Arianna Dumbledore is unsure. (sweetflower) wrote in fourteenshades, @ 2013-03-30 20:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | arianna dumbledore, x-aberforth dumbledore |
WHO: Arianna & Aberforth Dumbledore
WHAT: She, apparently, needed to have her own drama Potion mishap
WHERE: The Greenhouse
WHEN: Saturday 30 March, Evening
RATING: S, for Stupid girl.
Arianna opened the door to the greenhouse and smiled at the familiar warmth and smell. Her week had been full of the Spring Havoc events, and she had enjoyed every moment of them, win or lose. When she was idle, alone with her thoughts, she could not help feeling sad and lost. It felt like part of her was missing, and she wanted whatever it was back. For the past few weeks, in her free time, Arianna had been studying and testing how to brew love potions. She had not tried them, nor had she used them on anyone. Most of the batches were no stronger than a weak tea, even though she followed the instructions exactly. So she was not putting all of her hope into a potion. She changed her hair and clothes with the hope that a new look would remind her of that carefree, happy feeling.
The only thing the changes resulted in was feeling like she lost herself again. The clothes were great. They allowed for better movement, and they did not get in her way when working on her plants. But she did not feel like herself. She was play-acting. She was trying so desperately to be something else, something more, something better. She was obsessed. She thought and dreamed about the feeling of being in love. It was not the love, exactly, that she wanted. It was the unbridled happiness that came with it that she craved. It made her feel bold and daring and unafraid of life. That was the feeling she was trying to bottle. She had been making the potion in the greenhouses, in secret. She knew everyone would be disappointed in her to know that she was meddling with such things. She knew, too, that it would not be real; it would not last, but she was desperate.
This current batch of potion seemed right. It was not the consistency or colour of tea. It looked and smelled the way the book described. In truth, the smell was what she liked the most--fresh turned soil and lilacs. It had to work. She so desperately needed it to work. The potion was finished before this morning's events, and she left it to cool while she was away. That might have been her mistake. She left it covered, away from the heat. It should have been fine. The second it passed her lips, however, she knew something was wrong. The room began to spin, and she vaguely heard a crash as she knocked her cauldron and teacup off her worktable as she fainted. That was the last thing she knew until she felt a hand on her cheek.