Twilight Buys a Wand

by Kentavritsa

Measure of a Potion: 11

Author's Note:

Pinkie Pie's POV

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Previous Chapter: Twilight: Patronus

Next Chapter: The Elf Sanctuary:

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“And here I thought, I were promising to grade a few potions!” I ponder, as I am sitting behind my desk.

“Wait, what is this?” I ponder, as I find myself looking at a second year’s Potion.

Of course, Pinkie Pie had been brewing all of these Potions in class. I had literally and figuratively seen her brewing each and every Potion I have been grading. Maybe this is the most disturbing of it all?

While she had tied me down to the desk, from where I could barely follow the class; but she had handed me more Potions, than I dared to hope she could manage.

“She just gave me all these Potions!” I ponder.

Not only did she hand me vial after vial of Prime quality Potions; she had given me far more of each to sample for the grading, so I have a good supply of each of her Potions for myself. Just that I could never claim I had actually brewed these Potions by myself. Even if I am recognized as the Potion Master of Hog Wart’s and all.

It is not just in the Quality, but in the Essence of each Potion she had brewed for me. There is something to each Potion, and Essence I could never even dream of recreating; not in my lifetime, and I fear these would be far beyond me. Not just the quality.

These may be first and second class Potions she is brewing from the standard school literature, but each is far superior to what I could have made out of these recipes; and she produces these left and right, in a fraction of the time stated to be required in order to produce them.

As of yet, I could not put a single of her Potions down as anything less than Prime. It is infuriating to me; but I am entertained, by the quality of her work.

Had she just put my house down, I would have blamed her for tarnishing their grades and reputation; but as it stands, I can not do that.

Had she just been outclassing my work, I would have been annoyed by her in person; but I can not even say that.

If only, she had just been soiling the reputation of British Potion Making at large; but I could not even say that.

Her work is just so far beyond me, I feel as if I had been back at school; as a student, right now. She just is not of this world.

Each and every time I am looking at her, in class, I see a blur of motion; but it is still a set of measured motions, not hurried or forced in the least. Maybe, just maybe; this is the most terrifying of it all, when I consider just how high grade, each of her Potions are.

“Wait, how did she even get me a full vial, of the Potion to grade; from the ingredients she had used, if she was following the recipe?” I ponder.

Of course, I had seen her pouring up the content of the brew in the vial she had given me; but she had poured herself two vials of the same brew, for later use. Or, something to the effect.

My wheels are spinning, but I have no traction; I find myself slide back the way I came down the slippery slope, the more potions of hers I am grading. I want to scream, but find myself having neither a voice nor a mouth.

Am I seeing things? Because I imagine a pink to cerise Pony pronking before me, snickering like mad. Her grin wide, growing wider. If she is there, I can not say; but I can’t quite put a finger on her, or break of my gaze.

Is it a dream, or is this real?

Her bright blue eyes, locking me firmly; I can not escape, as if she had been grading me like a mere Potion.

“Have a cupcake, the pony exclaims, locking me in her gaze as if it had been a vice holding me in place.

I am trapped, stuck in place. I can not escape. I had taken the first step, accepting the challenge.

You need something to eat, or you will be wearing yourself down; a cupcake is, exactly what you need..” she points out, snickering.

Her voice clear, but girlish; like the chimes by the door, as if crafted out of the purest of Silver. Only gilded.

“Oh?” I respond; “Do I dare, accepting?” I ponder, looking her in the eye, incapable to look away.

“Let me see, what kind of a cupcake could Snape possibly like?” she inquires.

“Surprise..” she exclaims.

She is lifting the right fore-hoof up from the imaginary floor or ground upon which she is standing, only to reach in into her mane; pulling a cupcake out of the infernally tight pink monstrosity, you refer to as her mane. A moment later, the pastry is floating over to me, only to land before me on the desk.

In surprise, I find myself reaching for the preferred pastry; accepting the baked good, she had just offered me. I take a bite, finding it surprisingly sweet, but not in the slimy manner one could have been expected; but just delectable, as if preferred to the Queen of England herself.

Its surface crunchy, while it is soft and juicy inside; filled with something I could not put a finger to, as I find myself chewing thoughtfully.

First now, I can hear the diminutive squeaks her tiny hooves are making; with each pronk, she performs in a fluid motion of a rubber ball.

I find myself strangely and uncomfortably reinvigorated as I chew. As the cupcake is gone, so is she. Almost, as if she had just poked a curtain to the side and slipped in between the billowing folds of time and space. Not as if she had been wearing an invisibility cloak or cast a spell to the effect; just as it isn’t, as if she had never been there.

“House Pinkie scores again.” exclaims a boy in house Slytherin.

“How do they do that?” responds the girl opposite him in their common room.

“Beats me..” the boy responds; “and the house is consisting of just one girl: Pinkamena Diane Pie!” he points out.

“A house, for just one girl?” the girl inquires.

“I find your attitude lacking..” a voice comes out of nowhere. (or, so it would appear)

“Uhm, do not mock her; she is Pinkie Pie, and she knows everything!!” the boy points out, in response.

“Is she God?” the girl inquires.

“Worse..” comes the instant response from the next boy stepping in into the common room just in time to overhear the conversation.

“Exactly why do you imagine, she has her own house in the House cup, hmm?” the first boy points out.

“She does have just as many points as we have..” the girl concludes, in sheer disbelief.

“She is the Goddess of Potions..” the second boy suggests, helpfully.

“Is that, how she could whip up a week-potion in class?” the girl inquires.

“How does one whip up a Potion that is supposed to take a week to brew; in the time of one single class?” Draco inquires.

“I heard that..” comes a voice from out of no-where.

“Who said that? Draco inquires.

“It is I, the Spirit of Festivities..” the voice shuts back, in merry fits of snickers and giggles.

“One has to be pink, in order to Whip Up a Potion faster than the recipe declares..” the disembodied voice explains.

“So, you are saying; that only she can manage the feat?” Draco inquires.

“She is Pink, yes?” the voice responds.

“Uhm, yes..” whines Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

“No mere Mortal can deny the time it takes, to brew a Potion; thus, you have to abide by all the rules and take the time implied..” the voice cackles in mad to insane merriment.

“Beware April the first, the Fool’s day..” echoes eternally and infernally throughout the common room.

“Invite the Jester, or face the consequences..” the voice continues in a harshly hushed and subdued tone of voice, almost as if speaking in Parcel Tongue.

“Beware, beware, beware..” the voice echoes on and on, over and over.

“We’re in the Dungeon of the Slytherin, and I do speak the tongue..” Draco ponders; “but the voice is slightly off..” he continues.

“Did.. did you all hear that?” he now inquires with despair on his voice.

“Yes..” the first girl responds; “but why do you ask?” she continues.

“The voice has an eerie similarity with parcel tongue..” Draco explains; “but since you all heard it..” he continues, breaking off in uncomfortable contemplation.

“Someone, or something..” Draco puts forth; “knowing how the tongue sounds; setting us up; rattling and pulling our chain..” he continues.

“Wait..” the first boy responds; “this, is how parcel tongue sounds?” he then inquires, his curiosity peaked, despite the dreaded implications.

Knowing the implications, Draco puts on a face to the effect; “This is not a tongue anyone can just pick up and learn to speak, most do not even hear the words..” he puts forth.

“Yes, this is how the tongue sounds, albeit this was just a tad off; but I guess, it is the best example of what it sounds like to anyone who does not personally have the Gift!” Draco points out.

“Maybe, just maybe; this gift, was not lost on you entirely?” the voice pushes forth, now in a merry tone of the Silver bells chime.

“But alas, you would not have heard it, if it had been pure Parcel Tongue..” the voice pronounces, in the menacing tone of a Gangster.

“This girl, speaks many tongues..” Draco ponders; "and I do not like it..” he continues; “She has me cornered, and I feel an electric chill move down my spine!” he concludes.

“What would be the fun, Draco Malfoy..” the voice pronounces; “if I could not speak the words, making you aware of the joke?” she then inquires.

All of a sudden, the room is dead silent, as a loud pop is heard; the gathered students of the house Slytherin, sitting quietly with Ashen gray faces. The silence lingering, but not in the mood of tranquility.

“If only, I had one more of these Cup-Cakes?” I ponder.

“As you wish..” comes a voice from out of no-where.

A pink Pony appears on my desk, pronking; this is the person who offered me the treat, a mere few minutes prior.

“Oh..” I exclaim, now invigorated by the previously offered treat.

Before my very eyes, I can see her lifting up her right fore-hoof; slipping it into her mane, only to extract another of her cupcakes. Or to the effect, three of them.

“How did she even do that, and where did the cupcake even come from?” I ponder.

“I baked them, of course; I baked these, with you in mind, explicitly!” she responds, as if she had heard me, as if I had spoken to her directly.

Of course, she had not even stopped pronking; in order to deliver the baked goods to me, placing the cupcakes before me. She had not even bothered to slow down and had most certainly not missed a beat.

Naturally, each of the cupcakes offered; without even the slightest of traces; of having been stored in her mane, or wherever she had kept them.

“Before you ask, Professor Snape; these cupcakes are perfectly safe for you to enjoy, but beware the effects of over-indulging in the sweetness promised..” she cautions; “they will stay as fresh, as if just pulled out of my oven; for as long as you need them, of course!” she points out.

“Are you referring to Withdrawal or Poisoning?” I respond, suddenly suspicious of the offered treats.

“Nothing of the sorts..” she responds; “why would I trick you, in that manner?” she inquires.

“In my line of work, one has to be cautious..” I point out; “besides; what could possibly be the reason to caution me; if neither of these reasons were the cause?” I inquire.

“How many Apparitions can you perform, in a day?” she inquires; “as I am certain you would be aware; these are not Pepper-Up Potion or anything as crude!” she then points out with a venomous sting to her point.

“Apparition?” I inquire, confused by the direction she is taking me.

“Apparition is one of your cruder means of travel from point to point in a short period of time, isn’t it?” she inquires; “But, it is not particularly comfortable to tag along on an Apparition, as I understand..” she pushes forth.

“Yes, Apparition does take me places; but I guess it could have been neat, if it had been more comfortable..” I respond; “but this should not concern you, for the foreseeable future?” I inquire.

“I would not touch Apparition; with a seven mile pole, if my life depended upon it..” she snickers; “but alas; why bother, if I can go from place in a clean and orderly fashion?” she inquires.

“No?” I inquire.

“How would you travel; if you refuse Apparition?” I inquire; “Floo, or do you prefer to walk by foot?” I continue.

“Floo, is for the peeping Tom..” she snickers; “and I rather Pronk..” she continues.

“You seems to take issue, with following established rules; even the once stipulated by Physics and even magic?” I inquire.

“Peeping Tom?” I inquire; “do you insinuate; that one could actually see people, while traveling the Floo?” I inquire, raising an eyebrow.

“I go by my own rules, such as stipulated in the book of Parties..” she snickers.

“If you haven’t noticed, yet; I just so happens to be one of the select few, who writes my own rules..” she is pointing out.

As I am watching her, she is backing off slowly; yet, her face stays on the same distance from mine. I take a quick double-take; “how in the name of Merlin, did you do that?” I inquire.

“That is one of the many tricks my set of rules is permitting; but unfortunately, I can only demonstrate it in this fashion..” she points out.

“Why does this sound; as if you were referring to a special case, of the statute of secrecy preventing me to perform actual Magic among the Muggles?” I inquire.

“You could, but if you were found out..” she snickers; "this is a Hard Rule, not a soft one..” she points out.

All of a sudden, she stands up on her hind hooves, poking the air, with her fore-hooves. There is a strange sensation; then I feel a hoof poking me, from the other side.

“Discorded Physics..” she explains.

“So is this Magic, or not?” I inquire.

“Both, and or Neither..” she responds.

“Wait, what?” I inquire.

“You may be able, to whip up a magical means to the effect, just as the Muggles would use a perfectly Mundane means to the same effect; but why would I be bothered, to stay within the limits of defining which it is?” she points out.

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