I totally didn't just spend a half hour creating an excel spreadsheet which automatically calculates how many of which type of ingredients I need to make a desired number of each type of potion based off what's in my inventory....
Oh Pottermore!!
Now hurry up and open the rest of Book 2's chapters so I can earn money to make more potions.
Dreamt last night that I had to come back to the dungeons after Potions class. I needed to figure out what went wrong with my sleep potion. Yes, I was making sleeping potions... while I was sleeping.
Seriously girl.
Leave the cauldron alone and go outside for a few hours.
In which Briz tries her hand at recapturing all her feels of pottermore in the context of Pixie leaving for Hogwarts for the first time...
The train’s whistle pierced through whatever deep reverie she’d fallen into and suddenly Pixie was back in her own freckled skin. Steam wafted across the platform into open windows while familial choruses of complaining and reminding and the occasional indignant “but Mu-um”s punctuated the air. The platform was a riot of swirling black robes and leather luggage, all seeming to go every which way at once. Occasionally a splash of color would catch her eye- gold and red, green and silver, yellow and gold, blue and silver.
It was the start of term for Hogwarts.
More specifically, it was the start of her first term there.
“D’you have everything you need?” Lydda’s voice was overly soothing and trifle soporific. Despite this, the middling woman twisted at her shirt hems with one hand and clung to her youngest child, Everard, with the other.
“Yes, Mum.” Pixie sighed loudly, readjusting her shoulder bag and returning her little brother’s glower with one of her own. Ugh, brothers.
“It’s a madhouse today!” Her father swore as he approached, lugging Pixie’s luggage behind him. “Was it always like this?”
Pixie laughed, these days her father seemed to be in a state of permanent forgetfulness. Always speaking in yesteryear but never quite sure if the good-old-days were as good as he remembered.
“Yes, Da, I’m sure it was. In fact,” she grinned, pausing dramatically, “I’m positive beginning of term was, is, and forever shall be this much a madhouse.”
He scowled and tugged on one of her blue-blonde braids. “Imp,” he chastised affectionately.
Pixie began ignoring her parents as they both started talking over one another trying to provide words of wisdom to their eldest child. The crowded platform was far more interesting and far more useful to her.
So many different people- witch, wizard, and muggle- all milling about. The returning students bid their families farewell and hurried onto the awaiting engine to better chat with peers they’d not seen for months. The newbies clung to their mothers’ robes with wide eyes or raced onto the engine without a glance back.
A small hand slipped into her own.
“You ready?” the voice was quiet and unassuming, much like the little girl it belonged to.
“Yes, Else,” Pixie squeezed her little sister’s hand tightly, “I’ve been ready for months.”
“Ever since you turned eleven, I remember,” she laughed softly, her golden curls bouncing with the movement.
“Before that even!” Pixie crowed with excitement, taking a few steps towards the train. For Pixie, every bedtime story, every chocolate frog, and every mumsie’s-little-helper moment of her childhood had lead to this- the moment she would be able to do real magic.
Sure there would be rules, practices, homework, and regulations. There would be times to use magic and times when it would be disallowed, but it would be hers. Hers to use and develop and explore. Hers.
As if responding to her euphoria, she felt a slight tingling in her back pocket- where she kept her wand. 14 and a half inches, horn-beam, phoenix feather. newly purchased and never used. Ready, willing, and waiting for the adventure to start.
Suddenly, she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Interrupting her still chattering parentals, she gave each a quick hug of farewell. Blowing a raspberry to Ev, she rounded on Else gathering her up in a tight, swinging embrace.
“Of course!” Pixie laughed carelessly, squeezing tightly once before letting go.
With an explosive crow of delight, Pixie rocketed towards the passenger cars, a blur of blonde, blue, and black. Narrowly avoiding smaller first-years, careening around precariously balanced luggage carts of second and third-years, and hurtling past conversing fourth-fifth-and-so-ons, she made her way onto the train and into the first available car.
There were three students already seated inside.
“Hi!” she cheered, shoving her bags under the seat before any of them could say anything. “I’m Pixie.”
“And I’m leaving,” scowled the female student as she rose to her feet, “you won’t catch me on baby-patrol.” Without another word, she strolled out; chin length brown hair swishing as she about-faced.
“Later Wist,” the two remaining boys chimed, neither apparently bothered enough to get up.
“You must be new,” the shorter one chuckled as she secured her luggage and hung her owl’s cage from the ceiling.
“Nah,” Pixie gave him a cheshire grin, “got in some trouble with a time turner my fifth year and ended up having to start over.” She plopped in the window seat across from them both and waited.
“A-are, are you serious?” the shorter one’s hazel eyes widened while the other boy’s mouth twitched into a wry smile.
“Of course I’m not serious,” Pixie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Why would I go to Hogwarts again when I was so close to being finished anyway?”
The other boy began laughing, “She’s got you there, T. What did I tell you about being so gullible?” He smiled wryly and stuck out his hand, “I’m Marrik and fluff-for-brains is Tolliver. We’re from slytherin.”
Pixie ignored his outstretched hand and nodded imperiously. “You don't say,” she drawled sarcastically, overtly eyeing their green and silver decor.
A loud whistle pierced the air and halted further banter. Pixie threw aside her games and gawped out the window. Inch by chugging inch the train began to move. The huddled forms of families waved and waved, watching their children steam out of the station. Pixie ignored the boys as they joined her at the window, no doubt searching, as she did, for the faces they knew and loved.
Ah there they were.
Father was tearing up, as expected. Mother was smiling placidly, still clinging to frowning Everard’s wrist. Else was standing a little off to the side, gazing vaguely into the distance.
Pixie chuckled a little- Else no doubt was dreaming about next year when the two of them would head off for Hogwarts together. The thought brought an impish smile to Pixie’s face, together they’d be unstoppable.
As if hearing her thoughts, Else looked up and met her older sister’s eyes. Instead of mischief, only sadness lurked in their mossy depths.
Together they’d – her breath caught in her lungs. Surely, they’d be together. Surely. They’d always been together. Always. Partners in crime, Bonny and Clothilde, Daddy’s little imps- together. always.
The train picked up speed, but Pixie paid it no mind. Surely. Surely. Surely no.
Mind racing, she tried to piece together what she’d missed, trying to divine a message from her sister’s gaze. This whole time she’d been so excited for her own witch-hood that she’d been blind to what her best friend had been trying to say.
Pressing a hand to the glass, Pixie mouthed a promise to Else just as the train replaced them with rolling hills.
omigosh. Pottermore is making me relive my Harry Potter experiences- that giggling excitement back when I was 11 and picked up the book for the very first time. That glowing fascination of "will I get a letter?" oouuuf!! Such a delicious surprise!!
