First Lessons

When she woke up and got dressed next morning, feeling nicely refreshed after a long, undisturbed sleep in a comfortable bed, Celena found a piece of parchment waiting for her on top of her shiny desk. It was neatly rolled up and sealed; when she opened it, she saw it contains her teaching timetable. She spent much time preparing for the program of each year, of course, but still she was happy to discover she had the first-years, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, on her first lesson of that morning. She felt nervous and excited just like those boys and girls who tried on the Sorting Hat last night.

The way down to the Great Hall for breakfast took a long time, and she found it by pure luck: running into a crowd of Gryffindor students and following them.
It was quite early, but nearly all the staff members were already at the table. Professor McGonagall was sipping her tea in a dignified manner; Hagrid was eating his way through a pile of fried eggs and sausages; Professor Flitwick was spreading marmalade on his toast; Professor Sprout was tucking into a bowl of porridge with butter and honey; Snape, apparently, had already eaten and was fiddling with his napkin, looking as unpleasant as the night before.

Thankfully, the seat between Hagrid and Professor Sprout was empty, and Celena edged towards it, timidly greeting everyone. She sat down and started ladling porridge into her bowl, when breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of morning owls. They soared through the windows, looking for their owners or recipients, then diving to deliver letters and packages.
A screech owl landed on top of Professor McGonagall's empty plate, "The Daily Prophet" clammed tightly in its beak, and held out a scaly leg with a leather pouch attached to it. Professor McGonagall rummaged in her robes for a few seconds, then extracted a bronze Knut and deposited it in the owl's pouch. It clicked its beak impatiently, dropped the newspaper and took off at once.

Celena didn't expect any post, because yesterday, before going to bed, she sent an owl to her parents and Timothy to tell them she arrived as planned. She knew Timothy would be too busy in the morning to write any letters. However, she received a note from her uncle, Remus Lupin. While her attention was drawn to the note, the brown owl that delivered it flew off with the remainder of her toast in its beak.
Remus' letter was short:

"Dear Celena,
I hope you arrived in Hogwarts yesterday as was planned, to a good start of term and a warm welcome.
I am in London right now, but I'm not staying with Romina and Umberto, so don't write home if you want to find me.
Dora and little Teddy send their love. Write when you can, and tell me about your first week as a teacher.
Uncle Remus"

Celena raised her eyebrows. What might her uncle be doing in London, and why isn't he staying with her parents in "Costello Concoctions" like he has always done? However intrigued by the mystery of this letter, she snorted. "Warm welcome" – it seemed as though her uncle somehow knew there was at least one teacher at the staff table who looked ready to jinx her from the moment she arrived. Then again, Uncle Remus spent a year teaching in Hogwarts himself, she remembered.

When she finished breakfast, she was glad she still had some time to swing by her office and pick up the books and name list she needed for her first class. She knew the ingredients for potion-making were already in the store cupboard in the dungeons where she was to teach. She asked Hagrid for elaborate instructions on how to get there, and hoped she would not have to run into Peeves the poltergeist again on the way.

… She knew there was no mistake – Hagrid's explanations were accurate, and indeed she was going deeper and deeper down. Yet the corridor leading to the dungeons gave her such a strong sense of foreboding that she felt somehow she wasn't supposed to be there.
The pathway was wide, and the uneven ancient stones of the floor echoed loudly with every step she took. The walls were grey and grimy, the orange, flickering light of torches dancing on them, penetrating the darkness and casting huge, misshapen shadows.
The vast dungeon room in which Potions classes were to be held wasn't looking any more welcoming – the same bare grey walls, the same flickering torches poorly illuminating it. In addition, it was very cold.

An old, dusty store cupboard and about a dozen desks were the only furniture. Celena drew her robes tighter around her shoulders, placed her books and notes on the teacher's desk, sat down and waited for her students to come in.
They arrived a couple of minutes later, some of them casting worried looks around the gloomy classroom. In groups of four, students huddled around the desks (Celena noticed the Ravenclaws tried to sit right in front of the classroom, while Hufflepuffs occupied the back seats), but nobody sat down yet.
Celena rose to greet them and smiled, trying to look more confident than she really felt. Their very first lesson – and mine, too, she thought.

- Good morning, class. – she said. – I am Professor Costello, and starting from today, I will be teaching you the subtle art of potion-making.
There was a general murmur of "good morning, Professor Costello" around the class, and she continued.
- The art of Potions differs from other magical disciplines by the amount of attention and concentration that must be present during the entire time of your work. One wrong ingredient, one stir in the wrong direction – and the product which took hours or days to prepare, and days or weeks to mature, might be lost. However, even though all of you cannot be equally, naturally talented, potion-making can be learned – to the necessary extent – by just about anyone, with some patience and preservation.

And since there were many whispers and looks of incredulity on the faces of boys and girls, she added:
- Despite anything you might have heard. Now, I hope you all have standard-sized cauldrons, scales, the basic set of ingredients and the two books that will be guiding us through this year: "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Arsenius Jigger, and "Potion-making for Beginners" by Libatius Borage. The book of Arsenius Jigger will tell us all we need to know about various potion ingredients used even in the most complicated potions, while Libatius Borage will explain more on the techniques of potion-making and its safety rules. Any questions so far?
She thought there probably wouldn't be any, but to her surprise, a blonde, curly-haired girl sitting at the front desk raised her hand. Celena remembered vaguely she had been sorted into Ravenclaw the night before.

- Yes, Miss..?
- White, Professor. Kimberly White. Please, Professor, is it true that you are related to Nicholas Flamel?
Well, she should have seen it coming, really, Celena thought, frowning slightly. There was such a murmur of curiosity around the class, though, that she decided not to leave Kimberly's question unanswered.
- As a matter of fact, Miss White, I am. Nicholas Flamel was one of my ancestors, and the very first Potions teacher I had, long before I began my formal magical education.
The murmurs and whispering stopped, and the class broke into gasps and "ooh"s.
- Today, - continued Celena, - to give you a taste of what potion-making feels like, we will prepare the very first potion, the very basic one, that I was taught to make by Great-Uncle Flamel when I was five. It's quick and easy, and I'm sure it would have been very useful to many of you last night, when you stood at the Great Hall, about to be sorted. I am referring, of course, to the Calming Draught.

There was appreciative laughter around the class and the atmosphere eased considerably.
- For instructions, - said Celena, - you will open page twenty-four in "Potion-Making for Beginners". The ingredients that aren't included in your basic kits can be found in the store cupboard. You will start now.

There was an immediate rustle of pages and setting of fires beneath cauldrons.
It is the first time they are doing this; Celena reminded herself when she saw daisy roots, unclean and roughly cut, thrown into a cauldron, or when someone kept extinguishing their fire by stirring fervently and spilling half of their potion. The ideal half-stage for Calming Draught was supposed to look like orange juice, but instead of the clear orange shade, the liquid bubbling in most cauldrons was yellow or reddish brown – that is, if the student managed not to smash his or her cauldron or set their robes on fire.

When it was five minutes to the end of the double period, Celena told everyone to stop working and walked around the class, examining everybody's potions, which were supposed to turn by now to a clear, greenish liquid smelling slightly like pines.
The results, of course, weren't very impressive. Not many people achieved anything that resembled the desired potion even slightly. Some had bubbling bogey-like goo in their cauldrons, others' potions smelled like rotten eggs or smoked so much the entire desk was obscured and students backed away from it, coughing; some pupils, however, seemed naturally gifted.
- Oh, very good, Miss White! – Celena said enthusiastically, ladling some of Kimberly's perfect, fresh-smelling, clear potion and letting it spill back into her cauldron, so that everyone could see. – Ten points to Ravenclaw. And – oh, this one is just as nice! Good work, - she kindly said to a small, timid-looking boy at the very back of the class. – Your name is..?
- Brian O'Connor, from Hufflepuff, Professor.
- Ten points to Hufflepuff too, then, excellent! Now, - she continued, emptying all the cauldrons with one wave of her wand and leaving them sparkling clean again. – It's your first day, so you will not receive marks for today's work – that was just to give you a taste of what potion-making really feels like! You will, however, be rated for your very first piece of homework, which you will hand in next time we meet, on Thursday morning. I want a twelve-inch-long essay on the safety measures during potion-making and what can happen if you don't follow them. A simple, accurate summary of Chapter One from Libatius Borage will do. You may leave now.

There was scraping of chairs and a great deal of noise as the students threw their things pell-mell into their bags and hurried off from the gloomy dungeon to a morning break in the sunlit grounds.
Well, all in all, it wasn't as bas as it could have been - Celena thought. Some of the students, however, seemed prejudiced against the entire subject of Potions, perhaps because of what they were told by older siblings or parents – and although Celena didn't want to do too much guesswork, she thought she had a shrewd idea that could be because of a certain Potions Master with an unusually high rate of students failing his exams year after year.

The look of the classroom, she had to admit, wasn't exactly welcoming either. Maybe students could get used to the bare walls and the gloomy smoking torches, but in Beauxbatons she learned that pleasant, comfortable surroundings were not the least important factor on the way to academic achievement.
And then, all of a sudden, she had an idea. She cleared her throat and called tentatively –
- Dobby?
And at that very second, with a loud "pop", the house-elf appeared, wearing the same lurid clothes from the night before and positively beaming.
- Miss Costello called? – He asked in his high-pitched voice.
- Yes, Dobby, - said Celena. – Tell me, something – has it ever occurred to you that this place looks a bit gloomy?
Dobby looked around, at the bare stone walls, the grimy windows, the flickering, dull light of torches; "a bit gloomy" was something of an understatement.
- I would say so, yes, Miss Costello! – Dobby nodded enthusiastically, his long ears flapping. – We house-elves clean here… sometimes; - he cast a quick look upon the stained desks and the dusty stone floor. – But it is – it was – Professor Snape's classroom, Miss Costello, and we don't like to have too much to do with Professor Snape, Miss Costello, we don't!

- Well, times have changed, - said Celena. – It will be my classroom from this day on, Dobby, and I wish it could look more welcoming, so that the students would not feel it's torture to spend time here, especially the younger ones. Do you think there is something you can do for me, Dobby? You did such wonderful work in my office yesterday.
Dobby gave a great "whoop" and jumped, nearly touching his backside with his little heels.
- Dobby will call some house-elves, Miss Costello, and we'll do everything to make this dungeon a nicer place, we will! We will clean properly and bring spare carpets and other things! All we need is a couple of hours, Miss!
- Can you do it now, Dobby? – Celena asked, - I don't have any classes until after lunch.