Harry Potter : Chapter 6: Lesson Given, Lesson Learned III

"Five points to Slytherin. Be sure to picture the needle correctly before attempting the spell. You'll learn that once-living materials such as wood don't like to be turned into dead metal. It will resist the change, so you must overcome it with a strong will and a clear image."

Like hell the will of a dead piece of wood is going to stop me. I frowned, and recast, making sure to keep the eye of the needle in mind once I reached the end of the metallic matchstick. The result was flawless

...

I left the Transfiguration lesson with more questions than answers, mostly about the exact mechanics of casting magic than the actual subject Dumbledore taught, but there was little I could do about my curiosity until I developed a somewhat reliable rhythm in Hogwarts.

Instead of a cold, grimy, stone laboratory with narrow, dirt windows and shelves lined with jars of strange Potions ingredients, for my first potion lesson I entered a long dungeon room at the end of which four cauldrons bubbled merrily, the afternoon sun entered muted from the narrow windows on one side of the room, while a large cabinet containing ingredients rested on the opposite side.

Horace Slughorn was, very much as he had been depicted as, a walrus in wizard' robes. Great moustache over a beaming mouth, eyebrow that shot up in surprise when he spotted my size, that thankfully he didn't mention, end a sharp glint in his eye that betrayed his generally laid back attitude.

"What," he began once everybody was placed behind a different desk, his voice full of expectation, "is a Potion?"

He smiled in faux apology when he didn't call upon anyone to answer: "Potions can do almost anything, truly, heal, rejuvenate, change the form of the drinker, bottle luck, the only limit is the ability of the brewer. And the ingredients at his disposal of course."

"You see, each potion is like a story, bringing together in a final result the meaning of each of its component." he clapped his hands excitedly.

"If you've taken a peek in your book before this lesson, you'll know that it is basically a very thorough recipe book that keeps track even of the number of stirs, clockwise or counterclockwise, needed in order to bring out a determined result from within each ingredient."

When nobody spoke, an astute smile displayed itself upon Slughorn's face: "A demonstration is in order, I believe."

"Now," he started to talk as he rummaged behind his desk, "potion-making require precision in almost every aspect, for even the smallest variation can have disastrous effects on the brew. It is also true, however, that even the smallest variation, can bring out unexpected results that can be described as beneficial."

In a few moments, he had placed a pewter cauldron on his desk, and a smattering of ingredients, likely leftovers from his other lessons, were showcased on a white cloth over an opportunely enlarged portion of his desk.

"Now, let's see... let's see..." his hand shot amidst the ingredients with unerring precision, dragging out... an acorn?

"Yes, why not..." the walrus-like potion-maker murmured to himself, "we will try to make this acorn sprout into a small version of an oak, since I don't want to enlarge the room that much."

He had appeared like he was unsure of what he should try to create, but I wasn't sure about it. Slughorn gaze travelled across the classroom in order to check upon the undivided attention he was receiving, and then he smiled again.

"I will need your help to decide on what ingredients will be needed," he stated, "Miss. Horine, which of these ingredients would you associate with life and renewal?"

"The Pugroot root is often present in healing potions..." said the first-year Slytherin and he pointed to one of the plants, though she seemed puzzled by the question.

I looked at the suggestion. The root was thick and heavy, dense and with thin filaments of red running through it.

"The pugroot gives birth to a plant is sturdy and with leathery leaves." Slughorn clarified for the sake of others that had no idea of what the student had been talking about, but he also shook his head.

"But no, remember? I didn't ask to point me to an ingredient based upon what they're used for, at least not just that. It is about the feeling it gives, what it means. Here, better that I show you."

"This, the pugroot plant. It is all wrong. Life is about birth, growth, death and renewal. It is about green saplings and shoots, seeds and fruits. It is about striving and hoping and driving for more and better. This plant is none of those things. It is hardy and sturdy, it is about resisting death, not rejoicing in life."

Slughorn spoke passionately, " There will be time to rely on preexistent recipes, for now, I want you all to focus on what I've told you: a potion is a story."

He looked at the other plants arrayed upon the white cloth until he saw something more suitable: "This one, though, is much better."

The bark was a youthful green and the leaves were soft and new despite the ever colder nights of the incoming winter.

"But that is from a Slither-Willow, it's poisonous!" stuttered out a Ravenclaw, which was busy crosschecking the choices of Slughorn with his copy of One thousand Magical Herbes and Fungi.

"When talking about plants and animals, death is a part of life," Slughorn smiled faintly as he rubbed one of the leaves between his fingers, "Without it, life is little more than existence, like a ghost who wanders the same halls for eternity."

Without hesitating, the Professor shaved off a small amount of the bark into the pot, "But you are right, poison alone will not work. We must add something to protect against it, do you have a suggestion?"

And so it continued. Sometimes a student would offer a suggestion and Slughorn would nod approvingly as he looked at the choice. More often than not, however, the Professor would frown and shake his head before explaining why he did not believe it was suitable.

Sometimes Slughorn told us about the ingredient: whether about the history of the plant, or the conditions in which it naturally grew, or if it flowered or spread. If the snake whose crushed fang he wanted to add was poisonous to animals or only to humans.

It was mind-blogging. I had no idea whatsoever about what was going on, and I often found myself inching forward, looming over the heads of my peers in order to peer into the cauldron Slughorn had set up.

"There," he said when the surface of the potion smoothed to a perfect leafy green. "It's done," Slughorn fished out the acorn he had secured at the beginning of the lesson and held it with only two fingers over the potion he had prepared.

"Now we complete the promise we set up with the crushed quills and bat' eyes, with this seed, we give a target to the shaving of Slither-Willow."

Without another word, he dropped the seed... and nothing happened.

After five seconds, Slughorn pulled the pot off from the fire, and the magic began.

the green liquid shimmered with inner light, sending a pleasantly fresh spurt of wind across the dungeon, and in seconds, the liquid inside the pot seemed to thicken and assumed a dark green colouration, like moss, while from the centre of the potion spurted a sapling, which grew quickly into a great oak tree thirty centimetres tall.

Its leaves were healthy summer green. Its miniature branches rustled and swayed as if in presence of a gentle breeze, which nevertheless filled the air with a scent that had no place in the classroom. It brought to my mind long summer afternoons, the dry light scent of a long summer day.

This, I thought, my mind discarding the bullshit of Dumbledore's Transfiguration, this is Magic.

...

Besides a few brief visits, I hadn't managed to actually enjoy the Library, but after the first week of lessons, and after I half-assed most of my assignments, I finally found the time to freely explore it.

Besides a first area free of shelves, where stood the desk of the Master Librarian of Doom, who looked at me as if it the very thought that I was going to peruse the Library was outrageous, the Library occupied an undetermined large hall that seemed to extend as far as the eye could see, row upon row of books, divided in sections carefully labelled, with each shelf separated from the next one by one or more tables where the students could sit.

I had a vast variety of stuff that I would have liked to research, but it was somewhat of a given that I wasn't going to ever know everything. 

If Voldemort had needed to get Hagrid drunk in the Philosopher Stone in order to find out how to bypass a Cerberus of all things, it appeared clearly that the world was simply too vast, and with too many branches of magic for me to ever learn.

Specialization wasn't exactly something that I liked to think about, but there was nothing for it. My solution? Learning enough of the basics and then fuck off to figure out my own way of doing magic.

Besides, I thought by myself as I strolled across the library, picking up a tome here and there, a world-wide empire isn't going to build itself. I stopped briefly when my eyes landed on the Restricted Section, considering briefly a possible break-in before discarding the option, there would be time for that eventually.

"I'm starting to sound like a megalomaniac..." I muttered to myself once I recognized that referring to my vague plan about the future as 'the creation of a world-wide empire' didn't sound particularly sane. Nevertheless, I needed to acquire skills before setting out on my own.

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