Potions: Lesson 1 (1st-3rd Years)

Teagan thanked Merlin she'd had the forethought to set up her classroom ahead of time. Used to having her quarters right off the Potions classroom, it was going to take a bit of getting used to, getting up and around in enough time to make the trek down the floors to the dungeons. As it was, she absentmindedly cast spells here and there as she gathered her things for class.

Rosters: check. Lesson plans: check. Shoes... Slipping into her usual pumps, she grabbed a light jacket, just in case, and headed out of her office.

In less time than she'd imagined, the cold air of the dungeons greeted her. Most students, and faculty even, found this area of the castle dank and much too uncomfortable for extended periods. But the Headmistress didn't really mind it, after a few years. The familiar smells of ingredients and clean cauldrons greeted her, as well as a blank chalkboard. As it was the first lesson of the year, she figured she'd leave it as such, for now.

Setting her things on the desk, the witch couldn't help the excited smirk that slipped onto her features. The first day was always a thrill.

Being an early riser by nature Errol's nerves had him wide awake nearly an hour before dawn on his first, official day of what would hopefully be the experience of a lifetime.

After trimming and watering Gloria, his Venus fly trap, Errol placed her little terracotta pot on the window sill where she'd get plenty of sunlight through the day. As soon as he had a free moment, he intended to talk to the Herbology teacher about bolstering her food and fertilizer with magic. His hope was to triple her size by the end of his first term. He didn't have Herbology for a few more days, but this morning was potions which was almost as exciting.

With plenty of time to spare he got dressed, washed his face, and headed down for his class. After only getting turned around twice and having to ask directions from the portrait of a fat man on a very thin hunting horse, Errol found the gloomy stairwell that lead down to the lowest parts of the castle. The dungeons had a musty smell, like a root cellar, and heavy, humid air. That mixed with the heady smells of potion reagents and scorched cauldron made for an oddly comforting mix.

Now, standing in front of the closed door to the potions room, hand laid lightly on the knob, in an empty hall, well before class was set to start, fear finally gripped him. What if he was rubbish? What if he couldn't figure out how to do things or what to do or anything. What if he burnt a hole in the bottom of his cauldron and set fire to his robes and turned the teachers desk to ash and everyone laughed at him...this may have been a mistake.