Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Twenty – Five
Moments of Magic and the Mundane

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Professor Roundtree; I will be teaching this and several other Potions classes with Professor Snape this year.” There were excited whispers and thrilled smiles among the seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors on the first day of class. She waited them out with narrowed eyes, noting the worst offenders. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at the two red heads tucked together in the back of the room. They looked familiar; perhaps these were the Weasley twins Snape had warned her about (If a snicker and a, “Good luck with the Weasleys- you’ll need it. Better thee than me,” was warning.) They did look like Bill and Charlie, whom she had gone to school with. A boy with dreadlocks elbowed one of them and they quieted immediately.

“This year, you will not be bottling fame.” Kiaya resisted a grin, she had worked on this speech for days. “Fame is not needed for you to be able to function as adults outside of Hogwarts. Instead, you will bottling knowledge – the knowledge of how and why potions are used every single day by just about everyone. You will not be brewing glory, instead you will be brewing practicality – potions are not exclusive to some esoteric class you are required to take in school and will never use again. Life requires potions – to bathe, to clean your home, to stop a nasty cough and sometimes even to have children – or not to have children as the case may be for many of you.” She looked at each teenager’s face – there were only seven of them. The two girls were blushing, finding something fascinating on the wall behind her, the boys were either studying their fingers or nudging each other lewdly. She waited until they calmed. “We will be creating many medicinal potions in this class, some of which are needed by the school, others you will be able to use privately if brewed properly. Because it is medicine, sometimes very complex and dangerous healing draughts,” Kiaya slowed her speech and lowered her voice to a purr, “you will indeed learn to stopper death.” She allowed a small smile. The students returned it, all remembering Snape’s speech in their first year.

She continued, “In this class, you will learn what you need to function in daily life outside of school and away from your parents. You will learn think for yourself and to research the means to get what you want on an everyday level. Indeed, your final project will be a potion or series thereof, of your own creation that is somehow usable and practical. Begin thinking about it tonight. Plan to discuss your project – anything under the sun – with me in two weeks time. We will discuss more of the parameters tomorrow before lecture.”

She paused for a couple of beats. When she spoke again, she let a hard note of warning creep into her voice, “Because this is N.E.W.T. level Potions you will also be working harder than you ever have before. You will be learning more than is required by the N.E.W.T. syllabus simply because when you leave these hallowed halls, you will be lacking in necessary knowledge to function if you do not. I will be pouring information into your heads and I will expect you to retain most, if not all of it, and then be able to translate it into practice. I expect you to write everything down when I speak, when you brew and while you study. You will need every single one of those notes when you take your exam at the end of the year. Trust me when I say that the Potions N.E.W.T. is one of the hardest exams in the known world. You will be ready for anything they ask you.

“Since house points are something that matter to you, I will be handing them out like candy every time one of you displays that you have studied, that you can brew a perfect potion and that you can apply what you have learned from one project to the next. I will deduct them for blatant stupidity, not studying and for behaving in a disruptive or dangerous way in this classroom.” She looked directly at the twins.

They smiled angelically.

“You were assigned homework over the summer; we shall find out if you actually did it. Tomorrow, I want a foot-long essay on the historical and practical uses of willow bark as an analgesic and its alternatives. If you have studied over the summer as instructed, this essay will not take very long. Do write neatly, I can tell when someone is writing to take up space because of a lack of knowledge. Feel free to use the library and your textbooks for herbology in your research but be warned -” her smile did not reach her eyes. “I will know if you have copied directly from a book. Now, do you have any questions?”

One of the twins raised his hand. She pointed to him, indicating that he should proceed.

“Miss, I noticed that you wear a scarf on your head,” he began, a sly smile on his freckled face.

Face impassive, she fingered the silk scarf, so painstakingly chosen this morning. Only a few wisps of hair were visible underneath it. The scarf was new and matched one of the few decent dresses that she’d bought before the school year started. The teal collar and hem peeked out from the heavy black work robes that she wore.

“I was wondering if you happened to have another face on the back of your head like Professor Quirrell did, since we can’t see it – the back of your head, that is.”

Kiaya was dumbfounded.

The young man – George Weasley – continued, “We’re afraid of people that wrap things on their head, you see, ever since Quirrell had You–Know–Who under his turban.”

“Two points from Gryffindor for comparing me with I-Think-That-I-Know- Who-But-Am-Dismayed- And-Rather-Insulted-At-The-Suggestion, Mr. Weasley, and I wear a scarf because I use the potion that you will be making in your next lesson. In fact, since Mr. Weasley has brought up the topic, before class meets again, you will need to familiarize yourself with Potion Master’s Protectent. Be prepared to discuss its uses, ingredients and then make it on Wednesday. Points will be deducted from anyone that is unprepared for the discussion and brewing. You may thank Mr. Weasley for sparing you half of tomorrow’s lecture when you can do the work yourselves.”

The students all glared at the twins, especially the other Gryffindors.

“Oh, it’s not in your textbook. You’ll need to use the library for your research.”

One of the Slytherins groaned. She ignored it.

“Now, on page twelve of your book is a Headache Tonic. It takes twenty minutes to prepare if you work efficiently – if you do not, you will be required to come back after dinner to a loss of house points. You will be marked on your potion at the end of class. If it is well made, you will be able to bottle the rest for your own use. Supplies are in the cupboard as always.” She gestured to the back of the room with her wand. The cupboard lock released and the doors opened. “I will stock it weekly with anything that was not included in the standard potion kit required by the school – do make sure you don’t take the wrong thing, you will be very sorry later in the week when I refuse to restock what was mistakenly used.” She gestured toward the cupboard again. “Begin.”


Later that evening, Kiaya sat at her small desk in the potions office. Elbows on the desk, head tucked down to her chest and eyes closed, she rubbed her temples. The headache that had started brewing at six a.m. from nerves and exhaustion had only become worse as the day progressed.

She didn’t move when the door opened and closed again, nor did she flinch from the stare boring into her back. She tuned out the whisper soft footsteps and only vaguely heard the opening of a cupboard, the slide of glassware on wood and the running of water. She half listened, praying that he’d ignore her as she sat at her desk, dazed and nearing voluntary unconsciousness.

The footsteps moved from the sink, to another cupboard, back to the desk and stopped. The sound of several bottles clinking together as they were packed into a box was harsh and brittle. Again he moved, this time to the fireplace, whose flames roared when he tossed in floo powder and called “Kitchen – send a house elf to attend me.”

Immediately, there was a small pop and a squeaky voice, “Professor Snape, Ellie is here to serve the Potions Master.”

“Deliver one of these to each of the professors before dinner is served,” he commanded in a tired murmur.

“Oh, yes, Professor Snape, headache tonics for all of the masters. The Potions Master is so wise and kind and consid…”

“Go,” he commanded, interrupting the effusive praise.

With a small pop, the elf left.

Sitting as still as possible, Kiaya was too exhausted to bother to watch what Snape was doing when he started rattling about again. Only when a small glass full of a sickly yellow liquid thunked onto her desk, did she move. Kiaya stared dumbly at the glass, then tugged to closer. She poked her nose into it, sniffed, then lifted it to drink deeply, draining it in three gulps.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking to the man in black.

He held an identical glass. His eyes were closed, his skin more pale than that morning and the lines in his face were more pronounced than usual. His only acknowledgement of her thanks was a slight nodding of his head. He winced after the movement then trudged to the door leading to the staff quarters hallway.

Kiaya went home to bed.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

2 September
Dear Jasmine,

In a world I do not understand, there are winds of destiny that blow when we least expect them. Sometimes they blow with the intensity of a hurricane, other times they brush against your cheek like a kiss from a lover who is hundreds of miles away. But the winds cannot be denied, bringing as they do so many possible futures…

I really wasn’t looking for a wind to fill my sails, at all, when I first saw you and Arielle on the mountain that day, but I think a breeze may have pushed me that way…

In the past mariners around the world have prayed for a fair wind, a following sea, a tall ship and a star to steer her by… as analogies go, I’m not sure I have all those mystical components in my life… But I like to think that I have found a wind to fill my sails and give me hope – that’s you…

I miss you. I think of you constantly, if you were here, I’d kiss you senseless. I’ll try not to push. So, at your pace, I’ll follow and do my best to charm and beguile you, if you’ll let me. Please respond.

My love, as always,
Sirius

P.S. Can you tell that I’ve been reading Moby Dick to Buckbeak? The kids all left yesterday and it’s been quiet. I went to the station to see them off, though got told off later for it. It was well worth it, though. S.


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2 September
Dear Sirius,

I certainly can tell that you’ve been reading some old seafaring book. Of course, you might have been laying it on a bit thick in your letter. I admit to being shocked by your eloquence though a bit worried that since this is a bit of a deviation from the normal letters – are you all right? I have always known that you are intelligent but I never really knew that you are a bit of a poet. All I can do is sit here at the kitchen table with a besotted grin. The day has just begun for us – and your letter brings a warm feeling that somehow I think I’ll carry with me all day. I’m sure you meant it that way – in which case, you’ve won this round.

Still, I won’t send this letter – it’ll go in the box, as usual because I’m too damn proud to respond. Yes, I’m burying myself in bitterness – perhaps I just don’t have the inner strength to get over it.

I should stop writing these silly responses. I’m only just talking to myself anyway. I’ll never forget about you as long as I let myself open your letters and form responses to them. This is the last one.

J.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. On the board is the recipe for a potion called Potion Master’s Protectent. In you previous potions classes, you have not used this substance. You will from now on – all of my classes in fourth year and beyond are making and using this potion. It is your responsibility to brew it and make sure that you have enough to use on any given day. I will not be wasting further classes brewing for people that ought be doing it themselves. You will have to come in during your free time to make up a new batch if you finish this one.

In your previous lessons with Professor Snape, you have not used PMP and I’m sure some of you have suffered some nasty burns or been blown up by Swelling Solution or some such minor disaster. This is a teaching tool, whether you recognize it or not. The lesson in getting injured with simple potions is so you become careful enough so that more dangerous ones do not injure you. You are now in your fifth year here and should know how to be careful. If you do not, I do not feel the need to deal with your injuries. This will prevent many of them.”

“You’ve all done your research, I’m sure. While Miss Abbot and Mr. Smythe-Weston pass out the ingredients from the supply cupboard, the rest of you will tell me everything you know about PMP.”

Eloise Midgen tentatively raised her hand and was called on, “Potion Master’s Protectent was invented in 1899 by Edward Basilton of Norwich. While it is patented, he made the recipe freely available for the protection of other people working in the potions industry.”

Kiaya motioned for more.

“It’s applied to the entire body and hair to prevent burns and reactions to potions or ingredients if they should splash onto the brewer. It’s best combed through wet hair and applied to clean skin.”

Kiaya again motioned for more but the girl seemed to be finished. A panicked look was the response for more information.

“Five points to Hufflepuff. Anyone else with something to add about the ingredients and why they work?”

Hands shot up. Kiaya grinned at the response – once someone got the ball rolling, they all liked to show off.

“Mr. Corner.”

The boy shot a triumphant look at his Hufflepuff counterpart, Ernie McMillian, who had his hand up at the same time. The other boy glared.

He started going down the list of ingredients in a monotonous drone, “Extra virgin olive oil is the base, it is from the first pressing and is purified six times through spells and sieves to make sure there is nothing in it that might react to a potion or burn. That is the main reason why people who use Potion Master’s Protectent look…” the boy paused and said with relish, “greasy. Brazilian Fire Slug mucus prevents burns, Augurey feather oil is thought to repel most substances with pigment, Bundimun secretions allow for easy cleaning, Flobberworm mucus is used as a thickener for the potion. Nettles are….”

“Thank you, Mr. Corner,” Kiaya interrupted. “Five points to Ravenclaw. In the end, PMP works, ladies and gentlemen. Last week, a neighbor’s house elf startled me in my shop – I poured sulfuric acid all over my hand.” She held it up – it was unmarred. “As you can see, I’m fine. My floor, however, was not. It ate through the marble, leaving a ten-inch hole.” She smiled when a couple of the girls gasped. “This stuff works. It will protect you from almost any accident in class. I really do want all of you using it, at least on your hands and face. Please do keep up with making your supply. I hate accidents and I don’t want to feel like your injury is my fault. Now, you have the ingredients and recipe – begin.”


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

5 September
Dear Mr. Lupin,

Thank you again for making yourself available for our late- night discussions on my schoolwork over the summer. I appreciate the time and your views on everything we talked about from history to hexes. Besides appreciating your knowledge, I was also to be able to talk to someone about something other than Quidditch, dungbombs and “getting this place fit for human habitation”!

I find that I might need a bit of advice. Harry already has detention with our new Defense Against our Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. (All we do is read the textbook in her class – no wand work at all.) He was quite vehement about “You Know Who” coming back and she called him a liar, then gave him a week’s detention. He’s so upset; sometimes it feels like he’s going to crack. I’m not sure of what to do. Have you any ideas and insights into the male brain when it comes to Evil, ego and bad teachers? I hate to say it, but I’m at a loss.

Should you ever find yourself with time on your hands, I’d be very happy if we could continue those conversations by letter. Even if they can’t be at the library desk in London, I would still enjoy them.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

6 September

Dear Hermione,

At this point, I think it’s safe for you to call me Remus, don’t you? I, too, enjoyed our chats in the library and already miss them when we’re not digging the house out of the dark objects that the family has been collecting for centuries. I also miss your tea – it is far better than the swill that I brew and Molly just won’t make tea at 2 a.m. Something about ‘needing sleep’ that I’m just not familiar with.

All I can recommend for Harry is that you try to keep him calm. If he starts getting mouthy in class, do what you can to stop him. You’re a clever witch; I know you can and will think of something to say that will keep him from losing control completely. If all else fails, give him a sharp poke – sometimes I wish that I had poked his father and Sirius more than I did. Harry has a lot of healing and understanding to do and I’m afraid that we just can’t rush it. I do want you to do what you can to keep a tight rein on him with Dolores Umbridge. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, she’s not someone to mess around with. We will try to keep in close contact with him this year, also.

As much as I enjoyed our chats in London, I am delighted that you would like to stay in contact through correspondence. How is the year starting? Has anyone managed to teach you something that you hadn’t read over the summer yet? Somehow I doubt it – you are a very challenging student, Hermione, and I mean that in the best way that a teacher possibly could. I look forward to exchanging thoughts with you any time – just be careful with the owls that you chose and when you send your letters. Dark owls sent as late as possible are probably the best idea.

What are your thoughts on Sturgis Podmore and his arrest?

Sincerely,
Remus Lupin

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Mama, Maribelle hurt my feelings. She said Professor Grandpa was nutters and I was nutters, too.”

“Oh, baby… Professor Grandpa isn’t nutters. Some people don’t want to believe that he’s right. But he’s not crazy. They’re just scared.”

“That’s what I said, but she laughed at me. Adain laughed at me, too, until Miss Anne told them to go eat lunch.”

“If they say mean things to you, don’t play with them - and tell the teacher, right?”

“Right.”

They walked in silence, hands tucked together.

“Mama?”

“Hmmm”

“What are people scared of?”

“Just someone being naughty and trying to scare people.”

“Why is he scaring people?”

“Because he’s not clever enough to have a real job to keep his hands and mind busy.”

“He doesn’t scare me. I’ll hex ‘em!”

“You won’t hex anyone, little girl. Still, though - you don’t walk or talk with strangers, right?”

“Right!”

“Clever little witchlet.”


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“No!” Kiaya rushed to snatch a phial of armadillo bile from the trembling hands of a first year Hufflepuff. “Mr. Balb, what do you think you’re doing?” She tried not to yell at the wide-eyed boy but her hand shook. Unsure of whether or not she wanted to throw the bile at the careless child or shove his nose into the book, she set the phial down and shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Er, putting in armadillo bile.”

“Does the book say to put in the bile before or after you add the lacewings and violet pollen?”

“Er…”

“Read the second paragraph section aloud, Mr. Balb.”

Dutifully, the child read – it appeared that he wasn’t terribly good at that, either. “Stirring clockwise, add lacewings, then violet pollen measured by sifting method. Continue with two minutes of constant stirring, being sure to scrape bottom and sides of cauldron. After the potion turns tangerine orange (approximately three minutes), add armadillo bile.”

Several of the Ravenclaws tittered at his halting voice. Several of the Hufflepuffs inched toward Balb as though they wanted to huddle around him in protection.

“Two points from Hufflepuff for your inattentiveness, Mr. Balb. Had you managed to pour the contents of that phial into your potion, you would have made an airborne sleeping agent the likes of which has not been seen since the Brother’s Grimm wrote Sleeping Beauty.”

The Ravenclaw laughter grew in volume and several voices were heard muttering about “Stupid Puffs”. The Hufflepuffs bristled.

“Five points from Ravenclaw for disruption. Get back to work.”


She didn’t move when the door opened and closed, later that evening, nor did she flinch from the stare boring into her back. She tuned out the whisper soft footsteps and only vaguely heard the opening of a cupboard, the slide of glassware on wood and the running of water. Only when a small glass full of a sickly yellow liquid thunked onto her desk, did she move. Kiaya stared dumbly at the glass, then tugged to closer. She drained it in three gulps.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking to the man in black.

He held an identical glass. His eyes were closed, his sallow skin was flushed and the deep lines in his face made him look even more forbidding than usual. His only acknowledgement of her thanks was a slight nodding of his head accompanied by a grumble. He swept through the door leading to the staff quarters hallway.

Kiaya went to her rooms for a catnap and then home to work on her own projects, glad to get away from rambunctious children.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

28 September
Dear Arielle,

Happy sixth birthday, big girl. I hope your day is as special as you are. You will get your gift after figuring out what it is. Collect these clues, figure out what they mean and then meet me outside at 11:00.

Pink bear, Stuffed lion, Candy floss solution, Bottles and balls, Carousel music box, Gold ring, Ballerina doll, Clown lamp, Firecrab shells

Love, Daddy

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She couldn’t breathe, She was going to expire right then and there with her daughter, her great-granduncle and a goat as an audience. Arielle would panic, Aberforth would be too drunk to notice and the goat would probably decide to take revenge upon her dead body for… well, for Aberforth. The old man looked vaguely like Dumbledore, but was well… dirtier. He ran the Hog’s Head pub on the other side of town and lived in the back with his current pet goat, Glaistig. Privately, Jasmine thought it was pet goat/girlfriend, but she didn’t say anything. Especially not after the Sirius thing. There was a reason why they didn’t see Aberforth often, though. There were a lot of reasons they didn’t see Aberforth often.

“She bit me, the damned old bitch bit me! After five years of living in my home, she had the nerve to bite me!” Aberforth roared his complaints. The chickens had scattered. He shoved the collar of his robes down again, showing off the weeping bite marks and a ring of grime around his neck. The smells of sweat, dirt, drink and goat emanating from his flapping robes were foul enough to make her step back and gag. Instinctively, she pushed the awed Arielle behind her legs.

Jasmine tried to talk him into calm, “Uncle Aberforth, please… er… I’m sure it’s just a little quarrel. Maybe she just ate something that didn’t suit and it made her cross? Have you taken her to Mr. Tier for a check-up?”

“Oh, no. Glaistig’s gone and done it this time. I won’t put up with her crap anymore and I won’t be lured again. She goes!” Aberforth emphasized his point by taking a drooling gulp from his tarnished silver EverFlask. A cascade of muddy liquid overflowed from his mouth and dribbled into his tangled white beard, creating another stain on his olive green robes.

“Uncle, if she bites, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have her here with Arielle…”

“Oh, no, she likes children. She won’t hurt a hair on her head – she likes other women, too. You know, there are words for females like that but I won’t be saying them near the baby here!”

Jasmine winced.

“What word, Mama?” Innocent blue eyes peeked up at Jasmine, insatiable curiosity spurring the dreaded question.

It was inevitable. Anytime an adult said something like that in front of a child, it always happened. “Er… would you go see if Buckbeak’s old stall is clean, please?” Jasmine prevaricated.

“What’s the word, Mama?” Arielle was insistent.

“Goat, baby. Please go check the barn.” Her tone brooked no refusal but the mutinous set of Arielle’s chin warned Jasmine that there would be a skirmish later; Ari trudged into the barn, stomping clods of dirt to soothe her pique.

“Uncle Aberforth, did you talk to Professor Grandpa about this? Maybe Hagrid would be a better caretaker than Ari and me. He’s back, you know?”

“No, no, no, I don’t want Hagrid near her. I don’t think he’s quite right in the head, you know, and he might hurt her, the great lunk,” he whispered confidentially.

Jasmine bit her tongue and thought that Hagrid was probably no worse and probably much better than Aberforth when it came to caring for his charges. After all, Hagrid had never been accused of practicing ‘inappropriate charms’ on a goat – whatever that meant – and Jasmine was dearly afraid that she did know what that meant. She looked suspiciously down at Glaistig. “Have you ever done any kind of magic on her that might make her dangerous or have her be… unpredictable?”

Several of the clabberts hung from their trees, as if to listen to the answer. Their lights flickered as if they were laughing at her.

“No, no, she’s just one of my old girls. I haven’t done any experiments on her in years.” His eyes crinkled in thought. “Nothing ever worked on her anyway, unless she was hiding it. I wouldn’t put it past her; she’s sneaky! Violent too! Did I show you where the bitch bit me?” He reached up to tug at his collar again.

“Yes! You did a little while ago.”

He looked startled and a bit confused, “Oh, well then. Listen, I have to get back to the pub. I left that old bastard, Dung Fletcher in charge while I took Glaistig here and I don’t trust him no further than I can piss sitting down. You watch out for Glaistig. She’s the worst girl I’ve ever had – and I’ve had a lot of goats in my day!” He groused as he stomped out the gate and down the street.

Jasmine led the goat into the barn, introduced her to Joe and Florentine then measured enough grain and alfalfa to make sure the goat was happy enough not to bite anyone. Glaistig probably wouldn’t, though, since neither she nor Arielle were going to be… experimenting on the goat.

Ari poked her nose out of the barn, looking for Aberforth. When she didn’t see him, she said plaintively, “Mama, I wanted Uncle Aberforth to read to me.” Arielle pouted as they walked into the house after shutting the goat’s stall door. “Why didn’t you invite him to dinner?”

“Baby, I don’t think Uncle Aberforth can read.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

25 October
Severus,

Ari lost her third tooth this evening. Want to come down and play tooth fairy? She was eating strawberries for a snack and it just popped out. Between the strawberry juice and blood I didn’t know if I should have congratulated her or run for a healer. It was revolting. Let me know.

J.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*