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The fireplace had been emitting green flames for over a week now. This was due to a pupil fumbling a unique powder of his own creation meant to be added to one of the glaze mixtures, so he said. Admitting mistakes, telling the truth, these were good signs.
Though Sender did not know it when they first met, his pupil, Harry Potter, had enlisted and been sent to war despite his status as a minor. The adults in his life had encouraged this, so he no longer trusted any of them. He decided to leave his old life and become a Potter. Sender fondly recalled the day his favorite pupil showed up in his studio in the forest. The black haired bespectacled nineteen-year-old was quite polite, though stiff. His body language spoke volumes; Sender could totally read him. The first order of business appeared to be introductions.
“My name is Harry Potter, what may I call you”
Sender looked up from his workstation. He had been expecting a new arrival this week. Sender noted that this one had arrived alone.
“Welcome! My name is Sender, but you can call me your Lord and Savior,” Sender responded.
Harry seemed uncomfortable. He broke eye contact and looked at the floor instead.
“I’m not religious, actually,” he muttered.
“Insolence! This was an unexpected reaction. But perhaps his ignorance could be forgiven,” Sender thought.
“This studio is holy ground, insolent child!”
“I think we’re the same age.”
“Nonsense, fetus Potter. What I meant was, your life is about to change for the better! I will raise you from your lowly state of quiet desperation. Call me Benedict Cumberbund for all I care.”
Harry’s expression stayed stiff.
“Speaking of quiet desperation, I am actually desperate. I need instruction in pottery.”
Sender had to rethink this. "I thought my amusing choice of words would lighten the mood, but perhaps this was a Serious Situation."
“I will take you on as my pupil if, and only if…” insert dramatic pause”...you loosen up. Being a reclusive artist in the woods is meant to be fun.”
Harry considered this for a moment, and then a moment longer. Sender had all the time in the world so he did not interrupt his musings. Seder filled the time by preparing a large ball of clay. The repetitive kneading action was calming, though it required strength. The tactile sensation was soft, cool, and damp. Sender felt incandescent joy when he threw the clay down to knock out air; it made a smacking sound when it hit the slab. There are many satisfying experiences and feelings to be enjoyed when doing pottery. Part of the reason Sender began taking on students was to show them the divine world of pottery and the way the sensations associated with it can be existentially transformative. Also, he needed the money.
Harry ended his contemplative silence with a sincere declaration.
“I pledge to loosen up.”
"He seems promising, literally." Sender thought.
“Spectacular,” I said. “So, tell me kid, what brings you here in the first place.
What has inspired you to undertake the noble art of Pottery On The Wheel?”
“I need a break from the dumpster fire that is my life.” Harry responded with annoyance, “Everyone always expected too much from me. Even when I met those expectations, they demanded more. I could never just be Harry Potter. I went to war for them, and now my magic is not what it used to be. The best part of myself has gone bitter.”
Sender understood. He was actually an accomplished magician years before. Part of the reason he moved to the woods was to recover from performing at too many children’s birthday parties. "My magic has also gone bitter, though in a more literal sense than Harry’s," thought Sender.
“Becoming a Potter, it just seems right,” Harry continued.
“This is going well! And he is right on the money. I always felt that doing pottery could solve identity problems. I must hasten to respond to his first positive statement,” thought Sender.
“It must have been fated, Harry Potter. Come! I accept you as my pupil. Do you need a beginner’s introduction?”
“Yes, thank you sir.”
“Sir! That sounds so official. Yes, I am a sir, aren't I…”
Sender led him to the supply cabinet and began filling a container with all the basic tools and giving a simple explanation of each item. After setting everything up he threw a pot just to give Harry a sense of the process while explaining what I was doing at each stage.
“I suggested that for the first pot, I would center the clay for you so it will be a bit easier.” Sender wanted Harry’s first try to go smoothly. Afterwards, he would begin to instruct him in centering his own clay. Twice that day, Sender left the room and returned to find he had perfectly centered his clay.
“Is there an elf helping you Harry,” Sender asked.
“No, I sent him to work in the kitchens.”
“Clutch. Tell him I said hi.”
His quick response seemed like a good sign. Harry was already comfortable enough to banter! This unexpected feat was followed by an attempt at a bowl gone so awry that the piece detached and flew off the wheel at high velocity. But no matter. Any clay that does not cooperate goes into the recycle buckets. Sender’s pottery studio is a perfect harmony of sensations, from the smell of baking clay to the sight of smooth spiral ribbons flowing out of a pottery creation during the trimming stage. Especially during the nighttime, the atmosphere is ethereal. Sender thought he could actually see the air shimmer the night Harry arrived.