All the young dudes

Chapter 7: Old New Borrowed and Blue

***

They could've brewed the potion anywhere secluded and outdoors, but it was Sirius' idea to go to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Peter does appreciate his flair for the dramatic.

"And the books say to dice them?" Remus says.

It's quite spectacular up here, Peter thinks. He can't keep from craning his head up, even if it makes him dizzy. The rain from earlier dissolved, only evidenced now by the wet stone they sit on and the sweet, ozone-washed breeze. The sky's a faded blue, orange light spilling over the mountains far away. A phantom sliver of moon hangs in the blue, early, not quite here, here-and-not.

"Yes," James answers.

"Not chopped or crushed?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

Rolling his eyes, James tips the diced mandrake stems into the cauldron. "Nah, just guessing. I love brewing dangerous human transfiguration potions without reading the directions."

"Just a little something we tossed together," Sirius adds. "Had the stuff lying about. Didn't fuss much."

"It's not funny," Remus says. He stares down at the enormous old book in his lap, brow furrowed. "It says if you charm it properly the potion'll turn 'pearlescent', that's the only way you'll know you haven't done something wrong."

"Relax," says James. He gives the heavily steaming potion a stir. "We haven't even said the incantations yet and it's already getting lighter."

Sirius holds his hair back, leans in over the cauldron, peers in. "So we just say the spell over it and wait until it turns white? Easy."

"'Pearlescent'. It's different."

"It's white."

"It's not!" Remus snaps. His voice cracks. "White is white, but pearls are off-white, and they— they've got, y'know, they've got a sheen, that's what 'pearlescent' means and it isn't white, white would be wrong, alright?"

Sirius raises his eyebrows.

James turns to Sirius, sombre-faced, and stage whispers, "It's got a sheen."

"It's not funny!" Remus yelps. "The colour is the one and only indicator of whether or not you've made a mistake and cooked up something poisonous, or— or something that'll turn you into fruit bats, or formless human lumps—"

"Potter's doing alright as a formless human lump," Sirius chimes in.

"—so since apparently I'm the only one who appreciates the risk here, that potion had better have a bloody sheen," Remus goes on, "or I'll chuck it over the side of the tower, alright?"

"Chuck you over the side of the tower if you don't chill out," James says, still poking at the bubbling potion with the stirring rod. "And then where will we be, eh?"

"Stop worrying," Sirius tells Remus. "This isn't even the real deal yet, is it? Just preliminary stuff."

"I don't know how that's supposed to make me stop worrying."

It turns out that Sirius had a point: even Peter, who was scared stiff that he'd mess up, finds the ritual itself a bit anticlimactic. The three of them point their wands at the potion, read out the terrifyingly complex, page-long incantation from the book (stopping and starting at different times, Peter's heart rushing to his throat for the half second he thinks he's mixed up muto and mutus), and watch the cauldron send up a column of thick white smoke.

When it clears, the potion is— well—

"Pearlescent," Sirius says, grinning. "Dig that, Mr Cynic."