13 February 2012
7pm, Monday night after dinner
The Potions Dungeons

The chambers and passages and alcoves set aside for Hogwarts' potions education were like a labyrinth. If anyone had ever tried to make them hospitable, you couldn't tell. Any place that you call a dungeon was just going to be spooky. But Frank Sellaphix (Ravenclaw Third Year) decided in his first year that spooky potions dungeons were in his blood. Every time he came down here, he just pretended he was at his family's apothecary cellar with its old stone archways, packed dirt floor, and the little roots poking out here and there.

"Maybe in here," Frank said lifting the lantern high to illuminate the tarnished sign affixed next to a narrow arched door.

He was with Greer Grant from Gryffindor. She was a bit famous but not in the way you'd like. She'd been in their first year but disappeared before anyone could know her. Turned out, she'd been a secret werewolf. Everything went to pot, illuminated in the papers, and here she was back again, behind in her studies.  The Potions teacher thought sweet, capable Frank would be a good match for this pairs brewing project.

Frank had used the faith in him as leverage to get the keys to poke around in storage for ingredients, promising an ambitious outcome. This would be the fourth spot they'd searched after the classroom stores, and two of the more obvious supply closets had not produced the results Frank was looking for.

"This is taking ages," Greer groaned, leaning against the grimy dungeon wall and looking away from the door that Frank was inspecting. They hadn't found the necessary supplies in the first dozen cabinets. Oh well! If they couldn't find it, they didn't have to do it.

Not on a Monday night. Not after a Hogsmeade weekend. Which she hadn't even gotten to go to, because her grandparents hadn't sent in her permission slip.

The brewing assignment made no sense, anyway. She'd helped her parents brew several potions, but it was always for simple stuff they needed, not advanced stuff like sleeping draughts, or silly stuff like laughing potions. Why did anyone need to know how to induce a laughing fit? It wouldn't fix indigestion from scarfing down three bags of crisps. It wouldn't help heal a wound, or make her feel more awake, or do anything useful.

Greer glanced at Frank fiddling with the keys. Nice Frank, who carried too many books around, even though he didn't need to, even though he could recite many potions he'd learned from his family's apothecary. Frank, who was taking forever with those keys.

Greer drew her wand, "Alohomora!"

She waved her wand at the door in a quick, decisive gesture. Greer waited a moment for a spark, a glow, or the faint click of the door unlocking. Wasn't there supposed to be a glow if the spell worked? She hadn't used the spell in a long time.

Greer set her jaw and shrugged her shoulder.

"It's warded or something. Guess we can't do it."

She gave Frank a look that said there was no 'guess' about it.

Frank was, so far, doing an admirable job not taking Greer's uncooperative attitude personally. She'd had a rough go of it, they didn't know each other well, and Potions work took patience that not everyone was mature enough to tolerate. He was determined not to be an additional stressor in her life. His dad had taught him that, that sometimes the best thing you could do is be an unstressful oasis in a desert of discomfort. Whether or not Frank's earnest patience was a good match for Greer was yet to be determined.

"Found it, actually," Frank declared and shoved the heavy key into the lock. "Impressive unlocking spell, though."

The lock released with a massive clunk. It took all of Frank's adolescent body weight to get the door to swing open. When it did, the closet seemed to cough a puff of stale, musty, dank air. Frank stepped back and waved his hand in front of his face.

"That's a good --" he coughed into his elbow. "That's a good sign, actually. If no one's been in here for awhile, there could be something rare and forgotten."

He added. "Do you know Lumos?"

As dust billowed into her face, Greer considered turning around and leaving Frank in the dungeon of a closet. It was just annoying, putting forth so much effort to get started on an assignment that would take them ages and ages. Frank was a puzzle that she wasn't quite sure she wanted to figure out yet, either. He hadn't rolled his eyes at her, or edged away, or acted like he were better than her. He wasn't. She'd tell him.

Oh, but wait - he'd commented on her failed Alohomora. Was that sarcasm? Must be sarcasm. Her eyes narrowed at his too-innocent tone.

"I'm not stupid," she grumbled, jabbing her wand into the darkness and waving it and mumbling Lumos. Her professors often told her that she needed to speak clearly. Quit mumble-grumble-muttering, Grant, and cast the spell. But they wouldn't want to hear what she had to say any louder.

It worked. It worked! A light bloomed from her wand. Good signs and all that nonsense.

Greer wiped the surprise from her face and peered in. There was a small part of her that was curious about the rare and forgotten things behind the heavy doors, but knowing professors, it was old and dusty and boring.

"Let's see. Eyeballs in a jar, a moldy sweater smell, and rat poop. That's great," Greer pointed her lit wand at each oddity, pretty sure that none of it was on the professor-approved list of materials.