one day, in potions...
Just to prove I am actually doing some writing, not merely lazing about. Have the first section of a chapter of fanfic for The Worst Witch. I've written another page or so but that scene isn't finished so... here you are.
If you never read the books or saw the tv show (PLEASE don't use The New Worst Witch as a reference, as I haven't seen it and never will on principle - the original WW tv show, with Kate Duchêne, tyvm), then here's the wiki page. Doesn't really compare but go nuts. And just as a small note - JK Rowling got her framework from Jill Murphy's books. Magic school, somewhere in the UK countryside, kindly older head of school, mad frazzled creative/esoteric teacher, hardcore frightening all-in-black potions teacher, castle, all that jazz.
So basically Miss Hardbroom was the original, Snape is a passably male copy.
The potions laboratory was filled with the babbling of over excited students, the hum of magic and a chipped chattering sound, like several skeletons shivering through a cold spell. On every desk sat an empty clam shell, conjured up by the potions mistress for the occasion, which clicked and clattered against the old wood, each to its own beat. Constance surveyed the class, noting Ethel’s simple yet elegant 1-2-1 rhythm, for which Drusilla provided the counter balance, and Ruby’s wildly off beat contribution that made her wince with distaste. She sighed and looked down at her desk, skimming her lesson plans for the following week and mentally cataloguing the potions they would be covering - Levitating Bubbles, Rust Protecting Cauldron Solution, Shrinking Potion, Mildew Scourge. All perfectly appropriate and necessary potions for witches of this age and aptitude to learn.
And all, she was loathe to admit, incredibly boring.
She glanced at the clock and cleared her throat.
“All right, girls - apply a few drops of the Reversal Potion to your shells and allow them to cease movement. Once the Animating Mixture has been negated, you may pack up your things and proceed quietly to lunch...” The clattering of calcite gradually lessened as the class applied Reversal Potion to their animated shells. Constance casually flicked her wrist in the direction of Mildred Hubble’s unsurprisingly disastrous attempt that was carrying on like a cursed castanet. The shell stopped mid click and fell to the desk in front of a furiously blushing Mildred. Constance repressed the urge to roll her eyes and instructed the hopeless young witch to write out 400 lines, “I will be mindful of my measurements with regards to potions, lest my head be blown off and my marks drop ever lower.” by the following lesson.
One by one, the students gathered their workbooks and bags and filed out towards the dining hall, giggling and gossiping amongst themselves. Constance glared at a few stragglers until they hurried out of the classroom, leaving her in peace. She stepped out from behind her desk and swiftly scrutinised the potions in each cauldron, vanishing a couple that showed up a pale lilac rather than bruised purple. Not enough Horehound, she noted wearily. After disposing of the sub-par potions, she muttered a few words and twitched her fingers toward the front of the classroom. A funnel of potion appeared from each cauldron and snaked its way through the air and down into a pair of glass bottles, which proceeded to stopper themselves once they were filled. Constance directed her thoughts to the small amounts of Reversal Potion in beakers on each desk, and twelve clear liquid spheres rose as one and followed each other towards the front, amassing into a large globe of fluid that squeezed itself delicately into a third flask.
Constance waved her hand disinterestedly as she moved back to her desk to collect the bottles, and the clam shells that had previously been clattering away like a demented percussion section disappeared back from whence they came, around some very naked and very unhappy cockles on a nearby coast. The potions mistress picked up the bottles and slid them onto a nearby shelf, rearranging the other phials, jars and potion ingredients as she went. She retrieved her teacher’s book and the first year tests she had been marking during the lesson and, with a last meticulous sweep of the room and a vaguely malcontent look, disappeared in a flash of light
If you never read the books or saw the tv show (PLEASE don't use The New Worst Witch as a reference, as I haven't seen it and never will on principle - the original WW tv show, with Kate Duchêne, tyvm), then here's the wiki page. Doesn't really compare but go nuts. And just as a small note - JK Rowling got her framework from Jill Murphy's books. Magic school, somewhere in the UK countryside, kindly older head of school, mad frazzled creative/esoteric teacher, hardcore frightening all-in-black potions teacher, castle, all that jazz.
So basically Miss Hardbroom was the original, Snape is a passably male copy.
The potions laboratory was filled with the babbling of over excited students, the hum of magic and a chipped chattering sound, like several skeletons shivering through a cold spell. On every desk sat an empty clam shell, conjured up by the potions mistress for the occasion, which clicked and clattered against the old wood, each to its own beat. Constance surveyed the class, noting Ethel’s simple yet elegant 1-2-1 rhythm, for which Drusilla provided the counter balance, and Ruby’s wildly off beat contribution that made her wince with distaste. She sighed and looked down at her desk, skimming her lesson plans for the following week and mentally cataloguing the potions they would be covering - Levitating Bubbles, Rust Protecting Cauldron Solution, Shrinking Potion, Mildew Scourge. All perfectly appropriate and necessary potions for witches of this age and aptitude to learn.
And all, she was loathe to admit, incredibly boring.
She glanced at the clock and cleared her throat.
“All right, girls - apply a few drops of the Reversal Potion to your shells and allow them to cease movement. Once the Animating Mixture has been negated, you may pack up your things and proceed quietly to lunch...” The clattering of calcite gradually lessened as the class applied Reversal Potion to their animated shells. Constance casually flicked her wrist in the direction of Mildred Hubble’s unsurprisingly disastrous attempt that was carrying on like a cursed castanet. The shell stopped mid click and fell to the desk in front of a furiously blushing Mildred. Constance repressed the urge to roll her eyes and instructed the hopeless young witch to write out 400 lines, “I will be mindful of my measurements with regards to potions, lest my head be blown off and my marks drop ever lower.” by the following lesson.
One by one, the students gathered their workbooks and bags and filed out towards the dining hall, giggling and gossiping amongst themselves. Constance glared at a few stragglers until they hurried out of the classroom, leaving her in peace. She stepped out from behind her desk and swiftly scrutinised the potions in each cauldron, vanishing a couple that showed up a pale lilac rather than bruised purple. Not enough Horehound, she noted wearily. After disposing of the sub-par potions, she muttered a few words and twitched her fingers toward the front of the classroom. A funnel of potion appeared from each cauldron and snaked its way through the air and down into a pair of glass bottles, which proceeded to stopper themselves once they were filled. Constance directed her thoughts to the small amounts of Reversal Potion in beakers on each desk, and twelve clear liquid spheres rose as one and followed each other towards the front, amassing into a large globe of fluid that squeezed itself delicately into a third flask.
Constance waved her hand disinterestedly as she moved back to her desk to collect the bottles, and the clam shells that had previously been clattering away like a demented percussion section disappeared back from whence they came, around some very naked and very unhappy cockles on a nearby coast. The potions mistress picked up the bottles and slid them onto a nearby shelf, rearranging the other phials, jars and potion ingredients as she went. She retrieved her teacher’s book and the first year tests she had been marking during the lesson and, with a last meticulous sweep of the room and a vaguely malcontent look, disappeared in a flash of light