Eugene Hardie
Ready to play my trump card
Sun Nov 4, 2018 19:16

Eugene loved robes. They made him feel extra magical and he particularly liked the way they swooshed dramatically when you ran down a corridor. He just wished they were fluffier. Then they’d be even more like a bathrobe and he wouldn't even have to take them off to sleep.

Eugene’s loyalty to floaty garments had an unexpected perk as it allowed him to skip ahead into the practical lab without much concern, and so for once, he was not one of the last students to tumble into the class. He sat, his legs swinging wildly beneath the desk, and listened to Mr Rob explain the lesson with rapid interest. Eugene found he liked potions a lot. Although his creations didn’t always like him back. More often than not, if you sat too close to Eugene, you would leave the lesson with your clothing looking slightly more singed than when you arrived. He had a tendency to throw in his ingredients more liberally and with greater enthusiasm, then the recipe required. But these disasters had failed to dampen his spirit, and the Lyra quickly began setting up his cauldron, whilst singing the nursery rhyme ‘Humpty Dumpty’ quietly under his breath.

Once the rendition was concluded to imaginary applause, Eugene lined up his leeches and bowed his head low, causing his hair to flop in front of his glasses. “Goodbye, Angie,” he said solemnly patting the first leech on what he thought was probably its head, before moving onto its siblings, “farewell John, Sapphire and Garen. We thank you for your noble sacrifice.” It was a little ritual Eugene had begun early on in his potioneer career as a mark of respect for the little dead bodies they tossed into their pots. He liked to think of it as a fun funeral, before their souls parted this world and their flesh was turned into something useful- but that wasn’t to say Eugene was sad about the use of dead things in potions. On the contrary, he imagined it was a high honour for something like a leech to end up in a potion, unlike a cow or a pig, they couldn’t aspire to something greater like being made into a tasty burger, so a second life as a wart inducing drink was a step up from boring decomposition. In fact the more he thought about it the more appropriate it seemed. Didn’t leeches spend their earthly lives sucking people’s blood? Causing pain and disfigurement was obviously a favourite pastime, so these four fat leeches had scoured a winning ticket, when they found themselves in the possession of Mr Rob.

Eugene thought Mr Rob was one of the coolest teachers at RMI. He was like Professor X but better. He had all the magic and the snazzy rolling seat AND he had hair. Not, that not having hair was bad or anything, but Eugene thought it might make your head cold which meant you’d get a brain freeze that much faster which would be a huge problem for Eugene. Ice cream was a real passion of his, but he was not a masochist; hair loss would likely bring a premature end to his quest to enjoy every ice cream flavour in the world. However, he thought it was unlikely he’d have to face such a cruel reality. His dad had definitely had hair the last time they hung out, and if you could grow long nostril hairs then you could grow new head hair, probably. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure about this because it seemed like wizard science had some skewed priorities. For example he had recently learned, mostly from Leopold who was always quick to loudly voice his dissatisfaction, that you could not magic your eyesight better. It was therefore possible that wizards were Big thinkers and didn’t like to waste time on little problems- OR they were not overly concerned with appearance and considered glasses a magical enough solution to blurry vision.

Eugene understood the wizard line of thinking. He had fallen down a similar hole with his ghost problem. He had been so concerned with infiltrating the ghost ring he had forgotten to follow up on some of his smaller ghost-related queries. He still didn’t know if ghosts had mouths for eating and drinking, but he was guessing not, this was a huge disappointment because Eugene didn’t think he knew many nasty living people to use his potion on. For a brief moment he considered using his finished potion on the double agent, Anssi, to force him to reveal the secret ghost headquarters. But Anssi had already been through so much- it wouldn’t be fair to subject him to more torture. It would be better to focus on the Rescue Mission which require a more passive approach. And perhaps a little spying on the spy.

A-ha! That was it.

He knew exactly what his next move should be, and the potion was going to help him with it.

“I’m going to make a colour changing potion,” he announced to the occupant of the seat beside him, “I’m thinking green. I think that would be the best for camouflaging. Like an army guy...or a stick insect! Huh. Would brown be better, do you think?” He hadn’t made a very convincing ghost- he suspected because of all the pesky breathing- but that didn’t mean he couldn’t catch them out. He’d been such an idiot, he was magic, he should have been using magic to outsmart the ghosties not flailing around under a sheet like a muggle. Cheered by his own brilliance, Eugene smiled widely, and began arranging the rest of his ingredients.

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