Post by Professor Roeswood on Mar 30, 2007 18:17:47 GMT -5
Herbology was by no means Marina's favorite subject. In fact, the growth of plants was a process far too time consuming for the Head Girl to really concern herself with, but all the same, she recognized its integral connection, in some ways, to the subject that she adored most: potions. Although the process itself would be to many very dull, Nina found the science and precision of it all very enthralling. To produce such complex potions as the polyjuice, one had to be incredibly focused and make not a single mistake. In essense, potions were a way for her to prove to the world, or at least give the impression, that she was very near to perfect.
To say that Marina was less concerned with perfection than she used to be was a truth, but to say she had completely forgotten her old perfectionist ways would be a falsehood. Thus, as the Head Girl picked through the leaves of the numerous plants in the green house, she seemed to pass over leaves that even the pickiest of potions masters would have gladly selected. Yet, despite this neurosis, Nina seemed in oddly good spirits, and she whistled a famous but slightly dated love song as she carefully placed hand-pruned foliage into a satchel in the pocket of her robes.
For the first time in many years, Nina felt like things were actually going to be okay. Sure, she still had the occasional nightmare about hordes of zombies smashing through the windows of her dormitory room, but those were few and far between in comparison to her visits to Azrael, which always seemed to have the effect of putting her into better spirits. This reflected in her appearance, as she had gone from bordering on gaunt, a sure sign of hidden depression, to sporting a robust if not slightly chubby frame instead.
Once she had collected all of the ingredients for her latest project, a potion that treated bruises that one might expect to find on such an avid quidditch player as she was, the Head Girl glanced around, not sure of where she wanted to go. She pocketed the small knife that she'd been using to gather the plants, which numbered among over two dozen ingredients required to create the particular brew she desired, and perched herself on the edge of a wooden planter that housed a healthy crop of mandrakes. She didn't have any courses to concern herself with this afternoon, and her homework was already far on its way to completion, so much so that she needn't concern herself with it now. What was a girl to do?
With nothing better to do, Marina chewed idly on the nail of her calloused thumb, not particularly caring if company came to make her time more interesting.
To say that Marina was less concerned with perfection than she used to be was a truth, but to say she had completely forgotten her old perfectionist ways would be a falsehood. Thus, as the Head Girl picked through the leaves of the numerous plants in the green house, she seemed to pass over leaves that even the pickiest of potions masters would have gladly selected. Yet, despite this neurosis, Nina seemed in oddly good spirits, and she whistled a famous but slightly dated love song as she carefully placed hand-pruned foliage into a satchel in the pocket of her robes.
For the first time in many years, Nina felt like things were actually going to be okay. Sure, she still had the occasional nightmare about hordes of zombies smashing through the windows of her dormitory room, but those were few and far between in comparison to her visits to Azrael, which always seemed to have the effect of putting her into better spirits. This reflected in her appearance, as she had gone from bordering on gaunt, a sure sign of hidden depression, to sporting a robust if not slightly chubby frame instead.
Once she had collected all of the ingredients for her latest project, a potion that treated bruises that one might expect to find on such an avid quidditch player as she was, the Head Girl glanced around, not sure of where she wanted to go. She pocketed the small knife that she'd been using to gather the plants, which numbered among over two dozen ingredients required to create the particular brew she desired, and perched herself on the edge of a wooden planter that housed a healthy crop of mandrakes. She didn't have any courses to concern herself with this afternoon, and her homework was already far on its way to completion, so much so that she needn't concern herself with it now. What was a girl to do?
With nothing better to do, Marina chewed idly on the nail of her calloused thumb, not particularly caring if company came to make her time more interesting.