> Take thee first a cauldron of good pewter, tested by moonlight and thrice-blessed. The size must be neither too large nor too small, but just as thy grandmother might have used.
>
> Begin when Venus rises in the third house, and add:
>
> Three measures of morning dew, gathered from roses which have never known frost
>
> Essence of Jobberknoll, obtained when the bird gives its final cry
>
> Plentie of moonseeds, crushed 'twixt silver and stone (but not so much as to embitter the brew)
>
> Seven drops of dragon's blood, neither more nor less, unless the dragon was old, in which case five may suffice
>
> A pinch of powdered unicorn horn (if thy purse allows - if not, substitute with ground pearl of good quality)
>
> One sprig of rosemary, picked by a virgin at dawn (the herb must be virgin too)
>
> The color should be that of a summer sky at dusk, though in winter it may turn more purple.
>
> When the surface shimmers like a cat's eye, add:
>
> Crushed butterflies (common garden varieties will serve, though tropical sorts make the potion more potent)
>
> A thimbleful of mercury caught from a broken looking-glass
>
> Three hairs from a wise person's head (thine own will not serve)
>
> Let simmer until the potion whispers thy name. If it calls thee by thy full name, thou hast erred - throw it out and begin again.
>
> The finished draught should taste of forgotten summers and have the consistency of a young child's tears. If it tastes of regret, thou hast over stirred.
>
> N.B. If brewed during autumn, double the rosemary, this makes the potion somewhat tastier.
>
> (scrawled in the margins: “I want to die. - JS ‘47”)
>
> Excerpted from A Most Efficacious Receipt for the Brewing of Memorie's Quickening by Magdalena Mouldsworth, 1742 A.D.
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Jack woke with a start, his heart pounding. For a moment, he didn't know where he was - the four-poster crimson-canopied bed, the scarlet curtains, the soft breathing of his fellows all unfamiliar. Then it all came rushing back.
Hogwarts. First day of classes.
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The dormitory was still dark, the rosy fingers of dawn just starting to creep through the mullioned windows. He'd set his alarm early, wanting plenty of time to prepare. He was used to that. His sleeping-in yesterday was a fluke. Ilvermorny was not a place for late risers.
It was just school, he told himself firmly, as he put his hands behind his head and stared up at the canopy. He'd faced down worse than this. He could handle a few extra classes, a few different ways to cast spells or make potions. He was Jack Semmes, after all. The weird little kid whose first accidental cast of magic was to make a local bully’s pants fall down after he had repeatedly followed behind Jack kicking his foot out of his shoe. Come on Jack, up and at ‘em.
He dressed quickly, his fingers fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar fastenings of his robe. He tied his tie just loosely enough to make it look rakish, flicked his wand over his leather shoes to give them one last polish and headed to breakfast.
“ALARUM!” bellowed Georgie the portrait as Jack passed, scaring him half to death. “THE REBEL PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!”
“Shut up!” Jack hissed, rounding on him. “You’ll wake the whole tower!”
Georgie yelped and hid behind the large rock that served as his background, “Back, provincial!” he menaced Jack impotently with his crop. “I fear not your savage allies or your rude attempts at spellcraft!”
Jack, amused by his antics, read the little brass nameplate on the frame: Sir George Pendleton Twistleton-Fitzhubert, 3rd Earl of Waterbury and Viscount of Wombly-upon-Thames: 1689-1777.
“Tecumseh’s teepee, no wonder they call you Georgie,” Jack grinned, tapping the canvas and making the whole painted forest shake, dumping a load of autumn leaves on the wizard’s head and triggering another vitriolic outburst (more muffled this time).
The Great Hall was nearly empty when he arrived, just a handful of fellow overly-eager students and slowly-awakening professors scattered among the long tables. He helped himself first to some coffee and crumpets, then to a plate entirely of different types of sausages. He looked vainly about the table for tomato ketchup, and was just resigning himself to pouring a tureen of some sort of brown sauce over them when Henry and his friends arrived, chatting about the weather like true Englishmen.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Going to be rain,” prognosticated Oliver gloomily, looking at the ceiling.
“Hope you slept well, old sport,” Henry plopped down next to Jack. “Ready for your baptism by fire?”
“Ready as ever,” Jack polished off the last of his sausages and checked his wristwatch: 7:25am. He realized everyone else here seemed to use pocket watches. “I’m going to get a head start to Potions,” he stood up from the table.
"Good luck, and remember what I said about the dungeons!” Henry called after him. “Take the stairs in the central hall by the suit of armor, and don't listen to anyone who tries to tell you otherwise!"
Jack nodded absently, mentally reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood. "Got it. Thanks, Henry."
In his distracted state, he promptly forgot all about Henry's advice the moment he stepped out of the great hall. He made his way across the viaduct into the central hall, and down into the dungeons.
Ten minutes later, he was hopelessly lost, and came to a dead end. He cursed himself for not paying better attention on Henry's tour.
“Franklin’s kite, what a stupid rookie mistake.”
He turned and started running the opposite direction. He was dead. So very dead. Late to class on his first day while already looking down the wand point of a week of detention prep…
He was just about to give up and start shouting for help when he turned a corner and ran headlong into a thin young man in green-trimmed robes with carefully-parted blonde hair and round wire-rimmed glasses. Cyprian Venge from the club car.
“Cyprian!” Jack cried out like a drowning man seizing onto a raft. “I need help, I’m trying to get to class!”
“Semmes,” Cyprian looked at him owlishly, “What are you doing all the way down here?”
Jack just looked at him, too embarrassed and out of breath to think of anything reasonable. The boy adjusted his glasses. "Potions? I'm heading there."
The Slytherin led the way at a casual pace while Jack hopped in frustration next to him.
“Are we going to be late?” he asked as Cyprian deliberately went up a staircase one step at a time.
“No.”
Jack’s watch read 7:58am. Cyprian walked up the stairs, pushed on an unremarkable stone in the wall, and walked though as the section rotated like a spinning door. Jack dove through before it crunched shut, and found himself in a busy hallway just outside of Vale’s classroom.
Cyprian was through the door precisely as the bell started ringing eight and slipped with practiced ease into the nearest seat. Jack stood at the entrance, quickly surveying the room, trying to spot a fellow Gryffindor or a friendly face. The only empty stool he saw was at the back, next to Cyprian.
Professor Vale entered the classroom from his office precisely as Jack sat down beside Cyprian. The Potions Master's shock of white hair was a sharp contrast to his dark robes as he strode to the front of the room.
"Welcome to Advanced Potions, sixth-years," Vale announced, turning to face the class. His eyes flickered briefly to Jack before continuing their sweep of the room. "This term we'll be first focusing on medical applications, beginning with an individual review of healing potions you should have mastered in your O.W.L. year. Today's assignment will be a standard Blood-Replenishing Potion, necessary for treating shock. We will spend the second half of class reviewing the course syllabus."
Jack felt his shoulders relax slightly. They'd covered that potion at Ilvermorny, though the British method had some differences. He began unpacking his equipment, trying to mirror Cyprian's arrangement.
"The standard recipe is in your Alkemyste’s Cookbook, page 194," Vale continued. "You have until the end of the first period to complete it. The second period will be devoted to the syllabus and this term's expectations." He waved his wand at the blackboard, where neat chalk writing appeared. "These are the modifications I expect you to incorporate: a Taste Inhibitor and an Anticoagulant. Begin."
Jack squinted at the board. The British variations were there - crushing the blutroot instead of slicing it, stirring the widdershins seven times instead of six...but besides that, it was just following the recipe. He could feel sweat beginning to form on his brow as he worked.
Oliver’s cribbed notes were a lifesaver. He placed them out next to his desk to help gloss the extra details that the ancient textbook left out. For instance, the recipe called for “a goodly handfule of angelica, well choppe.”
Oliver’s notes on the potion spelled out: “Exactly ¼ cup of angelica leaves- no sticks or stems.”
Beside him, Cyprian moved with quiet efficiency. Jack noticed the Slytherin had his pocket watch propped open beside his cauldron, though he never seemed to look at it.
Vale methodically patrolled the class, offering advice to students that looked like they were struggling, and caustic critique to those working too quickly. He passed by Jack and Cyprian’s shared table. “It looks like you prepared for today’s lesson, Mr. Semmes,” he said, with a note of mild approval. Jack was too focused to offer more than a quick nod.
Halfway through the practical, Jack caught sight of Cassandra across the room. She was working with preternatural grace. Jack quickly looked away before she could catch him staring, nearly dropping too much troll blood into his potion.
"Time," Vale announced as Jack finished his final stir and removed the cauldron from the heat. The Potions Master moved through the room, examining each cauldron in turn. He paused at Jack's workspace, peering into the cauldron.
"Acceptable, Mr. Semmes," he said finally. "It wouldn’t kill your patient, but your consistency could be improved. This requires a lighter touch with the stirring rod." He moved on to Cyprian's cauldron. "Excellent work as always, Mr. Venge. Perfect viscosity."
After checking the last few potions, Vale returned to the front of the room. "Clear your stations and take out your quills. We'll spend the remaining time discussing this term's curriculum and my expectations for your N.E.W.T. preparation."
The second hour passed in a blur of note-taking. Jack's hand cramped as he tried to keep up with Vale's rapid-fire listing of potion theory requirements and exam preparations. When the bell finally rang, he felt like he'd just run three laps around the castle.
"Thanks," he said to Cyprian as they packed up their things. "For showing me the way here, I mean."
Cyprian adjusted his glasses. "Everyone gets lost at first," he said. “Count the torch sconces. They’re constant.”
Jack shouldered his bag, considering this. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "See you around?"
Cyprian gave a slight nod and departed, leaving Jack to hurry up to the Transfiguration classroom.