Post by Evan Rosier on Oct 11, 2010 22:54:18 GMT -8
The Potions classroom was quiet. He always found this classroom to the most comfortable of learning environments, though that could perhaps be because he was a Slytherin and after seven years had grown an affinity for the Dungeons. The minutes leading up to class where always the most peaceful to Rosier. Slytherins arrived early to this class, in a group, as per usual. It was their home territory, their House Head, and generally, their subject. As there was no Dark Arts class, thanks to that sanctimonious decree of righteousness by the Gyffindor founder, Slytherins defaulted back toward this noble art form. After all, there were so many things one cold do with Potions.
Today’s class was to be mixed with the Gryffindors (wasn’t it always?), but despite the imminent threat of those rowdy simpletons intruding on snake territory, Rosier was partially glad to have the small respite. If the class was being shared by Ravenclaws, they would also be populating the room at this time, and that would only make it difficult to prepare for the coming lesson properly.
Yes, he had to prepare. Twenty minutes before class was hardly enough time to do it right, but he did make due. He set his supplies up systematically. His cauldron, obviously, was to be the centerpiece to his work place, with the stirring spoon placed over the lip in a straight vertical line. Jars of ingredients had to be placed by size. Smaller jars went on the outer edges of his domain, while the larger jars radiated toward the center. Scales, perfectly cleaned and balanced, were set in perfect alignment to the median of his designated space. Various knives were placed at an equal distance apart, their blades facing inward as to not cause any visual disturbance. It was perfect.
And Rosier would have nothing less than perfect. He had to have absolutely the best, and he took great care in insuring that he received it. His equipment was always top of the line, and he faithfully, religiously, saw to their constant upkeep. The ingredients, of course, had to come from the school’s supplies, but he took considerable effort to look at every available jar or vial of set ingredients pre-prepared for class, to insure that he was able to claim the ones that suited him. Who could possibly take more care than he? Well, perhaps Snape took an equal amount of time scrutinizing the available containers, but he was more worried about what was in the jars. Rosier needed proper jars in themselves. What would he do with different sized jars? He couldn’t line them all up laterally.
Of course he was talking about the symmetry of the matter. He didn’t have much use for high quality goods if they were in asymmetrical containers now did he? Sometimes he was able to trade his materials with Snape’s or Wilkes’ if he managed to get a jar of slightly fresher frozen Ashwinder eggs, or some other particularly finicky material, if they happened to have a more appropriately sized jar. Perfection was difficult, after all, but he wouldn’t allow anything but.
There were those who would say, ‘perfection is impossible’. Maybe for them. Rosier knew better, and he took great care in reminding himself every day of it. How did he do that? Well all he had to do was look down at the perfectly bilateral symmetry that he’d just created. Symmetry was proof of man-made perfection. Everything was so carefully placed and position, with hyper awareness of the most miniscule of details. It was beautiful. Nothing else would work for him.
Rosier sat back and stretched a bit. It was still a few minutes before the earliest Gyffindors would begin to arrive. He used his fingers to very carefully roam about the texture of his hair, feeling that everything was still in place. It was early yet, but Potions always, without fail, ruined his hair. He knew it would fall out of place barely halfway through the lesson, and be limp as usual by the end. He was fortunate enough to have a free period next, however, and so had plenty of time to return to the Slytherin dorms to correct it once class had ended. Until then he just had to steel himself in order to deal with it.
Thus was spent many a Potions class... Really not much had changed over the years. Though Ros was thankful enough for the minutes of quiet reflection time pre-class, after seven years even that was becoming quite tedious. He could probably, with a fair amount of accuracy, predict what the upcoming class would bring as far as the interaction between the snakes and the lions in Slytherin House’s ongoing contention against the patented Gyffindor stupidity. He shifted his cauldron around slightly so that the slightly more polished part of the surface faced him.
Done inspecting himself and his own work, Rosier shifted his attention and looked up in order to inspect others. Like he’d observed before, most of the Slytherins were here, excepting a few stragglers who perhaps had class directly beforehand. Their tables where all suitably neat and straight, excluding a couple of his year mates (Mulcifer), though none of them had managed to achieve the visual splendor that he had. Everything was droningly typical about today. In fact the only thing missing from the picture that had been every Potions class since first year was that Evans wasn’t here all bright eyed and ready to sponge up knowledge with that quaint ginger head of hers. It was early, however, and she was not even a minute off her typical mark yet - no use in making any cheerful assumptions.
Still, if he Mudblood did suddenly die in a horribly painful accident on her way to class… well, that would just be the highlight of his day. At least then perhaps it wouldn’t be so dull around here. The general distress of the entire Gryffindor House would have been interesting to see, no doubt. He, naturally, would have nothing to do with something like that. At least not at school, anyway. No, there was a time and a place for everything after all - and if anyone was profound at judging these things, it was Rosier.
