Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire
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Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
70
Views:
12,172
Reviews:
71
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
70
Views:
12,172
Reviews:
71
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story, though wish I did. The only money I have goes toward good wine and chocolate. You can't
The Potion Master's Apprentice
Chapter Seven
The Potion Master’s Apprentice
In a house in Norwich, that was neither as old and decrepit as some of the others on Navarre Way, nor noticeably new, Kiaya Roundtree carefully sliced the caterpillars of monarch butterflies then scooped them into the steaming magenta liquid. Her soft heart hated when the insides of the caterpillars gooshed out, thought her practical side knew there was nothing to be done about it. They had to be alive or the potion would fail and the potion was more important than the ex-caterpillars right now. As soon as the mush dropped into the liquid, the potion turned a vile orange and smelled of sulfur. Three drops of rosemary oil were added, then one level number 57 phial of powdered pig’s lung. The smell eased as she stirred but the color remained the same.
The young lady covered the cauldron to let the potion bubble for thirty-five minutes while she cleaned the counter, swept the floors and sent Mrs. Lewbody her headache powders – “add three drops of lemon juice and drink with water” read her attached note. (The lemon juice wasn’t needed but it made Mrs. Lewbody feel good to add a little extra something into it.) Part of her job as a Potions Master’s apprentice was knowing what his clients needed, as well as cleaning up and learning everything that Mr. Basilton kept in his head about the art and science of potions making.
The timer chimed just as a terrible hacking cough sounded from upstairs. She rushed to the cauldron, stirred once, drained all of the liquid through a sieve into several glass jars and a goblet. As she was taught to do, Kiaya disposed of the solids, cleaned the cauldron and replaced the book she’d been working from before carefully taking the goblet upstairs. She knocked once and slipped into the bedroom of a very old man.
He wheezed, “Come in, girl, come in and give me that stuff.” She placed the goblet on the writing table that sat on his bed, moving the parchment rolls safely out of the way. He drank it quickly, obviously trying not to gag.
“You should be trying to sleep, Mr. Basilton, not scribbling potions formulae,” she said gently as she perched one hip on the high bed.
“Balderdash, Kiaya, I’ll do as I damn well please and you know it!” the old man wheezed. He was sounding worse; she bit the inside of her lip. “Now, see here, you can try anything you like to hold off this beast, but I’m going to die, young lady, and there is not a thing you can do about it,” he said stubbornly.
She tried to keep her tone light, “I have to keep you alive, Sir, to sign off on my cards. I’m an eighth year apprentice and if you die tomorrow, I’m never going to get out of this hat,” she flicked one finger at the pointed black apprentice’s cap she wore. Normally Potions students only apprenticed for seven years, but Mr. Basilton put off giving her the cards last year, saying she wasn’t as ready as she ought to be.
“You’ll have to study harder then, young lady,” he announced smugly.
“And when am I supposed to study, you old goat, when I’m busy taking care of you, cleaning and making up all of the potions for every witch and wizard in Norwich? Oh no! You will get better and come downstairs to help me, or I’ll be here harassing you every minute of every hour of every day, until you die!” Despite the sassy words, the young lady loved and respected the old man and had to sweep away a tear under the guise of straightening the hated cap. He didn’t see it, instead laughed at her words. He began coughing again.
“Grow lung tissue back, eh? We’ll see,” he huffed when he was done.
“It worked on the toads and rats, so, yes, Sir, we’ll see,” she said quietly.
His rheumy old eyes drooped and he harrumphed. “Alright, girl, I’ll be good this time and sleep. You take these to the post today, then work on the werewolf potion again – you’re still too slow.”
As usual, he didn’t say please, but Kiaya kissed his cheek then formally bowed to him before she left. She needn’t have bothered, as he was already asleep by the time she reached the door but she’d been trained into formality by years of yelling and a smack or two. As snippy as she had become with her teacher in recent years, she wouldn’t be irritating him at this point by disobeying his hard and fast rules. Looking down at the top letter, she saw that it was addressed to Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The Potion Master’s Apprentice
In a house in Norwich, that was neither as old and decrepit as some of the others on Navarre Way, nor noticeably new, Kiaya Roundtree carefully sliced the caterpillars of monarch butterflies then scooped them into the steaming magenta liquid. Her soft heart hated when the insides of the caterpillars gooshed out, thought her practical side knew there was nothing to be done about it. They had to be alive or the potion would fail and the potion was more important than the ex-caterpillars right now. As soon as the mush dropped into the liquid, the potion turned a vile orange and smelled of sulfur. Three drops of rosemary oil were added, then one level number 57 phial of powdered pig’s lung. The smell eased as she stirred but the color remained the same.
The young lady covered the cauldron to let the potion bubble for thirty-five minutes while she cleaned the counter, swept the floors and sent Mrs. Lewbody her headache powders – “add three drops of lemon juice and drink with water” read her attached note. (The lemon juice wasn’t needed but it made Mrs. Lewbody feel good to add a little extra something into it.) Part of her job as a Potions Master’s apprentice was knowing what his clients needed, as well as cleaning up and learning everything that Mr. Basilton kept in his head about the art and science of potions making.
The timer chimed just as a terrible hacking cough sounded from upstairs. She rushed to the cauldron, stirred once, drained all of the liquid through a sieve into several glass jars and a goblet. As she was taught to do, Kiaya disposed of the solids, cleaned the cauldron and replaced the book she’d been working from before carefully taking the goblet upstairs. She knocked once and slipped into the bedroom of a very old man.
He wheezed, “Come in, girl, come in and give me that stuff.” She placed the goblet on the writing table that sat on his bed, moving the parchment rolls safely out of the way. He drank it quickly, obviously trying not to gag.
“You should be trying to sleep, Mr. Basilton, not scribbling potions formulae,” she said gently as she perched one hip on the high bed.
“Balderdash, Kiaya, I’ll do as I damn well please and you know it!” the old man wheezed. He was sounding worse; she bit the inside of her lip. “Now, see here, you can try anything you like to hold off this beast, but I’m going to die, young lady, and there is not a thing you can do about it,” he said stubbornly.
She tried to keep her tone light, “I have to keep you alive, Sir, to sign off on my cards. I’m an eighth year apprentice and if you die tomorrow, I’m never going to get out of this hat,” she flicked one finger at the pointed black apprentice’s cap she wore. Normally Potions students only apprenticed for seven years, but Mr. Basilton put off giving her the cards last year, saying she wasn’t as ready as she ought to be.
“You’ll have to study harder then, young lady,” he announced smugly.
“And when am I supposed to study, you old goat, when I’m busy taking care of you, cleaning and making up all of the potions for every witch and wizard in Norwich? Oh no! You will get better and come downstairs to help me, or I’ll be here harassing you every minute of every hour of every day, until you die!” Despite the sassy words, the young lady loved and respected the old man and had to sweep away a tear under the guise of straightening the hated cap. He didn’t see it, instead laughed at her words. He began coughing again.
“Grow lung tissue back, eh? We’ll see,” he huffed when he was done.
“It worked on the toads and rats, so, yes, Sir, we’ll see,” she said quietly.
His rheumy old eyes drooped and he harrumphed. “Alright, girl, I’ll be good this time and sleep. You take these to the post today, then work on the werewolf potion again – you’re still too slow.”
As usual, he didn’t say please, but Kiaya kissed his cheek then formally bowed to him before she left. She needn’t have bothered, as he was already asleep by the time she reached the door but she’d been trained into formality by years of yelling and a smack or two. As snippy as she had become with her teacher in recent years, she wouldn’t be irritating him at this point by disobeying his hard and fast rules. Looking down at the top letter, she saw that it was addressed to Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.