breath, Millie looked up at the observant man with a small nod, "I believe that's everything, Professor."
There was no doubt in her mind that his eyes had been tracking and cataloguing her every movement, and she would hear soon enough if her efforts were already deficient.
Following her instinct, and the requirements in the professor's letter, she brought him to the workspace that Papa had cleared away for her. The Potts house held many rooms, more than enough for four children to finish growing amid the important duties required by Cecil Potts' job. This room had once been a playroom, which had been turned over to crafts, and then to greenery that couldn't live elsewhere. Which had found new homes for the summertime, some outdoors where they could stretch their leaves unimpeded to the sun, and others to various alcoves or the small greenhouse out back.
She crouched at the fireplace first, which hadn't been used for long time and the coals were growing unevenly across the wooden fuel. That would need tending before she could start. Millie turned to listen to Professor Griffith, whose words itched in her ears even after the sound had faded in the room. She shook her head without questions, it was clear why the man was here, and the young witch felt embarrassed enough by it.
Other students certainly didn't need the school's newest expert in Potions, and one that the whispers while still at school suggested was even better than Professor Valenduris, to tutor them to a passing OWL grade. For a summer that Millie had hoped to spend under her favorite tree in the nearby grove, or at least visiting her cousins' shops to lend a helping hand, filling her time hunched over a smoky cauldron on the hottest of days felt even worse than doing it in the chilly dungeons at Hogwarts in the dead of winter.
Millie relented, however. First to Papa a week ago, now to the professor in the room with her. There wasn't much else she could do. The young witch did want to improve, but she thought that was something she had seen happening with her guidance from Anne and her diligence during classes.
After placing another piece of wood on the fire, she opened the professor's bag to draw out bouquet of lavender. Those were common enough, and while peppermint oil wasn't nearly as much, it was the crocodile heart that told the young witch the kind of potion she was creating. For a Calming Draught, she would need precise measurements. The measuring spoons would aid her, but at the last minute Millie retrieved her scale as well to set alongside the array of instruments for the potion's making.
She needed no direction to pause before starting, the young witch felt uncertain enough about what was assembled so far. Perhaps there would be a need for the mortar and pestle as well, or she might wish for her Potions textbook after all. Reaching up to her throat, where the silver links of her necklace lay, she took them in her fingers and rubbed gently. Letting out a breath, Millie looked up at the observant man with a small nod, "I believe that's everything, Professor."
There was no doubt in her mind that his eyes had been tracking and cataloguing her every movement, and she would hear soon enough if her efforts were already deficient.
![[Image: Aoane36.png]](https://i.imgur.com/Aoane36.png)
July 27, 2024 – 8:09 AM
Alchemy Professor
The professor let her set up the station without interfering. He stood back and observed her manner of working—uncertainly—and noted her emotional state—sullen and embarrassed.
Griffith was not someone who himself lived in a constant state of feeling, but he was skilled at perceiving the moods and temperaments of those around him. Watching Miss Potts, he quickly concluded that her shortcomings were not of the intellectual kind. Something else entirely was the matter.
When she announced that she had finished setting up, he moved closer to inspect her work.
Professor Griffith picked up a measuring spoon and held it up to the light.
“There are streaks on this one,” he remarked, pointing out the slight discoloration of the metal where remnants of some ingredient had interacted with the material.
He set it down and tentatively dragged a fingertip around the indent just below the rim of the cauldron. His fingertip came back darkened. He showed it to her and spoke, not disparagingly, but in a serious tone:
“Brewing a potion is a very exact science, Miss Potts. Contaminations with unintended substances, however small they might appear, will alter the quality of the result,” he explained. With a silent spell, he let the dirt disappear from his fingers. Suddenly aware that the scar carved in the shape of a transmutation circle on his palm might disturb the girl, he lowered his hand.
“Show me the charm you use to clean your instruments. Do it twice in a row and inspect the results closely. They are not infallible, especially if one is inexperienced or approaches the spell with unclear intentions.”
Professor Griffith took a step back to give the young witch comfortable space to work. He stood and watched, his countenance and tall figure as unmoving and cold in the sveltering summer heat as a marble statue.
Griffith was not someone who himself lived in a constant state of feeling, but he was skilled at perceiving the moods and temperaments of those around him. Watching Miss Potts, he quickly concluded that her shortcomings were not of the intellectual kind. Something else entirely was the matter.
When she announced that she had finished setting up, he moved closer to inspect her work.
Professor Griffith picked up a measuring spoon and held it up to the light.
“There are streaks on this one,” he remarked, pointing out the slight discoloration of the metal where remnants of some ingredient had interacted with the material.
He set it down and tentatively dragged a fingertip around the indent just below the rim of the cauldron. His fingertip came back darkened. He showed it to her and spoke, not disparagingly, but in a serious tone:
“Brewing a potion is a very exact science, Miss Potts. Contaminations with unintended substances, however small they might appear, will alter the quality of the result,” he explained. With a silent spell, he let the dirt disappear from his fingers. Suddenly aware that the scar carved in the shape of a transmutation circle on his palm might disturb the girl, he lowered his hand.
“Show me the charm you use to clean your instruments. Do it twice in a row and inspect the results closely. They are not infallible, especially if one is inexperienced or approaches the spell with unclear intentions.”
Professor Griffith took a step back to give the young witch comfortable space to work. He stood and watched, his countenance and tall figure as unmoving and cold in the sveltering summer heat as a marble statue.
August 8, 2024 – 6:09 AM
Fifth Year & Book Club President
The young witch didn't exactly welcome the criticism, even knowing it was coming. Her mouth went slack at the choice of the measuring spoon, peering at it closely after Professor Griffith set it down. If there were streaks on its surface, they couldn't possibly have been noticeable from his height. Millie didn't think it exactly fair, Professor Valenduris had never been so fastidious about their cleaning habits for class before.
She could perform the tasks, that part wasn't in question. The withering remarks that crashed repeatedly over her head was what left Millie second-guessing herself. Nodding kept her from having to respond, suffering the assessment of her abilities in silence. It hurt to think that her charms could be the source of all the trouble she'd had with potions, Professor Ruskin had nothing but praise for her level of proficiency in class and in the charms club.
With another instructor, the young witch might have pointed out her own accomplishments. Yet in all the ways that Professor Griffith spoke sternly, looming over her with eyes that let no detail go unnoticed, none said that he would ever think well of her for doing so. Nor did Millie only have his standards to meet, but Papa's as well, for going out of his way to arrange this tutoring. That made her mindful as Millie used her wand to perform the cleaning spell upon the cauldron, just as she had a hundred times before.
"I don't understand why it's not effective." There was a consternation in her voice, and as soon as she realized Millie tried to dampen it. She picked up the measuring spoon the professor had examined earlier, casting the spell on its surface. The streaks, if they were really there in the first place, were certainly gone by now.
It was only the cauldron, the lining of its brass vessel tarnished in ways that were obviously visible now that she had it pointed out to her. With her spells not enough, Millie frowned at it and rubbed the necklace at her throat. Finding the answer before the professor could tell her would be certain to impress him, but the more she fretted the further it seemed the answer could be from her, retreating into the abyss to live with its companions from exams and family members at holidays.
She could perform the tasks, that part wasn't in question. The withering remarks that crashed repeatedly over her head was what left Millie second-guessing herself. Nodding kept her from having to respond, suffering the assessment of her abilities in silence. It hurt to think that her charms could be the source of all the trouble she'd had with potions, Professor Ruskin had nothing but praise for her level of proficiency in class and in the charms club.
With another instructor, the young witch might have pointed out her own accomplishments. Yet in all the ways that Professor Griffith spoke sternly, looming over her with eyes that let no detail go unnoticed, none said that he would ever think well of her for doing so. Nor did Millie only have his standards to meet, but Papa's as well, for going out of his way to arrange this tutoring. That made her mindful as Millie used her wand to perform the cleaning spell upon the cauldron, just as she had a hundred times before.
"I don't understand why it's not effective." There was a consternation in her voice, and as soon as she realized Millie tried to dampen it. She picked up the measuring spoon the professor had examined earlier, casting the spell on its surface. The streaks, if they were really there in the first place, were certainly gone by now.
It was only the cauldron, the lining of its brass vessel tarnished in ways that were obviously visible now that she had it pointed out to her. With her spells not enough, Millie frowned at it and rubbed the necklace at her throat. Finding the answer before the professor could tell her would be certain to impress him, but the more she fretted the further it seemed the answer could be from her, retreating into the abyss to live with its companions from exams and family members at holidays.
August 13, 2024 – 8:49 AM
Alchemy Professor
The professor came closer to take a look at the cauldron which now looked pristine, except for the stubborn thin line of tarnish.
“It is mostly effective,” he assessed.
“You are coming up against the barrier of the common witch and wizard, who are relegated to spellwork that is merely satisfactory but most often falls short of perfection, which is reserved for the few who either care to study the intricacies of magic or are extraordinarily gifted,” Professor Griffith said rather coldly.
“A satisfactorily cleaned cauldron will get you a satisfactory potion and a passing grade, which is the aim of teaching in Hogwarts. However, it is not enough for me.”
The line of tarnish around the cauldron was not the reason she struggled in potions; it would affect the result to a rather small degree. In fact, she did not struggle at all. Her grades were merely mediocre. And although it must seem cruel to someone unfamiliar with Professor Griffith to drill her on this, it was exactly mediocrity which he had set out to squash in his students. With the unambitious and simple-minded, he did not even bother. But in Miss Potts, he thought to see at least the striving for more he required.
“You must try again. Counterintuitively, the most common interference preventing excellent spellwork is an overactive mind. Quiet the chatter of your thoughts. Your body carries a circulatory system of power that is unique to you alone. You must learn to observe it.”
This was by no means an easy task; he knew it very well. Most people were quite unaware of the way in which they used magic. There were different types of casters. The differences Griffith believed to be mostly determined by nature, not nurture.
“Direct your gaze firmly upon your objective and wait until you can feel the magic you carry within rise towards the action you set your intention on. At this point, most rush to cast. Wait until you feel the general pressure focused in a particular part of your body. Most likely it will be the navel or solar plexus. Very rarely the head or heart or beneath the left side of the ribcage. This is your internal focus point. If you feel it, cast.”
The professor leaned back against a table and crossed his arms, ready to wait out a few attempts. What he asked of this 15-year-old girl was exceptionally demanding. Griffith thought back to the ancient warlock in Prague who had taught him as a young man. How he had struggled.
Now, with time and practice, he no longer needed to wait to feel it. He simply cast from his focus point, located in his spleen beneath his ribs.
For Miss Potts, even a halfway-there attempt might improve her spells.
If they did not finish even setting up the station for a simple potion today, Griffith did not care. If he could anchor even a part of these concepts in a young mind, he had achieved plenty, in his opinion.
“It is mostly effective,” he assessed.
“You are coming up against the barrier of the common witch and wizard, who are relegated to spellwork that is merely satisfactory but most often falls short of perfection, which is reserved for the few who either care to study the intricacies of magic or are extraordinarily gifted,” Professor Griffith said rather coldly.
“A satisfactorily cleaned cauldron will get you a satisfactory potion and a passing grade, which is the aim of teaching in Hogwarts. However, it is not enough for me.”
The line of tarnish around the cauldron was not the reason she struggled in potions; it would affect the result to a rather small degree. In fact, she did not struggle at all. Her grades were merely mediocre. And although it must seem cruel to someone unfamiliar with Professor Griffith to drill her on this, it was exactly mediocrity which he had set out to squash in his students. With the unambitious and simple-minded, he did not even bother. But in Miss Potts, he thought to see at least the striving for more he required.
“You must try again. Counterintuitively, the most common interference preventing excellent spellwork is an overactive mind. Quiet the chatter of your thoughts. Your body carries a circulatory system of power that is unique to you alone. You must learn to observe it.”
This was by no means an easy task; he knew it very well. Most people were quite unaware of the way in which they used magic. There were different types of casters. The differences Griffith believed to be mostly determined by nature, not nurture.
“Direct your gaze firmly upon your objective and wait until you can feel the magic you carry within rise towards the action you set your intention on. At this point, most rush to cast. Wait until you feel the general pressure focused in a particular part of your body. Most likely it will be the navel or solar plexus. Very rarely the head or heart or beneath the left side of the ribcage. This is your internal focus point. If you feel it, cast.”
The professor leaned back against a table and crossed his arms, ready to wait out a few attempts. What he asked of this 15-year-old girl was exceptionally demanding. Griffith thought back to the ancient warlock in Prague who had taught him as a young man. How he had struggled.
Now, with time and practice, he no longer needed to wait to feel it. He simply cast from his focus point, located in his spleen beneath his ribs.
For Miss Potts, even a halfway-there attempt might improve her spells.
If they did not finish even setting up the station for a simple potion today, Griffith did not care. If he could anchor even a part of these concepts in a young mind, he had achieved plenty, in his opinion.
August 30, 2024 – 10:23 PM
Fifth Year & Book Club President
Not enough? Millie wondered if she had cleaned her ears thoroughly that morning, she might have just heard a professor say that satisfaction and passing were not enough. What more could there be after that? The young witch truly hoped that Papa was not sitting just beyond the doorway, listening in. He and Griffith were of a mind, she feared, viewing her success as nothing more than a stepping stone.
It made the young witch feel quite small, smaller yet than she'd discovered upon meeting the professor at the door.
Millie tried to follow along, nodding at the moments which seemed most appropriate. She had gotten good at that, nodding, taking notes and following instructions. Write the essay to the appropriate length, perform the spell as described. Here and there, she had to figure out another approach when one didn't work, some professors were crafty about their assignments. None, however, had scorned her over a bit of tarnish. And never over having a mind full of thoughts.
"Feel the magic?" she questioned once, and then silenced her mouth again. The professor had a clear vision of what had to happen, even if it didn't make sense to her. Millie felt much like a child again, a first year student learning what the essentials were all over again. Every time she tried to quiet her mind from its idlesome chatter, the rippling thoughts that pervaded her consciousness, and much of her unconsciousness, she found herself thinking too much about not thinking at all. Her brow grew more drawn with each passing moment, and her fingers rubbed across the silver links —surely tarnished as well— of her necklace.
When she had started out today, the young witch didn't think she would be unlearning everything Hogwarts had taught in the last four years.
Millie squared her gaze on the cauldron. This had to work, she thought, and then banished that one as well. No thought had ever interrupted her wandwork in such a manner before, but she was set on trying Professor Griffith's instructions. Even if they seemed nonsensical, or hard. Or unfair, as if her best wasn't already good enough.
She swished her wand again, but found only the same result.
No, Millie realized, she hadn't felt her magic that time. Except she had, her magic was all over. It tingled in the tips of her fingers holding the wand, it warmed the insides of her throat and stomach, it made her giddy with satisfaction when her spells worked, and so on and so forth. The professor seemed to think that magic came from just one place, one that she could focus on.
She made another attempt, focusing this time on her navel as the professor said. There was no magic that she could feel there, so she tried again in her head. Then her heart. Then every place she could think of, until there was nowhere else for the young witch to try. When every thought had been exhausted, she was truly exhausted, sinking down into a chair nearby. Millie didn't even grab for her necklace, just letting her head fall into her hands.
There was nothing good enough about her anymore, that she knew for certain now.
It made the young witch feel quite small, smaller yet than she'd discovered upon meeting the professor at the door.
Millie tried to follow along, nodding at the moments which seemed most appropriate. She had gotten good at that, nodding, taking notes and following instructions. Write the essay to the appropriate length, perform the spell as described. Here and there, she had to figure out another approach when one didn't work, some professors were crafty about their assignments. None, however, had scorned her over a bit of tarnish. And never over having a mind full of thoughts.
"Feel the magic?" she questioned once, and then silenced her mouth again. The professor had a clear vision of what had to happen, even if it didn't make sense to her. Millie felt much like a child again, a first year student learning what the essentials were all over again. Every time she tried to quiet her mind from its idlesome chatter, the rippling thoughts that pervaded her consciousness, and much of her unconsciousness, she found herself thinking too much about not thinking at all. Her brow grew more drawn with each passing moment, and her fingers rubbed across the silver links —surely tarnished as well— of her necklace.
When she had started out today, the young witch didn't think she would be unlearning everything Hogwarts had taught in the last four years.
Millie squared her gaze on the cauldron. This had to work, she thought, and then banished that one as well. No thought had ever interrupted her wandwork in such a manner before, but she was set on trying Professor Griffith's instructions. Even if they seemed nonsensical, or hard. Or unfair, as if her best wasn't already good enough.
She swished her wand again, but found only the same result.
No, Millie realized, she hadn't felt her magic that time. Except she had, her magic was all over. It tingled in the tips of her fingers holding the wand, it warmed the insides of her throat and stomach, it made her giddy with satisfaction when her spells worked, and so on and so forth. The professor seemed to think that magic came from just one place, one that she could focus on.
She made another attempt, focusing this time on her navel as the professor said. There was no magic that she could feel there, so she tried again in her head. Then her heart. Then every place she could think of, until there was nowhere else for the young witch to try. When every thought had been exhausted, she was truly exhausted, sinking down into a chair nearby. Millie didn't even grab for her necklace, just letting her head fall into her hands.
There was nothing good enough about her anymore, that she knew for certain now.
August 31, 2024 – 6:23 PM
Alchemy Professor
She tried, then she faltered. He watched her sink into a chair and sink into herself. Her head fell into her hands as if it had grown too heavy.
Samuel was glad that she did not cry. Not yet. He supposed, if he carried on like this, she might. And he might feel then that it was hard to bear.
He pulled out a chair and sat opposite Millie Potts, and by doing that, ceased towering over her.
"Miss Potts," he said. "I know I ask much of you and that by not succeeding right away, it might make you feel that you are lacking. That is not what I wish you to take away from this. I think you are certainly capable of the grade your father desires you to reach, without me tutoring you."
The issue with her appeared to him to be a lack of structure and confidence; in asking the right questions of herself.
"And instead of subjecting you to my demands, which must seem strange and nonsensical to you, I could have you brew a few potions and give you pointers here and there. But my time is valuable and I would rather not. I do not think that you need that. What I am ready to improve in you is the foundation upon which you build everything else. This will affect your potions, but moreso it will prime you for a life of pursuing ambitious goals."
Samuel leaned back in his chair. He looked out the window into the sun and suddenly wished to be out there, instead of in here.
With all he could teach and give to this girl, who was to say she even wanted it? Or that she needed it for the life she desired?
Perhaps, she wished to marry. Perhaps, when she dreamed of her life, she dreamed of the faces of her children, the house she might live in, the friends she might visit on idle afternoons. That was nothing to despise her for. But it would mean he was wasting his time. Samuel disliked wasting time very much.
"See, we do not know each other well, Miss Potts. I do not presume to know what it is that you want for yourself. I am here because your father asked me to. What is it that you need this E for? Do you desire to pursue your NEWTs? Or is that someone else's wish?"
Samuel was glad that she did not cry. Not yet. He supposed, if he carried on like this, she might. And he might feel then that it was hard to bear.
He pulled out a chair and sat opposite Millie Potts, and by doing that, ceased towering over her.
"Miss Potts," he said. "I know I ask much of you and that by not succeeding right away, it might make you feel that you are lacking. That is not what I wish you to take away from this. I think you are certainly capable of the grade your father desires you to reach, without me tutoring you."
The issue with her appeared to him to be a lack of structure and confidence; in asking the right questions of herself.
"And instead of subjecting you to my demands, which must seem strange and nonsensical to you, I could have you brew a few potions and give you pointers here and there. But my time is valuable and I would rather not. I do not think that you need that. What I am ready to improve in you is the foundation upon which you build everything else. This will affect your potions, but moreso it will prime you for a life of pursuing ambitious goals."
Samuel leaned back in his chair. He looked out the window into the sun and suddenly wished to be out there, instead of in here.
With all he could teach and give to this girl, who was to say she even wanted it? Or that she needed it for the life she desired?
Perhaps, she wished to marry. Perhaps, when she dreamed of her life, she dreamed of the faces of her children, the house she might live in, the friends she might visit on idle afternoons. That was nothing to despise her for. But it would mean he was wasting his time. Samuel disliked wasting time very much.
"See, we do not know each other well, Miss Potts. I do not presume to know what it is that you want for yourself. I am here because your father asked me to. What is it that you need this E for? Do you desire to pursue your NEWTs? Or is that someone else's wish?"
View a Printable Version
Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)
Charmingrp.com was designed with ❤ by Shanté and coded by Olive
Powered By MyBB, © 2002-2024 MyBB Group.
Powered By MyBB, © 2002-2024 MyBB Group.