Posting To GS100 - Because I Can
“Fire opals, Miss Granger. Very rare, and very potent in potions.” He is studied, but relaxed as he prepares the stone. “The trick is to make sure you pulverize it completely to release the spark; that is the actual ingredient you want, Apprentice. The gemdust is merely the catalyst for the conflagration. I will take the first one.”
You nod, watching him gather his cauldron, his mortar and pestle and the opal. It looks as insubstantial as a bubble in his large hands, and when it lands in the mortar, it sounds like a drop of water in a bathtub.
~~~~~
All of his materials are the best money can buy. No pinchbeck for a Potions master. The mortar/pestle set is particularly magnificent.
The grinding set is carved from lovely white marble, with soft blue veins running throughout. He holds it firmly, his grip familiar from years of experience. As he works, the tool becomes a part of him, as tools will, in the hands of a master. You watch as he confidently holds the mortar in the palm of his large hand. His grip changes as he lowers the rod into the waiting vessel for the first, deep pushing twist.
~~~~~
You watch, fascinated, as his hand slides the length of the pestle, pressing downward with controlled, powerful pressure. He watches the bowl carefully, alert for any signs of release of the fire, and his grip on the mortar itself shifts and changes as he begins to grind onto the surface with measured, twisting strokes. He grows more determined, more intense, and the pestle seems alive in his pale hand.
You hear a little, soft ‘pop’, and he sighs. “There we go, Apprentice,” he murmurs, and a little trail of smoke rises from the vessel. He tightens his grip and smiles.
~~~~~
“Now that the stone has released its flame, we can finish it off,” he says, grinding the pestle in earnest.
The bowl shifts under his tightening grip, and he bears down, hard, harder, until you are focused on one thing - your Potions master, his dark hair swinging with each hard, pounding, grinding, twisting stroke, his teeth set, his technique perfect as he moves in time with the sound of his pestle grinding onto the surface. You watch, your breathing in rhythm with his, as he grunts with the effort to bring the stone to its natural, necessary state of perfection.
~~~~~
With a sudden triumphant sound, he slowly withdraws the grinder from the mortar, breathing heavily, looking down at the vessel carefully for signs that he has given the stone everything it requires to be perfect for his needs. With a satisfied smirk, he gently wipes the tip of the pestle to free it of any leavings. He looks up at you, but something in your expression causes him to look down at his hands again.
He regards the pestle, dangling from his long fingers, and risks a smile. “I think you know how it’s done. It’s your turn now, Apprentice.”
~~~~~
You watch as he meticulously cleans the utensil, polishing the end with his fingers and then his palm. You’ve watched him do it a hundred times, but today you seem to be looking at it with new eyes, and what’s more, so is he.
Trembling, you walk over to the mortar and pestle, and he stands behind you and drops the fire opal into the bowl. His body is warm and hard against your back. “You must try to make your first stroke count. Intent is the key. You must hold the rod firmly but gently in your palm, Hermione.”
~~~~~
You pick up the implement, but your right hand is sliding behind your back. Your fingers unbutton his robes, one, two, three, until you have freed his own pestle from the sober cloth that surrounds it. He moans softly.
It, too, is long and pale marble with blue veins running its length. It feels hotter, harder, stronger than the one you hold in your left. Severus gasps, and grabs your waist as he gripped the mortar - firmly, shifting his grip. “The trick is to… to release the spark… to - to provide the catalyst for the… conflagration… now - oh, Hermione!”