Connor pulled a face – something like a frown of sympathy. Potions was finicky, he supposed. It felt like a more exacting business than even the recipes made out: like the slightest addition of anything could throw the whole concoction out of whack. (He was pleased with himself that his suggestion had made it look better rather than worse, though. Over-stirring could have been just as bad.)
“It was that or missing an ingredient, or mixing them in the wrong order,” Connor considered, with a shrug; and those were harder mistakes to undo. He glanced down at the list of ingredients, to check whether there was anything still lying on the desk that Black had obviously forgotten or not... but he tilted his head in interest as to why the other boy sounded so depressed about it. “Did you want it to be?” Connor asked. “Or – is potioneer what your parents hoped you’d do?”
“It was that or missing an ingredient, or mixing them in the wrong order,” Connor considered, with a shrug; and those were harder mistakes to undo. He glanced down at the list of ingredients, to check whether there was anything still lying on the desk that Black had obviously forgotten or not... but he tilted his head in interest as to why the other boy sounded so depressed about it. “Did you want it to be?” Connor asked. “Or – is potioneer what your parents hoped you’d do?”