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Pippa Pentangle would freely admit to enjoying watch professionals do their thing. And she often does, when visiting workshops, or admiring her own professors during their assessments.
Watching Hecate Hardbroom however, was a different experience entirely. Watching her teach was a grating, slightly painful experience for the empathic Pentangle, but watching her brew-that was almost spiritual.
Watching the concentration on her face, admiring her long fingers as she stirs and summons ingredients.
Today she only had one potion simmering, something Pippa couldn't quite place from the smell. It was a herby, almost minty aroma, a blue thick brew, that Hecate was wholeheartedly devoted to.
She had barely moved from in-front of the cauldron today, so Pippa almost dreaded to think of the accuracy and level of this potion- if it was even a recognised tincture.
Hecate Hardbroom would never make such an egotistical boast, but she could have made a career as Head Brewer to the Grand Wizard himself.
Pippa glanced away, heart clenching at the sight of the witch who was now bent double, as she specifically stirred her potion.
She began to wonder if she should just come back in an hour or so, this was obviously a highly advanced mix and she would hate to inter-
Her heart dropped, and she stared in shock and disbelief at the last ingredient to drip into the cauldron. Looking up at Hecate; she was unmoving, unconcerned, and focused.
Drip. Drip.
Pippa's heart hammered in her chest, and her ears screamed over any sound for what felt like hours.
Dripping, dripping.
The potion started to glow, subtly at first, before swirling into a deep purple.
Only then did Hecate place down her knife and press a gauze to her arm, continuing the stir the cauldron with her other hand, nonchalantly like it just held a level one spell.
Not a potion, in fact, made of the darkest arts, containing live human blood. Not an illegal, outlawed potion, that even talking about academically was taboo.
Pippa held a hand over her mouth and struggled to fit this into her opinion of Hecate, her dear childhood friend, a force for good and tutor to the young.. a practitioner of the dark arts?
She started edging her way to the door, not understanding and not wanting to, unable to swallow past the lump in the her throat.
Dear Hecate, darling Hecate - Hecate?
Slowly, the elder witch had placed down her ladle and sighed, obviously exhausted. It was the even slower, unusually slow straightening of her back that had caught Pippa's attention, and then the whimper; the whimper that escaped as she finally straightened that bought tears to Pippa's eyes; but it was the shuddering gasp as Hecate struggled to heal her self-inflicted wound that truly broke Pippa.
Tears flowing down her face, the Pentangle carefully and quietly stepped out of the lab, and leant heavily against the corridor wall.
Blues, purples and a river of red swirled through her mind, all while she watched Hecate slice open her skin for a potion, till her mind finally placed the smell and the unique, shimmering purple.
Vials and decanters flashed through her memories, as she remembered trusting a fifth-year Hecate's explantation and never questioning her dear friend. Just a headache potion. Just a pain potion. The colours melted through her head till she thought she might be sick- only last week she'd fetched Hecate a measure as they'd played Chess in her quarters.
Blood magic.
She sunk to the floor, hand threading through her hair as she tried to understand it, code-abiding Hiccup using such extreme measures.
For a headache potion.
She struggled to clear her mind as she summoned a handkerchief, then stared at it blankly for a few seconds.
A pain relief potion?
Some of the ingredients were ... unorthodox to say the least, but it certainly could be, but Dear Luna, why the-?
'The most intense accelerant' she recited, 'like binding your soul to a brew'.
She looked back to the door, barely smothering a sob.
'Oh, Hecate, no.' She pleaded, not having the mental energy to keep up with these racing thoughts and emotions.
Granted Hecate had never been the healthiest person, nor the most social; but over the winter she hadn't set a foot out of the castle, come to think of it.
Pippa had popped in, plenty of times, even bought spell of two if they'd mirrored and Hecate had seemed out of sorts.
But blood magic?
The clinking of glass and metal bought Pippa back to reality, and with almost a twitch, she transferred; she couldn't risk Hecate seeing her.
Inside the lab, the witch placed down her ladle and breathed deeply, shame overwhelming her. She'd recognised that change in air pressure as a transfer anywhere.
Pippa knew.
Pippa k n e w.
Still, she shouldn't stop till it was all stored, as she'd decided almost 20 minutes ago, no reason to waste a batch.
True, this one was only half strength so as not to fully traumatise poor Pippa, but still. Always good to have a backup.
Could always make another batch next week.
Could always... make another... friend... next week?