Idea Board | Outfit

"If rumors fly between as quickly here as they did at my school, most of you will already know that another of your professors has vacated the position. You are, perhaps--- and unfortunately-- quite used to this by now, but I assure you I plan to outlast your stay. So it would be wise if you, being in your seventh and final year, decide to devote your undivided attention to my lectures."

Pausing to look around, Juliette leaned into her desk, hands splaying coolly over its edge, where flat, wooden surface met a sharp downturn, like the edge of the world on maps of old. Wizards, of course, had been highly involved in squashing that primitive perspective.

"I am Professor Vaillancourt. You may address me as such. Today I will be gauging your level of talent and understanding in the field of Potions, so this will not be the most conventional of classes. Firstly, before we get our hands dirty, I would like a volunteer..." Trailing off, she scanned the rows of desks, waiting, not unlike a predator, for someone to step forward. Blindly, she plucked a tiny vial from the desk behind her, and closed her hand around it, like a claw claiming a bone. "No one squeamish or timid, please. We do not have the time," she added, knowing many of the overachievers were probably also classic introverts.

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OOC NOTE: Assume you are already in class, unless there's a reason to be late. You may summarizing your arrival, but Juliette is addressing the class at its start.

POINTS: Attendance, two points each. Intelligent questions, two points each. Correct answers, five points each. Best evaluation results, five points each. You will not be penalized for not participating, but you are encouraged to do so.

As bummed as he was to be back in school, George had been having a good time of it. Especially with the eventful and enjoyable holiday break he’d had. Even with drama and lame parenting, he’d come back excited to finish the year so he could finally be an adult. Carrying Waker’s books (since he brought a piece of parchment and a quill to class), he nearly dropped them when he stepped into the Potion’s dungeon.

Luckily he only had to pick up his jaw.

He had sat down blindly next to his girlfriend, attempting to not stare too much as he grinned—maybe Snark wasn’t so bad, hiring professors that would keep his attention right on broad—board! “Trent’s going to be pissed he’s not in Potions…” Surely he could make that sort of generalized statement and not get the evil eye from Head Girl, right?

Regardless, he was listening very intently! Well, listening with his eyes… he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a thing. George hadn’t even touched the burner yet! The quill stayed behind the ear, and the parchment untouched on the table top. He grinned a little too widely when she mentioned getting hands dirty, and was very quick to sit up at the call for volunteers. Looking around long enough to decide if she was being serious, he quickly threw his hand up in the air.

He almost looked like a child, leaning up on the edge of his seat, as if his hand going higher would help her pick him out of the crowd. He wasn’t an overachiever, but he was always up for being helpful to a young woman in need. George was a gentleman like that.

Liviana listened intently from her spot in the second row. She had already heard all about what a “fox” Professor Vaillancourt was - but honestly didn’t care. They had been through so many damn professors she was ready to just get down to business. It was irksome for her really - she’d actually just written home to Alec about it. She worried that she was not getting the best possible education at this point from Hogwarts - which in turn meant that she might not be well prepared for the wizarding world when she left. Of course with her sister being one of London’s [if not the world’s] top brewers she knew Potions would not be a problem. It was just unsettling that the school could not seem to hang onto any of it’s professors. Working for Snark couldn’t be that awful, could it?

She watched as several of the boys squirmed in their seats, obviously excited to have such eye candy for the duration of the period. She had to fight from rolling her eyes. She had never understood the desire to bed one’s professor. Of course given the state of her relationship with Drake she had serious doubts about sex in general. It was one more complication she did not need to worry about during the second term of her final year. Though it was several months away graduation loomed in front of her - like a carrot on a stick and a death sentence. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, her lips purse she scanned the room trying to decide if she wanted to just raise her hand and get things over with. She didn’t have the patience to wait for someone to grow a spine.

Another professor, was it too much to ask for one to make it through the entire year? She was beginning to wonder if any of her teachers could make it the entire year, and she felt as she looked back and thought about it that they hadn’t. Was this going to hinder her NEWTs? After all so many different takes on the subject matter, and a change of teaching styles meant no constant. Astrid just hoped she could get through her final examinations with the grades she knew she deserved.

Astrid sat behind Liviana, focused on the teacher’s words despite her eyes being elsewhere. She was more focused on the boys’ reaction and brought a smug smirk to her mouth. They looked so amusing, as they seemed overly eager for their current professor. It definitely had to be due to the appearance of said professor. Astrid wondered what it was like going through life being, for lack of a better word, so gorgeous. It seemed like their newest Professor could get just about anyone to do anything she wanted them to do. Even George had his hand up, and Astrid couldn’t remember the last time George was the first one to have his hand up in class. She stifled a chuckle as she looked to Professor Vaillancourt. Today was going to be an interesting class, Astrid could tell.

Potions was easily Matty's best subject. Potions was essentially fancy math. You needed to follow very direct instructions, measure everything perfectly and know what kind of chemical reactions happened when you mixed one ingredient with another. Matty had thrived in such an environment from day one and no amount of staff changes was going to change that for him. It was annoying to have yet another Professor teaching them totalling up to three different Potions Professors this year alone but he didn't think it was going to have any affect on his NEWTs. If his Professor was inadequate enough to teach them what they needed to know Matty wasn't above going beyond what was being taught in class to acquire as much knowledge as possible.

Unlike most of the other men in the class Matty's expression was sombre and unchanged by the presence of their Professor. He agreed that she was beautiful but he didn't like red heads, nor did he like 'foxes'. Matty had never really been into those supermodel gorgeous type of women. He had always been into those that had a humble classic beauty to them, girls that didn't know they were beautiful were a major turn on for him. Despite himself he found his chocolate brown eyes darting to the door of the dungeon as if Fauna or even Sophie would pass by in that moment to prove to him how much more beautiful they were than Mlle. Vaillancourt.

When she called for a volunteer Matty instantly had his hand up as well, not because of his attraction to her but to the class. He always volunteered himself when needed. He didn't consider himself to be an overachiever, in fact he figured he did the appropriate amount of work required of him and that everyone else were underachievers.

As the hands shot up, Juliette gave a nod of appreciation, wondering whether the same students had been so eager in their first year. Or with their last professor. She was pleased none the less, and pointed her wand at the boy whose hand was like lightening. “You,” she said, calling up the young man whose heartbreaking sideburns recalled a fifty’s rebel. This had ought to be interesting.

Placing her wand on the desk behind her, side-by-side with the small vial, she waited for him to approach. “Please tell me your name,” she added, before switching gears and turning her gaze on another volunteer, the darker-haired boy. “And you, you can be our scientific observer, Mr. ...?” She again waited for a name, and pointed him toward the board.

“Once our little... variable here...” She looked over George. “Doses himself, I’d like you all to start asking questions about what he feels, what it tastes and smells like. Probe him, test his state of mind. And our friend at the board will record your observations, our volunteer’s symptoms, as well as eliminate and null your bad ideas.”

Placing a hand on George's shoulder, she turned him swiftly so that he was in her place. With her back to the class, she offered him the vial. "Do not show them," she murmured, forcing it into his palm, making sure his fingers covered it. "Swig it all down. One quick go. And hand me the vial. I'd give it to you myself, but that would be unethical," she explained mildly, as if this were encouragement for swallowing an unknown substance.

outfit

"Are you alright?" Waker asked, pausing behind George, a half-centimeter from colliding with his back as they walked into the Potions room. "I can take my books..." She reached out, but paused almost-comically mid-approach, her brown eyes locking onto a new and unsettling figure at the front of the classroom. Gaze narrowing in enlightenment, she immediately carried on, plucking her books from George's grasp and sweeping past him. "Let's sit," she demanded coolly, her tone unnecessarily bossy. "We don't want you to overexert yourself."

Spreading out her things, spacing the quills with precision, and opening her textbook to what she assumed was the appropriate place, Waker tilted her head, side-eying the Gryffindor beside her. "Really? Why's that?" Her voice was full of mock innocence and self-controlled fury. "Because we have a new professor every three days, he never has to shower?"

Pissed, indeed. Waker's eyes found the new professor again, and she appraised the woman with a prejudice eye. What was so special? Waker could dress just as well, and she rather fancied her own complexion over the woman's more delicate one. Sure, she didn't have quite so perky an... upper half... but she thought what she did have was nice. Not too flashy. Perfect for a boyfriend, to share in private. Certainly not bound in a black bra under a white blouse (really! the woman was a professor, not a prostitute!). The Ravenclaw settled into something between a pout and sour, pursed lips.

When George volunteered, however, her wrath was renewed. She dropped her poised quill into the center crease of her perfectly-polished text, and dragged her stool a few inches away from the desk-- and away from George. Sitting straight, with rounded shoulders, she looked straight forward, as if to say, 'Well, Mr. O+, show us what you've got.'

But she couldn't help the small exhale of anxiety that escaped her when George was pulled into a little whisper session, obviously made to swallow some unknown substance that may or may not be lethal. Or perhaps enticing in all the wrong ways. What if the new witch was poisoning him? Dosing him with Amortentia? She seemed the sort. Cradle robber.

George had to tear his gaze from the Merlin-sent angel at the classroom front to focus on what Waker was saying. A half muttered “What?” escaped his lips before he frowned and glanced her way, clearly unfocused. “I… I had them.” His eyes darted back and forth, unsure where to focus—Waker sounded unlike herself (or unlike how she had prior to arriving for Potions), but he also had something less angry to stare at.

“Ok.” Once again he focused on his girlfriend, this time finding her back in his direction versus her fuming face. Raising an eyebrow, he chuckled. “Right. Have to save these arms for the game.” Especially with the upcoming matches holding the possibility of scouts hanging out. Of course Waker seemed to ask the most obvious question, and George gave her a frown, almost wanting to check her for a temperature. She was studying too much, not focusing enough on the present, which George had been unwrapping with his eyes since he noticed it.

His gaze said Realy?. Then he laughed and sat down next to her, shrugging. “Yes, Waker, that’s it.” Winking at her, his eyes once again found their way to the front.

Honestly, he didn’t understand why she was so aggravated with his desire to put forth effort in the lectures. At least he was participating! And as a reward, he was chosen as the dangerously delicious professor’s pygmy puff. With a wide grin, he quickly jumped up, nearly dropping his chair in the process. After making sure it wasn’t coming with him, and giving his fellow students a smile to show he was all right, he made it up to the front. “George Carter.” She wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon, either.

Amherst was going to observe him? Glancing back amongst everyone, he made a face but shrugged—he might not wear Vanna White as well as some of the others in the room. Then again, George figured it’d be a quick demonstration and they’d both be back in their seats soon enough. He wasn't a bad bloke, from what George knew.

He was a variable? Who knew? Eyebrows raising in appraisal, he accepted her deft hands and sat down in her chair, leaning back comfortably and on to an elbow, admiring his view. Then the vial was produced, and his head turned slightly, frowning in confusion. Hearing her instructions, George accepted the vial and glanced up at her face, making sure that she didn’t have any reservations visible. Unethical… that sounded legit.

And so George shrugged his shoulders, lifted his hand to his mouth, and quickly tossed it back like spiced pumpkin juice after a rousing game of pin the tail on the hippogriff. George ran a tongue over his lips and handed it back to the Professor, finally glancing out at his peers. “Well. I expected that to be more painful.” Lounging back, he slung an arm over the back of the chair, making himself comfortable and waiting for the first round of questions.

Uniform

There was a God. And Fir would never ever ever complain about Potions class again to him or anyone else.

"Why hellooo Professor," Fir greeted the radiant redhead when he walked into the classroom. And too think he hadn't been looking forward to this class before. Insane, no? "On behalf of the student body, welcome to our little corner of this dungeon paradise."

He gave the new professor his best charming smile before finding a seat. Some watching might think Fir a brown-noser. Fir would say that was ridiculous. One, his nose was perfectly clear of any blemishes. Two, he didn't suck up to hot  professors. He flirted with them. And since the start of this year he was a perfectly legal consenting adult in the eyes of the law. Heh.

Fir took his seat, glancing around the classroom to see who had bothered to show. Fir was sad to report that he and the professor were the most attractive people present. Well, he was expected, because he was Fir. But boys and girls, really: when your professor is hotter than you are you should at least make an effort, no matter how discouraged you might get from being second (or third or fourth) to Fir for seven years.

At least he had a valid excuse to keep his eyes on Professor Vaillancourt, who was asking for a volunteer...to get their hands dirty. Oh Hell naw. Fir did not get his hands dirty. Fir got other people to get their hands dirty for him. So he was going to let any of the others go take a crack at it. Consider it a gift.

Fir was extra glad when Georgie had to down a mysterious potion. Yeah no. What if it gave you boils or made your hair fall out or (worse yet) straightened your hair? The horror!

Testing the sate of mind, huh? Now how to test that out? He of course dismissed any of the professor's suggestions. Although the mouth that spoke them was gorgeous, the suggestions themselves were a little dull. No, Fir had a better way to test his classmate's current mental state.

"Boxers or briefs?"

"Amherst Ma'am." Matty offered as he got to his feet and joined George at the front of the class. As the other young man took his seat and focused on the Professor Matty took up a piece of chalk and began to write on the board. His script was elegant and blocky using the capitalization of every letter. He put George's name at the top next to 'UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE' underneath he began to make several bullet points getting ready to make up a list of his symptoms on one side and the questions those in the class would ask on the other.

As Curween spoke up Matty choked back a chuckle. Not exactly the most scientific of questions but it would definitely prove whether the potion had changed how George's mind functioned or not. Then again Matty didn't know George well enough to know whether he would answer that question even if he hadn't drank the potion.

With the first question written on the board Matty turned to George waiting for the response and making note of any change that may occur in his mannerisms, the tone of his voice and even his response time. All of which could indicate what kind of substance Vaillancourt had given him.

Perhaps George should have been more hesitant to take the potion, though it wasn’t really his thing to do. He was a ‘do first, ask after’ sort of fellow, and often times that got him into trouble. But that was just George. Surely some of that stupidity boldness attracted Waker to him. It couldn’t all have been his delicious good looks or how he talked with trophies, though he knew that helped. Still, as he lounged in the chair at the front, waiting for the questions, he couldn’t help but grin over at his head girl and wave good-naturedly. She looked slightly worried, why not put her mind at ease?

“Boxers or briefs?”

His gaze moved off his girlfriend to the … resident uh… hair queen of the seventh years. Cocking an eyebrow at Fir, George wasn’t sure how he felt about him asking that question. Usually when a long haired person asked him that sort of question, they had a nice rack and a more… feminine voice. Regardless… it was George’s nature to answer the question.

He just didn’t expect it. Which is probably why, though he expected a usual smart remark to come popping out, the truth escaped him. If he had had time to consider the question! “Boxer-briefs. They hold you better.” Giving Fir a wink, an intended ‘you know what I’m sayin’?’, George glanced over to Waker, grinning wide. Who was going to be next? George was not known as a very intuitive or secretive young man--quite the contrary, he lived for the questions that made others pause in reflection, one of those 'should we really be saying/asking that' sort of things. "And they're red. A nice, dark, Gryffindor red." Motioning to Waker, George grinned wider. "A Christmas gift. It even has a special little... whats-it-called... embroidery in it."

Shouldn't let him around your parents, really.

Fuming like a fire-deprived dragon, Waker clenched her quill tighter than she might have on any given Be-Prepared-And-Sit-Tall day in class. Potions was one of her better subjects-- as George should know!-- and she couldn't help the conflicting desire to retain her studious demeanor even while wanting to chuck a vial of mystery potion at her loving and painfully lovable boyfriend's head.

The first question was unorthodox, but one look at its cheeky, inquiring mouth, and it was decidedly not so unusual after all. Of course, adding Cuween to the cauldron only made things stickier. Waker rather thought the information-- while proudly and most George-ishly announced-- was too intimate to be shared with the class. As in, it was utterly and completely Waker's fact-based memory.

A little huff, narrowed brown eyes, and she was ready to give it a go. Her face softened as her gaze trailed over Amherst, who was perhaps one of the few people in the classroom who took their assignment as seriously as she. The inkling was there, the suspicion... however in-character George might have been, his sheer lack of symptoms and readiness to divulge left few options on the table. The witchy new professor was making an example of him.

Hand raised for barely two seconds, she spoke. "Do you have a thing for redheads?" She asked in a vinegary, catty interrogation, knowing she might lose points as quickly as she'd gain them for subtly deciphering the puzzle. "I believe we all know what he's taken, Professor," she added, a cordial nod in the untrustworthy woman's direction. She daren't say the words, however. She wondered how the woman had the audacity to feed such a potent brew to a student, let alone do so on her very first day on the job.

"Come, Miss... Nolan, is it? If you're so sure you know the answer, tell us. If not, kindly assist Mr. Amhearst and allow your peers to keep inquiring as to Mr. Carter's... condition." Her lips pursed as she looked over the girl, and she idled for only half a second on the badge pinned proudly to her Ravenclaw-blue robes. There were many reasons girls of that age earned such things, and being the cleverist at everything was hardly always the answer. Politics, ambition, favoring the right adults, rejecting the less commendable of students, not being caught. Those things all factored in, too.

"So. Thus we far we know our--" Victim. "Volunteer likes his pants to be hybrid. And that his little friend from Ravenclaw has an adorable temper and apparently little patience for our participant in his current state of mind. What other more pertinent questions have we for Mr. Carter?"

Juliette remained calm, collected, seemingly unruffled if only passively amused at the jab at redheads. Jealousy was adorable. When it wasn't rearing its head in self-righteous, overly-hormonal children. "Surely there must be something you can ask. Or I hope none of you are endeavoring a Pre-Healer course load."