Wini and the Big Bad Potions Master
Date: October 3rd
Time: 6pm
Place: Hogwarts
Characters Involved: Snape and Wini, invitation only
Rating: Better be G, or Snape is a terrible man!
( Children are unpredictable. You never know what inconsistency they're going to catch you in next. ~Franklin P. Jones )
Time: 6pm
Place: Hogwarts
Characters Involved: Snape and Wini, invitation only
Rating: Better be G, or Snape is a terrible man!
( Children are unpredictable. You never know what inconsistency they're going to catch you in next. ~Franklin P. Jones )
"Joos," she said, thinking of the apple juice that Da always kept on hand for her at the house. "Joos." Except that she could feel the heat of the cauldron this close. She moved her head back a bit, but then turned her face back to it. She started reaching towards it, but Snape kept her away from being able to touch it. Undeterred, however, she pulled her face into a frown and reached out to take the stirring rod.
"Mine," she told him, as she unsteadily stirred the potion, breaking the circular rhythm that Snape had been doing easily. The potion's surface jarred as she wiggled the rod inside of it. "Mine joos."
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He was utterly and completely bewitched by her.
The delight on her face, her eager, intelligent curiosity made everything seem so much richer. Yes, he loved potions, like he had never been able to love anything or anyone else, but it was rare that he could truly see the physical manifestation of that love in anyone else.
His expression softened and he chuckled gently as he watched her closely, lest she accidentally get too near the hot liquid and get burnt.
"Not 'juice' Winifred, though I'll get you something to drink in a moment if you like. This is a Potion, - some of the most intricate magic...."
He stopped talking, knowing it would be impossible for him to explain the wonders of his art in language she could understand. Instead, he pulled the berries out of his pocket and set them on the workbench near her.
"My turn to stir. You put in the berries, one at a time, very gently, like this..."
He stood her on the stool next to the bench so he could free his hand while still keeping tabs on her. This left the cauldron about waist-high to her. With his arm still around her waist to secure her, he carefully put one berry in her chubby little hand, making sure that he kept in contact with her that she wouldn't fall off the stool or up against the hot cauldron, and gently guided her hand over the potion with his own. He placed his other hand over hers where it held the stirring rod, so he could control the rhythm of the motion without 'fighting' with her over the rod.
"Drop it in and watch the colours change," he encouraged.
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But, he said it wasn't juice. She tilted her head to the side, pressing her lips together as she tried to listen and understand. "Poo," she said, trying to say potion. "Poo...tn..poo..tn." She wasn't the smartest girl int he world like Oliver liked to think, but she did have a quick enough mind.
She allowed him to take control of the way the stirring rod moved, the perfect circles surprising her, and she watched as 'she' made the potion swirl in the way that he had.
"Ibzbee?" she asked, looking at the berry. But it wasn't a fizzing whizbee. It looked tasty, but, Snape moved her hand over the cauldron before she could try to eat it. Drop it? She opened her hand, and the berry dropped down. There was a hiss as Snape stirred it, and the colour changed, going from blue to... a little bit more purple. She gasped and let out a little giggle.
"Joos!" she proclaimed again, forgetting her new word.
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He chuckled again with her when she laughed with such delight as the liquid began to change colour. Collecting the rest of the berries in his much larger hand, he held them out over the cauldron and let her put them in. Now that she knew what to do, she was very eager, her little body all but wriggling with delight and excitement as the colour changed with each new berry.
At last all the berries were in, and the potion was now a soft, glossy pink, still shimmering with the iridescence of the base. There was nothing more to be done with it at present, though he could not leave it until it was done simmering - thirty minutes, precisely.
And still no June, or anyone else to take the child off his hands.
Honestly, by this point, he could have summoned a House-elf to find Wood, but he was annoyed with the boy for being so irresponsible as to allow such a delightful child to get lost. She could have been hurt! A nice, sound scare would do the prat a world of good.
"Now, Winifred, how about some biscuits and juice?" he said, gently taking the stirring rod and setting it next to the cauldron. If she was like Draco had been at two, if he intended to get her to leave the potion alone, he would need distraction, fast. A flick of his wand and a plate laden with several different kinds of biscuits appeared, as well as juice and milk for her, and steaming tea for himself.
He helped her down off the stool she had been standing on, and settled her in one of the chairs by his desk. Summoning the long-ago confiscated, acrylic cauldron and stirring rod, he set them next to her to see if they would interest her. The cauldron was just a bit larger than her head, and completely translucent, almost amethyst in its colour. He sipped at his tea, watching to see what she might do with it.
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"Biccit?" she said, a little surprised. "Biccit joos.." She turned to see the plate and clapped her hands. "Joos!" she said, settling herself into the chair he put her in. She reached out and grabbed a biscuit with her chubby hand, holding it tightly so that crumbs got over the desk and on herself as she brought it to her mouth. She opened her mouth wide to take a bite, crunching it with her molars, and eating with her mouth open. Her eyes went back and forth to the steaming potion. "P'tinn," she said to Snape, looking for more affirmation. She couldn't say the word so well with bits of biscuit in her mouth, but she made a try at it.
After she finished the first biscuit (well, most of it. She had dropped a big chunk on the floor, though she hadn't noticed), she started reaching for more. She took a few of them and put them in the cauldron, reaching her hand in to start 'stirring' the biscuits. "P'toion," she said again. "Mine."
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He desisted when she showed interest in the revoltingly 'girl-y' cauldron, and watched with an indulgent smirk as she began 'stirring' the biscuits inside.
As he was already resigned to minding her until the potion was done, he was determined to encourage any Potions-interest he could in the process, and showed her the little wooden mortar and pestle with great intrepidity, even going so far as to put some of the scattered crumbs inside the bowl to show her how to 'grind' them.
"Your potion, child," he agreed with amusement. "Can you make biscuit dust? Like this, watch."
He didn't relish trying to explain to his students how their essays got chocolate-chip crumbs all over them, so he shoved the stack aside to clear a space at his desk for her to 'work'.
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She looked at the mortar and pestle and giggle. "Ab.." she said, "Dat." Wini took one look at her now finished 'potion' resting inside the cauldron, and as she had withdrawn the biscuit for Snape, she promptly shoved it to the floor, the biscuits scattered on the floor. "Biccit," she told Snape, reaching for the wooden stick before throwing it to the floor. She was very pleased with herself and looked up at him, giggling.
And then, after a pause in which she frowned, a look of concentration across her brow, she looked up at Snape.
"Potty."
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"Very good Potion," he nodded solemnly, even as he tried to hide his dismay at her dumping everything out onto the floor.
"That's one way to grind ingredients, I suppose, but it does present the problem of contamination," he added in wry but conversational tones, as he might have done with June whilst discussing a promising but vexing student.
He glanced about at the floor, trying to determine what might have caught her attention as she became so still and quite rapt, apparently completely absorbed by something.
"What?" he said sharply - surely he must have misunderstood the word.
Unfortunately, even his merely human olfactory sensors told him without a doubt that he had not misunderstood the word at all.
"Oh, no. No, no, no...." he murmured, staring at her as though she had just become Bellatrix Lestrange before his eyes.
In a panic, he wracked his brains for a solution to this new emergency, and at last recollected what he had heard joked about amongst those few Death Eaters who deigned to speak 'fondly' of their families. It was one thing he had never had to deal with - Narcissa would not have trusted Severus to change Draco's nappies, for the very reason what he was about to do really ought not to be done in this situation.
What if one accidentally 'vanished' the wrong... er... contents?
However, Severus had been using the blasted charm to empty potions cauldrons for decades - he had never yet mis-cast the charm or vanished anything he hadn't wished to.
He took her by the hand and brought her closer to him, in spite of his protesting nose, and tried, once again, to distract her with the mortar and pestle, that her bottom might be in better range.
"Here, this is how to grind it, see?"
Evanesco.
The wand barely appeared for an instant as he silently waved it toward her nappy, just visible beneath the little blue sundress she was wearing. As the odour dissipated, and she wasn't wailing in pain, he was satisfied that he had handled the problem well enough until her father could deal with it.
Tragedy averted.
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His look of panic had scared her for a moment, her face screwing up in a look of fear, and her lower lip started to wobble as she watched him mutter 'no' repeatedly.
And, then, suddenly, her eyes flew open and she gasped as she felt a tingling sensation. And, of course, her diaper was empty. Not very clean or comfortable ... but, much better than before. "Potty," she repeated, her eyes focused on Snape.
She now remembered that she had not yet seen her Dad, so she sniffled again, looking around the room. "Da?" she said quietly. "Da..." She looked at Snape. Had he done something to her Dad?
"Wan' joos," she told him sadly. "Wan' joos..."
She took the instruments and banged them against each other for Snape's musical enjoyment while waiting for him to get her the juice that she so obviously deserved.
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The banging of the mortar against the cauldron was not at all conducive to a 'peaceful' environment, but by the radiant smile on the child's face, she clearly thought she was gifting him with her innate sense of rhythm.
Probably destined to be a Beater.
Rising from his chair to step around the small mountain of biscuit crumbs now littering his floor, he reached across the desk to collect the glass of juice he had conjured for her earlier. The glass was adult sized, and much too full for her to hold easily. With a sudden thought and a slightly wicked gleam in his eye, he tapped it with his wand to transfigure it into one of those toddler cups with a lid.
It was green, with the Slytherin crest on the side of the cup, and the lid.
"Here you are, Winifred. Juice. See the pretty snake? Can you say Slyth-er-in?"
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Winifred's second word had been Gryffindor. One might have thought that Oliver would insist on teaching his daughter 'Quidditch,' first, but, as he had married a Hufflepuff, he had decided that it would be best to instill Gryffindor pride before Ingrid had tried to instill Hufflepuff pride. Quidditch, he knew, the two of them would have risen her to love. Ingrid had been more than a little surprised -- and disappointed, when straight after, "Da" she had begun saying "Gi'du" despite the fact that anything resembling "Gryffindor" was quite a feat for a child less than one year old, she had been hoping for a "Ma" -- that did come a day later, but still. And as Oliver began trying to teach her other words, Ingrid had gently asked him to teach Wini to say "Hufflepuff." "Well, at least 'puff' Oliver, couldn't you?" She'd asked him. And he had, after she'd learned to say 'Snitch'. So Wini had grown up knowing these two words. Ravenclaw was one that Oliver didn't mention too much. In his mind she was the smartest girl of her age and he was afraid she might get sorted into that house instead of Gryffindor. But Slytherin -- now that was a house that Oliver talked about. But only in a negative sense. She had seen him grimace, and using it as something like an insult. 'The bad Slytherin' or 'That looks like yucky Slytherin green, Winifred.'
Wini pulled the cup from her mouth and studied it. Her brow wrinkled at it. "Slth," she garbled. And then she threw the cup on the ground.
"No," she said. She looked around. "Po'tin. Mine." Where had the cauldron gone? She looked up at Snape and gestured towards him with the pestle. "Mine po'tin."
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Checking his watch with a sigh, he saw he still had fifteen minutes before his potion could be decanted into vials and stored.
"Yes, Winifred. You may keep the cauldron. Your Potion."
He also righted the wooden mortar and pestle - the bowl of which was barely palm-sized for him - and set it next to the cauldron as well.
"You can have this too, hmm?"
Let Wood stick that in his pipe and smoke it! Severus was sick and tired of being accused of being the House with the most prejudice, when most of the time he was combating prejudice against his House far more often than he was punishing bigotry coming out of it! A significant percentage of the children in his House were very much like him - downtrodden at home until there was little choice what to believe, and then sorted into Slytherin where a full three-quarters of the Student Body hated them for no other reason than where the Sorting Had had placed them.
It was one of the reasons he had not protested quite as much as he would have liked, against Minerva's new Sorting scheme.
His smirk became rather smug and satisfied as he realised that if he kept his position, he would be Winifred's Head of House for one year, no matter where she was Sorted.
One year to combat a lifetime of brainwashing and prejudice.
Thankfully, he was more than adequate for the task.
The little girl was starting to look tired as she rubbed her eyes even as she stubbornly insisted what was 'mine'. He had no children's books in his lab - or in his possession, so reading her a story was out. Then again, he vaguely remembered the general 'plot' of the stories he had read to Draco when the boy was very small.
"Come here, child. I'll tell you a story until it is time to find your father."
Lifting the child - cauldron and all - onto his lap, he adjusted the heavy leather chair so it would rock, and settled her against him with the cauldron tightly clutched in her wee, plump hands. He tapped the Slytherin cup with his wand to refill it with juice, and also returned that to her. She was a right mess - covered in chocolate and biscuit crumbs, with sticky juice dribbled slightly down her chin. There was a bit of grass in her hair from her adventures outside, and her hands were sticky and crumbly from playing in her 'potion'.
He gallantly ignored it all. Though there was no question of needing a shower and clean clothes the moment he was shot of her!
Stroking her golden hair with one hand (to remove the bits of grass, of course!), he smirked again as the perfect 'story' came to him - one of the few he could clearly recollect. Gently rocking the chair with a lazy motion of his leg, he let his voice fall into the soft, soothing timbre which had never failed to lull Draco to sleep.
"Do you know 'Goldilocks and the Three Bears'?"
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