It was strange to be back within the walls of Hogwarts—his first time since he departed as a seventh year student almost eight years prior. Not a single pupil here today had shared the Ravenclaw tower with Gideon, though undoubtedly most at least knew his youngest sister in passing.

Gideon Browne's membership in the London Guild of Potioneers was never something he'd taken particularly seriously—it was simply one of those memberships a healer held, just like he held a gentleman's membership at Merlin's. There had, however, been a sort of nostalgia surrounding the idea of serving as a judge today, and as he looked down at more than half a dozen young faces, the wizard could not help but feel like a bit of an imposter.

"Your first potion today," he explained, "will be a cure for boils, which even the first years among you should be familiar with. Just in case, though," Gideon added with a smile, "you will find the directions on the board behind me. You will have until the sand in the hourglass runs out, at which point I shall judge what you have produced. I hope that I do not need to warn you that tampering with a competitor's cauldron will see your immediate dismissal."

That was the sort of thing proper judges said, wasn't it? I don't need to tell you but I'll tell you anyway?

"You may begin!"