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 Howling at the Moon, Josh/Lyx
Eudora Spitznogle
 Posted: Jun 24 2017, 03:34 PM
Quote
"Guess who's back in the house heels click-clackin' about"
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Online
He/Him
151 Posts
Rep: 8 pts
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Group
Professor Beginner
Age
80
Height
5'8"
Status
Muggle-Born
Year
Potions Master
House
Slytherin Head of House
clash
Headmistress of Hogwarts
Awards: 25



    It was late when Eudora finally returned to her classroom from the greenhouses, in one hand she held a basket full of icy blue flowering plants better known as aconite. In the other her wand was illuminated brightly (something she had been accosted for by a painting on the way down.) Inside the damp dungeon classroom the large teaching cauldron at the front of the room was already prepared for brewing, the torches around it lit to illuminate the room well enough to see. Brushing off the cold of the chilly night air, she closed the door behind her with a kick of her heel and hurried forward to the cauldron.

    She shoved the basket onto her desk where a wide assortment of other ingredients had been arranged carefully and put out the light at the end of her wand. Tonight, Eudora would be brewing the highly complicated wolfsbane potion. The stores in the infirmary were running low and she had received a request a few days before for a fresh batch, but her hands were completely tied until the new moon when she could harvest the aconite needed for the potion.

    Eudora flicked her wand at the cauldron and a roaring fire burst forth, casting long shadows from the table legs of the student work stations. She waved her wand again and the cauldron began to fill with a base potion to begin the brewing. While she waited for it to reach the appropriate temperature, Eudora turned to the tall spindly lectern near the cauldron and began to thumb through an ancient book of potions until she came to the appropriate page. On one side an embellished picture of a werewolf and full moon behind it, on the other, the very dangerous formula she would need to follow carefully to brew the potion.

    As the base potion came to a rolling boil she waved her wand and the flames dissipated, leaving the cauldron to simmer while she turned to collect her first ingredients. Typically only one sprig of aconite would be used, but given that she was making such a large batch she carefully tossed in 6 sprigs of the bright blue flower. The potion hissed and frothed as it accepted the poisonous plant causing the potion itself to turn a smoky grey. Next she turned and took a large jar of powdered silver flakes and began measuring them into the liquid below, shifting it to a bright, almost luminous grey. She waved her wand and the intensity of the flame increased so that the potion began to bubble furiously.

    "One... three... four... five... six... seven... eight," she counted as she stirred clockwise, watching as the potion began to shift to a pale blue with each rotation of the massive wooden ladle. As she turned back to glance at the potions book to match the shade, she felt a shiver run down her spine and froze.

    "I know you're there," she said, seemingly to no one, before turning back to her table of ingredient to prepare the sprigs of dittany that would be added next, "you can come out."

Robes
@Joshua Brennan

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SLYTHERIN
{ Head of House }
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Joshua Brennan
 Posted: Jul 26 2017, 11:23 PM
Quote
"the saints can't help me now"
Lyx
Offline
they/them
169 Posts
Rep: 5 pts
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Group
Ghost Novice
Age
18
Height
Status
Dating?
Year
Ghost
House
Gryffindor
clash
Ghost
Awards: 11



​Joshua hadn’t realized just how much he took for granted when he was still alive. Hogwarts had been home to him, and even with heightened human senses -or muted wolfish ones-, he’d known that it was constantly bustling. He just hadn’t realized until he died how much was constantly happening.

It didn’t appear that there was any rhyme or reason to the staircases. The house elves were particularly active when they knew that children wouldn't be in places, and were more than friendly with the ghosts. Poltergeists were another story, as it seemed that none of them were too particularly fond of Peeves. Things with Mariposa were rough. There were some days that it seemed like she couldn’t believe that he was with her still, a euphoric sort of disbelief. Other days, she couldn’t look at him without breaking into pained wailing, and he was starting to become sure that the Bean Sidhe in his dreams had been Mariposa screaming.

Sometimes, he followed the professors. While he was still learning to control his invisibility, and following his former teachers was probably still a relatively sketchy thing to do. Some of them actually shooed him away, which he respected. Some sat and had conversations with him, like Professor Geist. Professor Spitznogle was… different. She always had been, the type that swam against the tide almost for the sport of it. He had been quite fond of her in life, the woman who had taught him so much about potions and, subsequently, how to care for his pack and keep them safe and sane.

He was a sentimental young man, and so he wouldn’t lie about it: part of him dearly loved the frizzy haired woman for everything that she chose to be and do for those around her. In death, this lingering familial feeling followed after him the way that he floated after her. Her arms were laden with the flowers that had been his undoing, a spike of what could’ve resembled anxiety shooting through his ghostly frame. At the same time, he couldn’t stand to be afraid. He knew what she was doing. She was looking out for all of the werewolves in the school and doing it well.

He lingered in the shadows, still invisible as she began to do her work, methodical and dutiful. This was her art, and she moved like a practiced artist. She could feel his eyes, though, and as he stepped from the shadows, he let himself become visible once more. No point in hiding still when she was aware he was there.

“Good evening, Professor.”

@Eudora Spitznogle

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