The Start of Year 12
It was almost time for school to start up again. Months had passed since my birthday. I'd successfully moved on to the next year of schooling, and with high marks in all of my classes. It was finally time to start Year 12! Or, as it was known back when I was an American, 11thgrade! Junior year!
'Just a few more years,' I told myself. 'It won't be long before I graduate High School and can move on to University!'
As I got ready for my first day back at school, I peered into a mirror, feeling torn about what I was seeing. I only had vague memories of what I'd used to look like (Occlumency to rescue again!), but I, as Edward Rose, was quite different compared to my old-world self. For one thing, I was in shape. I was hardly ripped with muscles, but I definitely had an athletic build. How much of my physique was due to magic, genetics, or the rigorous diet and exercise routine I kept up with I had no idea, but I was healthy, and it showed.
My hair was still brown, and my eyes were still blue, but the baby fat in my face had finally left me, and combined with my sharp jawline, gave me a chiseled, manly look. At least, according to my mom, Sam, and his mom and dad. And a couple other people. Plus, even as a Squib I was resistant to blemishes and acne, and it was really only my hair that needed taming when I had to groom myself.
All in all, I was fit and I was handsome (for a teenager), which made me conflicted.
'One the one hand, I look nothing like I used to,' I thought. 'On the other, damn do I look good!'
Letting the small moment of narcissism leave me, I looked away from the mirror and stepped into my bedroom, leaving the towel on the rack behind me as I exited the bathroom.
I quickly dried myself and put my clothes on. They were nicer than what I usually wore, but there was an important reason for that: today was my first day of being an 11th grader, or Year 12 as they called it here in the UK, and I was excited. Not because of school, because screw tests and homework, but because I would be able to start Phase One of my marketing plans.
See, over the summer I had done more experiments with potions, and finally discovered a recipe for the Wiggenweld Potion that could be turned into a cream. It used the Hunch family recipe as a base, and then all I had to do was add aloe vera oil (a thankfully neutral substance that caused only slight changes in the potion, namely reducing the effectiveness of the healing by about a quarter), then once it was room temperature, put the potion in a blender until it thickened. Voila! I had a pretty blue ointment that, while weaker than the pure potion itself, and thus healed injuries slower, was perfect for sale in the Muggle world for exactly that reason.
'Brand this sucker as a 'herbal' or natural healing remedy, and the money will flow,' I thought giddily, picking up a ceramic pot of medical goo. One of many. In fact, turning it into a cream stretched out the potion. One regular vial of Wiggenweld Potion made three pots of Wiggenweld Cream, thanks to the addition of the aloe vera gel!
One vial of Wiggenweld Potion costs between three and ten galleons to buy premade from an apothecary in Diagon Alley, but it cost a single galleon to acquire enough ingredients to brew the potion using a standard size 2 cauldron. A standard size 2 cauldron, for reference, was what Hogwarts students were supposed to use for their potion classes, and could make around ten to twenty vials worth of potion per batch.
To put it simply, one vial of Wiggenweld Potion cost about fifteen to fifty pounds sterling to buy, and a mere five pounds if made from scratch using the cheapest ingredients. I could brew one batch of the stuff for about five to ten pounds, and that was ten to thirty doses of potion-cream!
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