Millicent and the Potions NEWT Progress Report
Date: Thursday, 8 March 2001
Time: Early Afternoon
Location: Nightsbridge
Characters Involved: Millicent Morsus
Rating: PG-13
Millicent Bulstrode stomped up the stairs from her cellar potions laboratory in Knightsbridge. She was ever so sorry now that she hadn’t set up the blasted thing in Montague’s bedroom back in Cumbria. What the hell was she thinking, setting up so many cauldrons downstairs that it seemed like the fumigators were resident in her beautiful house; or needed to be. She had no one to blame but herself, but even now she knew that this most difficult period of learning, investigation and revelation would pass and she would be glad once more that she had made the decision to place things here, where they would be subject only to her own scrutiny. She might be persuaded to share something with Montague eventually. Perhaps if she discovered a new addictive brain destroying substance which gave him temporary heightened awareness. It would make the perfect gift for his next birthday.
She continued to stomp her way through her house and its several levels until she reached her perfectly lovely and thoroughly modern bedroom at the back of the house on the top floor. Best view, best room, best furniture and it was such a feminine retreat that she doubted even those few who knew her well would recognize it as her own choices. She was currently thinking of something Georgian for her room at Morsus Mansion, but even she recognized that was only because the play on play of mincing flowered patterns would be particularly irritating to her husband.
She snorted and huffed her way towards the bath, more anxious to get clean than she could ever remember being. She came to a complete stop in front of her full length mirror, horrified by her own appearance in the mirror and uttering more coarse language in the next thirty seconds than she had used in the year since the war had ended. Everything after Bloody Fucking Hell! was totally repetitive, after a fashion, as most lewd language is.
Millicent stood there, with the most bedraggled and slimy head of hair she’d ever seen reflected back to her on her own head. It was simply unacceptable that her usual coiffure had been reduced to this….this….mass of straggly slime covered mess separated into what looked for all the world like Snape hair, could possibly belong to her. She finally settled for a shrieking scream of ultimate frustration as she ripped off the now ruined clothing she was wearing and proceeded to incinerate the nasty fume filled mass in the sink.
That was another huge mistake. The sink began to resemble one of her disastrous cauldrons in the cellar, issuing black smoke with total abandon as the variety of substances lodged in her ruined clothing either melted, burst into flames, or smoked. She looked at the smoking mass of melted fibers and wanted to hex somebody, anybody into next week. Instead, she grabbed her wand and with a quick Evanesco the massive mess in the sink was gone. Then she used it to open her window to let out the smoke.
Thank Merlin the House-Elves had filled the tub for her and it had the rose petals and her favourite bath scents in it. She’d never needed it more. She hadn’t seen so much as an ear of a House-Elf since she’d come to Knightsbridge and started her “studies”. They seemed to learn very quickly to disappear whenever she set foot in the cellar. They also seemed to be extra-vigilant at clearing out the smoke whenever she inadvertently almost burned the house down or exploded a cauldron or generally made the house inhabitable.
Now she slid thankfully into the tub to rid herself of all her mistakes. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. This would not be enough today, of that much she was certain.
By the time the smoke had cleared, her body cleansed and her bathwater cool, she had resolved her attire issues and the failures of her latest potion fiasco. Even so, she was not inclined to go back to it today. Even driven women of considerable talent needed some time away from a task, so she redid her hair and make-up, dressed in one of her more appealing daytime designer dresses and decided to go to the Inns. It was time she checked in with her Barrister, the very delicious Hadley Cordell Riordan, on her appeal to be removed from the Registry. She didn’t have an appointment, but she had no doubt whatsoever that he’d see her.
She left a note for the House-Elves to order her at least 15 sets of those horrendous lime green robes she’d seen on the staff at St. Mungo’s. That should be enough for a while if she wore them in the cellar and then discarded them…. On her way out the door she came back and changed the number to 90. Nothing was keeping her from passing that damn NEWT with high marks, or at least high enough. NOTHING.
Time: Early Afternoon
Location: Nightsbridge
Characters Involved: Millicent Morsus
Rating: PG-13
Millicent Bulstrode stomped up the stairs from her cellar potions laboratory in Knightsbridge. She was ever so sorry now that she hadn’t set up the blasted thing in Montague’s bedroom back in Cumbria. What the hell was she thinking, setting up so many cauldrons downstairs that it seemed like the fumigators were resident in her beautiful house; or needed to be. She had no one to blame but herself, but even now she knew that this most difficult period of learning, investigation and revelation would pass and she would be glad once more that she had made the decision to place things here, where they would be subject only to her own scrutiny. She might be persuaded to share something with Montague eventually. Perhaps if she discovered a new addictive brain destroying substance which gave him temporary heightened awareness. It would make the perfect gift for his next birthday.
She continued to stomp her way through her house and its several levels until she reached her perfectly lovely and thoroughly modern bedroom at the back of the house on the top floor. Best view, best room, best furniture and it was such a feminine retreat that she doubted even those few who knew her well would recognize it as her own choices. She was currently thinking of something Georgian for her room at Morsus Mansion, but even she recognized that was only because the play on play of mincing flowered patterns would be particularly irritating to her husband.
She snorted and huffed her way towards the bath, more anxious to get clean than she could ever remember being. She came to a complete stop in front of her full length mirror, horrified by her own appearance in the mirror and uttering more coarse language in the next thirty seconds than she had used in the year since the war had ended. Everything after Bloody Fucking Hell! was totally repetitive, after a fashion, as most lewd language is.
Millicent stood there, with the most bedraggled and slimy head of hair she’d ever seen reflected back to her on her own head. It was simply unacceptable that her usual coiffure had been reduced to this….this….mass of straggly slime covered mess separated into what looked for all the world like Snape hair, could possibly belong to her. She finally settled for a shrieking scream of ultimate frustration as she ripped off the now ruined clothing she was wearing and proceeded to incinerate the nasty fume filled mass in the sink.
That was another huge mistake. The sink began to resemble one of her disastrous cauldrons in the cellar, issuing black smoke with total abandon as the variety of substances lodged in her ruined clothing either melted, burst into flames, or smoked. She looked at the smoking mass of melted fibers and wanted to hex somebody, anybody into next week. Instead, she grabbed her wand and with a quick Evanesco the massive mess in the sink was gone. Then she used it to open her window to let out the smoke.
Thank Merlin the House-Elves had filled the tub for her and it had the rose petals and her favourite bath scents in it. She’d never needed it more. She hadn’t seen so much as an ear of a House-Elf since she’d come to Knightsbridge and started her “studies”. They seemed to learn very quickly to disappear whenever she set foot in the cellar. They also seemed to be extra-vigilant at clearing out the smoke whenever she inadvertently almost burned the house down or exploded a cauldron or generally made the house inhabitable.
Now she slid thankfully into the tub to rid herself of all her mistakes. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. This would not be enough today, of that much she was certain.
By the time the smoke had cleared, her body cleansed and her bathwater cool, she had resolved her attire issues and the failures of her latest potion fiasco. Even so, she was not inclined to go back to it today. Even driven women of considerable talent needed some time away from a task, so she redid her hair and make-up, dressed in one of her more appealing daytime designer dresses and decided to go to the Inns. It was time she checked in with her Barrister, the very delicious Hadley Cordell Riordan, on her appeal to be removed from the Registry. She didn’t have an appointment, but she had no doubt whatsoever that he’d see her.
She left a note for the House-Elves to order her at least 15 sets of those horrendous lime green robes she’d seen on the staff at St. Mungo’s. That should be enough for a while if she wore them in the cellar and then discarded them…. On her way out the door she came back and changed the number to 90. Nothing was keeping her from passing that damn NEWT with high marks, or at least high enough. NOTHING.