 be curious, not judgmental
No need to worry, Culloden. Sophie Brown was fine. Absolutely fine. Everything was fine. She was fine. Nothing to worry about. Allllll good over here, and her overly chipper smile and ANOTHER thumbs-up in his direction when his gaze fell upon her very obviously conveyed that.
TOTALLY FINE.
Amortentia to him smelled like... a CAULDRON, though? He liked the smell of a cauldron?! HAHAHA. Soph laughed when he said it, bringing a hand up to her mouth in a lame attempt to suppress her laughter, and almost raised a hand to comment on the fact that of COURSE food was one of the scents for him... but, luckily, she had enough sense to decide against doing that, and instead kept giggling to herself.
Culloden was such a nerd.
The giggling eventually subsided and she grinned massively as she copied down the notes extensively on the blackboard, copying every ingredient meticulously and considering each one as she did so - considering their properties, their uses, their effects, and how they would interact. Standard future potioneer assessments and calculations, and when she was finished, she didn't hesitate at all to put on her clean gloves and count out eight flower heads of sneezewort, separating their petals, then took a clean knife to chop the leaves of eight Alihotsy, then measured out eight teaspoons of powdered moonstone that she crushed in her mortar and set that aside, too, all in clean containers. Clean, clean, clean. All lots of fun.
Taking her gloves off, Soph cast a few cleaning charms on the things she'd used to keep her area and materials clean, then pointed her wand inside her cauldron. "Aguamenti." Nothing like the sound of fresh purified water splashing into a cauldron to wake you up in the morning, eh? Potions mornings were the BEST mornings. Always the best. The best time of all of forever. SUCH A GOOD TIME.
Stopping the flow of water, Soph did a chipper little boogie and levitated the petals she'd already prepared into the water. SHE WAS SO GOOD AT THIS.
Before she could stop herself, she was talking aloud, mostly to Culloden, though her hand hadn't raised, but did she really need to since she was sitting in the seat nearest to him at the front anyway? "Lots of number eights." Lots of them, in the WHOLE RECIPE. "In 'rithmancy the number eight represents, like, success 'n finances 'n power 'n stuff." Did he know? "M'not so sure about the money part with this, but I can see how success 'n power relate. You're essentially gaining power over someone by giving this to 'em, 'n you're finding success in making 'em display the attitude of having fallen in love with you. Not real, but they're at least acting that way, 'n a lotta desperate people would see that as success."
Completely irrelevant conversation, but she was sort of talking just to talk. Keeping her mind going. No time to stop and hesitate and dwell on anything. Just one thing after another here.
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