You could have the coolest, fiercest, most amazing patronus in all the world, and it didn't mean a thing if there wasn't a dementor nearby to sic it on. Bethan had been practicing, and had been able to summon her patronus with growing ease the longer she kept up at it, but so far her bumbling, bi-pedal bear had done little more than prance about the pub during her emptier shifts. She was excited about her evolving level of skill, but she was still frustrated. The Prophet was making it sound like dementors were everywhere! If she was to believe everything printed in that paper then she shouldn't even have been able to make her way to work without tripping over a soul-sucking spectra of despair! So far, however... nothing. All she wanted to do was encounter one to see how her patronus held up! Plus, being able to say that she had encountered a dementor and knew how to deal with it could only serve as an asset! Every vaguely rainy morning brought with it new promise, but every day she found herself disappointed. Was her soul not good enough? Did she smell bad?

With any luck, she wouldn't have to wait much longer before coming face to face with all things dark and demented. She'd given a whole year of her life to The Three Broomsticks so that she could save up while revising to resit a pesky NEWT examination. She'd met a lot of people, accomplished a few things, and learned the value of hard work... but she'd done it all for the opportunity to interview for the Auror Training Program. When she was older, this one year of her life might seem like absolutely nothing... but at nineteen years old, it had felt like an eternity of pulling pints for the greater good. Shed pushed herself through the long hours by reminding herself what it was for. Except... now that she was nearing exam time, about to make or break herself in one go, she was realizing that she probably could have spent a larger percentage of her year actively revising. Whoops!

She'd been wiping down one spot on the counter for a very long time... not because it was dirty, but because her eyes were not-so-subtly trained on the contents of the potions book that was sitting on the bar top. Her mouth was hanging open as she stood, slightly hunched, reading the same passage for the fourth time as her left hand mechanically wiped circles on the counter beside her. She hadn't absorbed a single word. This had all been much easier when she was still in school and knew how to get through a school book without falling asleep on her feet. She didn't hear the tinkling of the bell over the pub door as she stood drooling, totally oblivious to where she was or why she was there. 

Accidents, injuries and accidental wrong-potion ingestions tended to decrease in frequency as the day wore on.  Most of the heavy, magically based classes were scheduled in the morning or just after lunch.  With History, and Astronomy occupying the afternoon of most student schedules, Tulojow typically had a good idea of her day’s workload by the early afternoon.  On the rare days the afternoon seemed quiet, Tulojow would take the opportunity to get out of the Hospital Hut and enjoy herself.  She always told Pippi, the house elf that helped in the cabin, where she was going.  If inter-student conflict or studying resulted in an unexpected mishap, the elf could find her and apparate her back to the Hospital Hut before the student had reached the door.

The weather was pleasant and crisp - perfect for a leisurely stroll down to Hogsmeade.  It was a perfect opportunity to pick up a few supplies and ingredients and fetch an order from the owl post.  After exploring the newest wares in a few of the shops, Tulojow’s leisurely strolling brought her to the Three Broomsticks for a quick drink, a bite to eat and some friendly conversation with the locals before heading back to the school.  The Healer was familiar with most of the locals around the village, having settled near Hogsmeade nearly three years ago.

Tulojow stepped inside the Three Broomsticks and spotted Bethan at the counter.  They’d kept in regular contact since Bethan’s graduation from Hogwarts and the Healer was always delighted to see the young woman.  Bethan appeared engrossed in the book open at her elbow and Tulojow caught a glimpse of the page as she approached. 

A hand appeared in Bethan’s field of vision and rested on the page of the textbook, briefly obscuring the young woman’s view.  The Healer attached to the arm smiled warmly at the younger woman before tapping the page, pointedly, with a finger and withdrawing her hand.  “Remember.  The purpose of the potion can go a long way to helping you remember the ingredients.  Don't just try to memorize each individual potion.  What does the Draught of Living Dead do?[1]  Try to remember the patterns of ingredient classes."

“How are you, my dear?  It’s good to see you,” Tulojow added as she situated herself on a stool and leaned against the counter.  “How long until the big test?"

1.	Draught of Living Dead

Though Bethan wasn't reading so much as staring down at her book and hoping that bibliographic osmosis might take place, the appearance of a strange hand covering the page was still enough to draw a reaction from her. “Watch it!” she shouted grumpily, before she could even look up properly – or, more importantly, recall that she was supposed to be at work. Once she did look up, however, taking in the sight of the hand's owner, her agitated grimace was replaced with a big old goofy grin, ripe with a fair bit of delayed guilt. She listened to what the old healer had to say, but the longer the witch spoke, the more screwed up Beth's face became, until her expression was made up entirely of perplexed wrinkles. She gave her head a great shake, her typical sloppy ponytail trailing behind.

“No, no, see, if that was all it was I'd have passed the first time, isn't it?” she retorted, settling her hands on her hips. “They never just ask for a sleeping potion. They ask you for a specific one, like, and they don't seem to care if you've got the bulk of it brewed right, or if it works. They just care if you're missing the quarter teaspoon of bloody wormwood essence,” she ranted, producing a loud, snort-like sigh through her nostrils. “I can make you a sleeping potion any day of the week... but no, they want their Draught of Living whatsis...” she trailed off, her lips settling into an agitated pucker. She hadn't exactly answered the question but, then again... did she ever?

She sighed loudly once again, making no attempt to hide it. “I'm alright. Exam's in a few weeks,” she retorted dismissively, leaning forward on the counter and running a hand over her hair. It was after a few seconds that she recalled the existence of social conventions and stood up a little straighter. “And yourself?” she asked, not because she wasn't interested, but because she was brooding and hadn't thought of it. “And anything to drink, by the way?”

“White wine,” Tulojow requested as she leaned against the bar top.  “And, perhaps, the fish and chips, if it’s fresh this evening.”  Fish could be a dangerous choice up in the mountains, especially under normal circumstances.  One of the many benefits of magic was it’s ability to provide easy remedies to otherwise troublesome obstacles like distance.  As long as nothing went amiss with the scheduling, fresh catches could be delivered by floo or apparition to the most remote of villages. 

“I’m doing well.  Another year almost behind us.  I’m looking forward to a few month’s break.  These old bones are getting tired more easily these days.” 

The formality of business completed, Tulojow turned back to the book on the bar.  “I’m not saying you don’t have to eventually learn all the potions.  You’re right.  They are going to ask you specifically for Draught of Living Dead,” Tulojow annunciated.  “Not just a random sleeping potion.  When you’re trying to figure out whether someone slipped Living Death or a simple Nod-Me-Off in your drink, it’ll definitely make a difference.”  Tulojow grinned warmly at the younger woman.  “And, if they do slip Draught of Living Dead in your tea, you can only hope they weren’t off by a quarter teaspoon of wormwood essence.” 

Of course, that was more a reason why any would-be auror assassins needed to know how to make the potion properly. 

“Knowing the classes of ingredients helps you narrow down your choices, though.  What is Draught of Living Dead?  What does it do?  Be specific.  As specific as you can."

Bethan looked to Tulojow with a knowing, cockeyed sort of smile on her face, one brow slightly raised, as if trying to communicate something wordlessly – but she wasn't good at keeping quiet for long, so she followed up with a slightly garbled “It's never fresh in the evening,” half-muttered, just in case someone was snooping in the kitchen. Truth be told, she was sure the fish was fine, but she'd never been the sort to mince her words. “I'd probably take my chances, but I know I'm not everybody. It's your call at the end of the day, but I eat here regularly and I'm still upright, 'least for the moment,” she grinned toothily as she plodded over to retrieve a wine glass. She held it up and examined it for a moment, squinting at the glass and, deeming it acceptable, set it out and squatted to pull out the wine from the cabinet in which it was chilling.

Her back was still to the matron turned patron when the older witch turned her attention to Beth's potion's book. Oblivious, Beth continued clinking about and taking her sweet time, but listened as she worked. “Yeah, yeah, you've got a point, I suppose,” she remarked, finding it much easier to admit a fault when she didn't have to make eye contact. The truth was, Madam Nagde was probably the smartest person she knew when it came down to practical business, and it would have been foolish not to take her advice. Practical scenarios had always made the most sense to Bethan, anyway – which was why she'd loved the challenge of a hands on lesson in class, but had struggled a bit when she was sat down with a quill and asked to plod through an exam. If she was ever in a situation in which she had to use potions knowledge, she somehow doubted that she'd triumphantly lift her quill in the air and declare her intention to write three feet of parchment on the subject before, you know, acting. It was much more difficult now that she'd been out of school for nearly a year.

Turning back around, Bethan set the glass of white on the counter in front of the healer, her face already screwed up in concentration as she considered her question. “Well, it's a sleeping potion,” she retorted, “But I already said that.” She paused, thinking. “Erm, it'll put you to sleep for a good long time, if you can call it sleep. Reckon that's where the 'living dead' bit comes in, like. I know it's not a poison, but its got an antidote...” she trained off, looking upwards at nothing in particular as she struggled to recall more. “The biggest difference is likely duration. A regular sleeping potion won't knock you out that deep for that long.”

Well, the Three Broomsticks was never intended to be fine dining.  One could really only expect so much and Tulojow didn’t come here for five star or even the freshest home cooking.  The former required traveling to a more impressive village; the later Tulojow did plenty of herself.  Three Broomsticks was the alternative to fresh home cooking.  "I’ll consider myself forewarned", she confirmed, nodding at the younger woman.

The Healer nodded her head, both confirming the young woman’s answer and encouraging her to continue reasoning it out.  “Exactly,” Tulojow offered.  “The Draught of Living Death is a sedative potion, like a regular sleeping potion.  You've studied quite a few others - do remember the others?  You’re right,  it does put the recipient in a deeper, heavier sleep than most other sleeping potions - there are heavier sedatives, but they usually reserve studying those for Auror training.”  Only a brief consideration of what the effects of such a potion might be would likely provide the reason why. 

“There’s actually an even more fundamental difference between it and other sedatives.  It not only puts them in a sleep, it also slows down the bod'sy functions on the most fundamental level.  Your typical sleeping potion can’t have any effect on things that don’t sleep, for obvious reasons.  But, the Draught of Living Death will put most natural objects into a sedated state.  Trees will become as dormant as in winter in the height of summer; their leaves disintegrate like it was fall.  Some flowers and fruits even retreat back in their buds.  Drinking the potion not only puts you to sleep, it slows your heart rate and breathing until they’re almost imperceptible.  Some have speculated that if one were to take Draught of Living Death for a long period of time, they might actually age slower.”  Of course, it was impossible to safely test the theory.

Tulojow took a sip of her wine before tapping on the page in the textbook describing the Draught of Living Death.  “Given that, why do you think it’s Level 2 policy that Aurors and Hitwizards are not able to officially declare a victim deceased.  And, can you think of any Healing applications for the potion?"

“Well, alright. Suit yourself,” Bethan spoke, shooting the other witch a shrug and a good humored smirk as she popped back into the kitchen to put the food order in. It didn't take long before she was back to her post behind the bar. “It'll only be a moment,” she promised. It wasn't particularly busy, and Monday evenings weren't known for large, rowdy crowds, particularly with the threat of dementors still up in the air. Little did the would-be patrons know that Beth's presence alone seemed to be enough to ward the dark creatures off. As long as she was ready and eager then, naturally, they'd keep their distance. The Broomsticks could have used it as a marketing strategy!

Bethan didn't want to be the world's fiercest barmaid, however – she wanted to be an auror. She'd wanted to be an auror for so long that she couldn't clearly recall a time when she hadn't. It should have been enough to keep her revising all year long but... well, life happened. She was just going to have to do the best that she could now that it was crunch time. Then again, that's what she'd done the last time she'd taken NEWT exams. She was beyond thankful that she only had to prepare for one tricky test this time around rather than several. It meant that the barest possibility still existed that she could pull herself together and score high enough to qualify for the training program.  While Bethan's mum was encouraging her at home, the woman was very far removed from Hogwarts. She used mostly household magic these days, so she was only so much help to someone in Beth's position. When Beth read the textbook and drilled herself, she could almost convince herself that she knew this stuff – which was easy to say when she had the answers in front of her. But when someone else was asking – someone who clearly did know this stuff cold? Well, it was beginning to dawn on her just how much work she still needed to put in. It might have been just the kick in the butt that she needed.

“They've got heavier sedatives than something they're calling Living Death?” Beth asked, looking quite gobsmacked by the idea, her light eyes growing wide. “What's heavier than living death? Dying death? At some point they've got to stop calling them sleeping potions,” she snorted, giving her head a good shake. “It's just not honest!”

She was kidding... mostly. She clearly still had a lot more to learn. Bethan nodded along, listening as Tulojow explained the even nitpickier nuances between this sleeping potion and others, wondering if it might have been wise to take notes. The longer the healer spoke, the more began to come back to her – she could remember snippets from a potions lecture from a very long time ago. Sixth year, maybe? She could recall conjuring up the same mental images that she was conjuring now, and the information felt fresher. When the wizard in the kitchen had the audacity to call out to her that her order was up, she huffed, angry to have been interrupted when she was finally beginning to remember more of the material! She excused herself and went to fetch the fish and chips, delivering the steaming basket at once. She didn't say a word as she set it down, eager to return to potions talk. Whether she said so or not, she appreciated the help. She would have made it very clear if she didn't. The fact that she was choosing potions chat over food chat spoke volumes.

“Well, frankly, I reckon it's because they've done a rotten job of it in the past, making assumptions and all,” she responded to the question posed to her. “It was aurors who declared Peter Pettigrew dead, wasn't it? But, if we're talking about sleeping potions...” she trailed off, cocking her head to one side, “It has to be because death's too easy to fake. If you've got a potion that can stop you from breathing and won't kill you, then you can't really call anyone dead without making sure the antidote doesn't revive them, isn't it? I mean, assuming they've still got their head attached and that,” she chuckled.

“As for healing...” again, she paused to think, her eyes rolling upward as if to look at her brain while it worked. “Well, there's poisons. If you need time to brew an antidote, or find one, then nearly stopping someone's heart has to help. Or if they're bleeding a lot, I suppose, but you've got to assume they're dark wounds that aren't responding, because otherwise you could just treat them, like. Erm...” Beth trailed off, scratching at the back of her neck. Her lips had settled into a thoughtful, perplexed pucker. “For pain?” she offered, grasping at straws, “Or if someone's cursed and they won't stop making a racket? Though any sleeping potion could help with that,” she reasoned, looking across at the healer for some help.

The Healer grinned as she watched the younger woman head back to the kitchen to place the order.  However fresh, or not fresh, the fish might be it wasn’t likely to kill her and it was bound to be fresher than anything they’d had in the middle of North Dakota.  As she waited, the Healer sipped the wine and looked around the room, watching the other patrons carefully.  Though her tenure as an Auror was past, three decades of habits were slow to break. 

Not that she expected to find trouble in the little Hogsmeade pub. 

But, the Healer turned her attention back to the bar when the graduated Gryffindor reappeared.    The look of astonishment on the young woman’s face brought a bemused grin to the older woman’s.  Slowly, Tulojow nodded her head.  “That they do,” she confirmed.  “Living Death’s just the fond term we use for that particular potion; there’s heavier.  Where do you think muggles got the notion of zombies?”  The Healer listed her brows suggestively, leaving it to Bethan to ponder whether or not she was being serious.  “Just think of all the exciting mysteries you’ll learn as a fosterling Auror.  Just don't let them trick you into thinking testing potions is a part of training.  I'm not too familiar with the modern hazing rituals but that was an old classic.” 

“Yes, very true.  If head and wizard have parted ways, you’re probably safe to assume the wizard in question is deceased.  Though, the Healers still prefer you leave the official declaration to then.  Just in case some prankster combined an invisibility charm and a sedation potion.”  A class act prank a younger Tulojow would have been thrilled to think of.  “But, that’s exactly right.  Heavy sedatives have tricked many into thinking a deceased man was only mostly dead.” 

Tulojow grinned, nodded in time with each of Bethan’s proposed uses of sedatives in Healing.  “Spot on!” she concluded as the woman grew quiet.  “You know this stuff.  You do.  It’s just a matter of organizing for easy reclamation during the exam.  It’s just one last hurtle.  The on to the corps.  Yes?”  The Healer lifted a brow, watching the younger woman for verification.

“I heard of zombies, but...” Bethan trailed off, screwing up her features in thought as she tried to interpret just what the healer was telling her, ultimately giving her head a good shake. “No, no, that's not right, because I know about reanimation spells, but those're about as dark as you can get... I mean, apart from a full Imperius curse, but there's nothing more sick than messing with the dead,” she grumbled as she worked through her thoughts aloud, wiping her hands on the half-apron around her hips. “I don't see where a potion would come into it, though. I mean, what is it? A sleep so deep that you die and then come back to life again? I'm just not getting my head around it!” she admitted, throwing her hands up. Frankly, it was pretty fascinating, but if she tried working it over any more then her skull was likely to shatter from the exertion. The witch's hatred of dark magic came with a certain fascination for the very subject she reviled. You couldn't hate something properly unless you knew enough about it to pass judgment, and she was already filled with a whole lot of hatred considering how little she really knew at the end of the day.

“How much potions is involved in being an auror, anyway?” the barmaid asked once the topic of potions hazing was brought up. “I know it's important, and I thought I knew why, but I'm not going into the field to stand over a cauldron, like,” she insisted, crossing her arms casually over her chest. She was definitely more concerned with what she'd be doing than what others may be doing to her – nobody ever wanted to think they were the sort of person who'd fall for a hazing prank, especially proud former gryffindors.

And this particular proud former gryffindor was only growing prouder by the second. It had taken a bit of waffling and thinking out loud before she'd found her answers, but knowing she'd hit the nail on the head still came with a burst of confidence that the struggling witch really needed. She liked to think that she was born for the auror corps, that they needed someone like her – but this potions business had begun to bring up some doubts, and she'd had to force the thought of potential failure out of her mind more than once so she wouldn't dwell on it. But now? She was seeing the light again  - eyes on the prize!

 “Yes!” Beth echoed confidently, her face cracking open with a grin. “See, what I need is someone to grill me like that all the time, but I don't know too many people who'd be willing. Plus, I got work,” she explained, “So all I have are books, but I can never learn from books. I got to talk about things, like. It's just how it is.” She'd always been a decent enough student when it came to participating in class discussions and, of course, practical wandwork... but it was everything in between that was murky. “Got any tips for brewing?” she asked, coming to lean against the bar. “That's where it always seems to go sour for me. I get distracted and that, isn't it? Every time! I always look up and suddenly everything's the wrong color and I can't find the beetles!” she sighed, shaking her head.

Bethan was completely right.  Inferi summoning was getting well into the espresso end of dark magic, though Tulojow usually refrained from ranking the relative 'badness' of things.  For personal, moral or spiritual reasons, one might deem raising the dead as darker than, say, a a simple fire spell but that meant little if you were the one who's home burnt down.  Especially if the fire destroyed irreplaceable memories or, Merlin forbid, killed family members.  Early on in her career as an Auror, Tulojow had quickly learned to accept bad as bad - not worse, not more or less evil than some other theoretical event.  If it happened to someone it was just bad.  However, Tulojow could acknowledge she'd consider keeping a friend who'd cast a fire charm, depending on the circumstances, but there were few justifications she'd accept from a friend who'd attempted to raise inferi. 

The Healer nodded her head, making no attempt to make light of the conversation.  "Messing with anyone - or anything - without the ability to defend itself, is definitely sick.  Only those who consider others as obstacles or tools to use in their pursuit of personal gain would consider the option.  Luckily, no, a single potion can't raise inferi."  At least, as far as Tulojow knew, no one had invented one, yet.

"But, sleep isn't a single, static state.  There are depths to sleep.  From just barely unawake to deep dream sleep with lots of levels in between.  Draught of Living Death knocks you out completely.   Much like a coma.  Or, anesthesia in the muggle world.  There are potions that are just as long lasting but that can specifically pinpoint a stage of sleep."  Tulojow paused to take a sip of wine.  "Imagine a potion that would leave a person in a perpetual and long lasting state of dreaming and if those dreams could be influenced.  Or, imagine inducing a state of sleep walking.  And, we know muggles often react badly and in unexpected ways to potions intended for wizarding use.  Even someone whose unwilling to go to the lengths of creating inferi could achieve similar effects with such sleeping potions.  Only difference is, so long as the victim isn't sleep-walked off a cliff, the state isn't eternal."

Tulojow chuckled, slightly, at the young Gryffindor's question and shrugged her shoulders.  For better or worse, being an auror was an unpredictable career choice.  No one could predict what skills or knowledge a new auror would need except, perhaps, a skilled seer.  The least anyone could do in preparing young Aurors was to familiarize them with the things most likely to get them, or someone else, seriously hurt and let the rest of it come as it was needed.  "Who knows," she finally answered, taking another sip of wine. 

"It was almost two years before I encountered my first case that, really, involved potions.  On a day to day basis, you won't use them much.  Most of the time, you won't be making potions - if you needed one for some reason, most of the time you can buy it or get it from the Ministry stocks.  Only aurors sent out into the field for a while ever needed to make them - and we're a rare bunch."  Tulojow smirked.  "They'll crop up in cases, though.  You need to know them, even if you don't know the recipe of each potion.  If you come across a case and the victim's drink seems to have just a certain wormwood je ne sais quoi, something in the back of your head should say 'this man was poisoned!  He must have been murdered in his sleep"!"  Tulojow said in a mock detective voice before pointing at the page of the book. 

The young woman wouldn't need to do much brewing as an auror, but it was an obstacle to getting that necessary NEWT.  "It's all in the set up and prep.  Just like cooking any recipe.  Whenever I'm preparing potions or tinctures for the Hospital Hut, I always have a clear system.  I have my cauldron, or cooking pot," Tulojow pantomimed with her hands where the vessel would be in front of her.  "I prep what I can and have it arranged in order.  First, the onions, carrots and pepper arranged together since they go in together.  Then a space before the ham that goes in next.  Then the beef.  Then the big vegetables in the order the go into the stew.  If it's an ingredient I have to prep right before it goes in, I put the necessary tool right with it in line.  Then, before I start, I go down the line and remind myself of the timing, the temperature and the stirring direction for each ingredient.  If I think I might forget a stirring direction, sometimes I arrange the prepped ingredient as a reminder."  Tulojow took her spoon and placed it in the center of the bar and twisted it so it was at an angle with the top to the left and the bottom to the right.  "Sage gets stirred in counter clockwise."  She reversed the spoon so the top was to the right and bottom to the left.  "Eel intestine gets stirred in clockwise."

"You know..."  Tulojow tapped the table with a finger as she thought a moment.  "My great nephew is here for the Tournament with the American kids.  He's going to try for the Corps as well and is knee deep in exam studying, as well.  I've been helping him most evenings.  If you'd like to join us when you have evenings off, you could grill each other."

Bethan nodded, and she nodded firmly, with conviction – if she could have nodded harder she would have, but her head was attached to her neck and would not allow it. She simply could not agree more with Tulojow's words about taking advantage of the weak. If one looked close enough, they'd find that many of her actions were a direct result of such a conviction, from her desire to become an auror to her tendency to take an interest in the mangiest of stray dogs. “It's not right,” she asserted, “It just isn't respectful, like. It's the same as targeting a kid. I hate that,” she practically snarled, making the sort of face she might make if she'd eaten something bitter. In Beth's mind, that would always be unforgivable.

It would have been easy for her to get further riled up and begin to rant right there behind the bar – and if she did, it wouldn't have been the first time – but she wanted to hear what the healer had to say about dark magic and sleep and any other fascinating topics the barmaid wouldn't have thought to ask about on her own. The thought of creating an army of sleepwalking servants was just as disturbing to her as the imperious curse, or even the creation of inferi, and just as exploitative. “You've got to be smart to manage that,” she suggested decisively, sighing a soft, bull-like sigh through her nose. “I reckon if their intentions were really twisted then a person might attempt it just so they could claim they weren't using unforgivables, trying to get a lighter sentence out of it,” she observed. “At least with inferi, you're dead. If you're sleeping, or under imperious, you've got to live with it.”

The unpredictability of life as an auror was something that Bethan, who'd been standing behind the same bar day in and day out for nearly a year, was really looking forward to – which was, perhaps, why the thought of minding a cauldron all day sounded so thoroughly painful. Maybe that was why an answer like 'Who knows?' was actually quite satisfying. It sounded to her like potions would come up tangentially in her work, the same way they came up tangentially in her life. Nobody was going to point a wand at her chest and tell her to name all of the ingredients in the Draught of Living Death. While that was a relief, it made preparing for this exam seem even more pointless. She just needed to bring up her grade so that she could discard 90% of the knowledge and do what she felt in her heart she needed to be doing. She leaned on the counter, one arm propping her head up, as she tried to take in Tulojow's brewing tips.

“See, what I don't understand is why I'm being made to memorize stirring directions! If I go home to make a potion right this minute, I'm going to take out a book and keep the instructions where I can see them, isn't it? That's what I've seen my mum do for my entire life. You're not going to risk forgetting in the thick of it! It's daft!” she grumbled, shaking her head. “You know, I didn't like school when I was in school, and I don't like it any more now. Sometimes I think they invented exams just to get to me.”

It didn't help that she felt like the only person in the world who was preparing for an exam – being away from Hogwarts was a little bit isolating, even though she could see the castle in the distance if she craned her neck out the door. It was the school culture surrounding exam preparation that she missed. Thus, the invitation to sneak up to the grounds of the school (even if she was invited and it wasn't technically sneaking...) was rather tempting. “He's joining the corps out here? In Britain?” she asked, squinting one eye as if it would help her think better, but ultimately just shrugged. “I've got Tuesday nights free, and I don't always work the closing shift the rest of the week, so depending on when you're doing it, I can be there,” she responded, finding no reason why it shouldn't work out. “Will you be cooking?” she asked, a somewhat devious grin settling on her lips. That would certainly seal the deal! 

“No, it’s not,” Tulojow agreed, mirroring Bethan’s conviction with somber resignation.  Tulojow remembered that fire; remembered that sense of determination that accompanied her into the Auror corps almost fifty years ago.  That need to make things right was what seemed to draw many to wear those uniform robes.  It had fueled her through decades of activism - both through the Auror corps and both as an individual First Nation woman.  From her home reservation in the Dakotas to South Africa to the Wizarding Wars, she’d carried that fire until her last mission in Tibet had relieved her from active duty.  Though she could no longer join the fray head on, assign the mantle to the next generation was the next best thing.   

“It’s remarkable what people will do in the name of their own best interest.  Unfortunately, as soon as you think you’ve seen the worst of it, something will always catch you by surprise.  Luckily, while those tend to be the ones that stand out, there are many more who with their selflessness and generosity.  When you start down that path, don’t let the demons overshadow the remarkable people you’ll come across.”

Tulojow sipped her wine and arched an eyebrow in Bethan’s direction.  “But, you aren’t taking the exam to be able to brew potions at home.  True, you may not be crafting the actual potion on your desk in Level 2 but you should be familiar with the basic potions on the exam.  And, be able to identify incomplete potions without referring to a book.  Though, I didn’t go to Hogwarts so I only know the Ministry’s potions NEWT by reputation.”  She assumed the potions covered in the exam were the basic need-to-one variety.

“He hopes to, as I understand.”  Tulojow confirmed.  They’d spent many evenings talking about Migs’ possibilities and whether he wanted to stay in the UK with her or return to the US with his classmates.  Migs had always been much more connected to home than Tulojow had been but there were few career options for the magically-inclined back on the Reservation.  In the end, they’d decided that the Eastern US was just as much not home as the UK and, at least, there was family in the UK.  “I think he’s a little uncertain about staying over here.” 

The Healer chuckled.  “Did you ever see my kitchen empty?” Tulojow asked, grinning at the young woman.  “Sounds like a plan.  I’ll give the Headmistress a head’s up.  We’ll get you prepared for that exam."

“I just can't wait until this is all over and done,” Bethan admitted with a wide shake of her head and a pointed sigh through her nostrils, “It's exhausting, the memorizing and that. It shouldn't be, but even just reading for a while makes me feel like I need to rest my eyes.” She stood up a bit straighter and rubber at her eyes with the fingers of both hands. “When it's interesting I don't mind, but trying to remember if I'm stirring clockwise or not? Puts me to sleep. The rest of it's fine, more or less.” Beth had always been a decent student when she was motivated and interested, but it was easy to lose her when it came to fussy little details. Potions was a subject that was made up entirely of fussy little details, and the bigger picture depended on them. It was an art, they said, and Bethan was no artist. Her sister was the one with the patient and sensitive soul... and even she didn't brew potions unless she absolutely had to.

Bethan would memorize whatever she had to in order to escape the purgatory that she was trapped in. While The Three Broomsticks certainly did not treat her badly, it wasn't where she wanted to be working for any longer than she absolutely had to. She'd met a lot of people doing this job, and she'd never say it was a waste of time, but she really did long to move forward. She wanted to do something far less stagnant than standing behind a bar and pulling pints. She couldn't judge Tulojow's great nephew for sharing her dream, even if it did seem a bit bizarre that he'd want to become an auror here. Didn't they have dark wizards in America?

“He must be smart, if his school sent him over here for that tournament... or at least good with a wand,” she observed, her lips contorting into a thoughtful pucker. “Can't believe they waited until I left to have a tournament. I would've entered, too. We didn't get to do anything good while I was up there, like.”  Something like that would have been right up Bethan's alley. She hadn't been a quidditch star or a brown noser – it might have been nice to accomplish something at school where people could actually see that she was worth her salt and then some. All she wanted was an opportunity to prove herself. If it couldn't be in that tournament, she hoped the aurors would wise up and take her. Her shot had been a long time coming – or it felt that way, anyway. 

“He's lived here for almost a year. If he hated it, he'd know by now, isn't it?” she asked, grinning a cheeky grin. “He'll be alright. What's he worried about? Rain?” She shrugged her shoulders. She'd never been to America, so she couldn't compare, but she didn't think that Britain was such a rotten place to live.

Bethan grinned right back at Tulojow at her quip about keeping her kitchen well stocked. “You're like my mum. Merlin forbid anyone should be hungry for five minutes,” she chuckled. Beth couldn't complain. She liked her food, and it showed. If there was food, she had no excuse to skip out on a study session. “I look forward to it,” she assured her, still grinning. “The food, not the drilling, but I can't afford to be picky, like.”

Tulojow smiled, sympathetically.  "I can't blame you.  There are plenty of reasons for making you go through all the memorization but, at the end of the day, sometimes it's little more than a formality.  A way to separate the dedicated from the not so dedicated - at least, perhaps, in their own minds.  Just remember, in a couple more weeks, it'll all be behind you."  The young woman would have a whole new set of bureaucratic hoops to jump through.  At least, she didn't have to jump through them alone. 

"I would say Leonard is smart," Tulojow admitted.  "Of course, I am biased.  Luckily, the school did agree enough to see fit to send him."  Tulojow was quite grateful for that.  She didn't see her family nearly as much as she wanted to.  Her family had traditionally been very tight-knitted.  Tulojow had been the first to leave home so many decades ago but she frequently felt herself drawn back to the ranch.  With so many children and nieces, nephews, and great-nieces and nephews running about, it was difficult to be away from family.  Even with magic, it was still a very long way from Scotland to the center of North America.  If Migs did decide to sign on at the Ministry, they would have to sneak home for a visit.  Otherwise, her brother would never let her hear the end of it.  "I'm sure you would have entered," Tulojow confirmed.  "It's a shame they waited but, I suppose, good to see they opted to start it up, again.  Hopefully, it will conclude as uneventfully as it started." 

Of course, Migs was like most other teenaged boys.  If he did have some angst about remaining in the UK, he wasn't about to share those with his ancient, old aunt.  They'd discussed logistics and various pros and cons.  She knew he grew homesick at times - during holidays and season changes, he'd stopped by the Hospital Hut more frequently.  However, he'd never come out and said as much.  He probably wouldn't appreciate her speculating about it in some pub, either.  "I'm sure he'll survive the rain.  We see much worse out on the plains.  After a few tornados, London rain is fairly tameable." 

"Do you have any particular requests?" Tulojow asked, arching an eyebrow, ignoring the irony of it being her asking Bethan what she should cook when the young woman dropped by.  "Otherwise, Leonard's meat and potatoes addiction may dictate the meal." 

“Well, I'm dedicated, and I'm going to do it, like,” she insisted with a firm nod, not leaving any room for doubt. Tulojow hadn't suggested that she wouldn't – quite the contrary, actually – but Bethan didn't stand for even the hint of a suggestion that she might not accomplish something she set out to do, especially when it came to this auror training business. For someone who aspired to work on the darkest crimes, Beth could be rather sensitive. The areas that were most likely to bruise when poked were the areas that she guarded with the utmost vitriol. Her initial failure was, and would likely always be, a sore subject. She did not want to miss the mark again.

With that sensitivity came a fair bit of jealousy, and she was immensely jealous of all of the students who got to compete in the tournament. Once you left school, she'd learned, there were no tournaments – no house cup, no comparing your marks to your friends', no house quidditch team to scream for until you were hoarse. She missed all of it. “Maybe I'll see if he's up for a duel,” she suggested with a devious grin, her wand hand already feeling itchy with anticipation, “That's good practice for the defense exams, like – and he'll have a leg up, since I haven't dueled in ages.” She had fond memories of the dueling club, but fonder memories of the dueling.

Nothing, however, compared to food. “No requests,” she informed the healer, “I'll eat what you make. That was the rule in my mum's kitchen, so I'm used to it,” she smirked. Luckily, her mother was a fine cook. “I reckon I can pass on fish and chips, though,” she snickered softly, looking down at the other woman's dish. It was the sort of smell that lingered in her hair after being surrounded by it nearly every day. Something -anything- cooked with a little bit more love was definitely preferable.