A state of well-being and contentment; a pleasurable or satisfying experience; felicity. Various dictionary definitions of happiness.
Reid himself didn’t put much stock by the emotion. That could be attributed to the fact that he had felt mere whispers of the emotion over the past five years. Well-being….pshh. That was a rare commodity for a Mudblood in Durmstrang. Pleasure was short-lived, going against the very concept of ‘happiness’. Satisfaction or contentment was a mere illusion for those poor, unambitious souls who could find nothing better to do with their lives. That being said, Reid wasn’t all for the over-ambitious either, trying desperately hard for something not worth the effort, and feeling all hollow after attaining it. The entire thing was a big, long drag. Why bloody bother?
All in all, one of his somewhat-liked French writers, Gustave Flaubert, had the right idea: To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.
Reid had felt triumphant, smug, superficially pleased at achievements, perennially amused at the expense of others etc etc over the years. He had never degraded himself to being happy.
His hand tightened around the phial gripped between his long fingers. The entire thing was stoppered, under a Stasis charm, and was his cumulative work over the last six months. The potion was supposed to mimic the effects of Legilimency, and spread by inhaling fumes; one could glimpse the thoughts of the other without the years of practice that the Mind Arts took. At least, that was the aim. He wasn’t fooling himself by thinking that it would actually work, but being on the right track was important.
He was strolling through the fourth floor corridors, this time in all black Muggle attire, with his Bulgarian tee gleaming dark indigo under the right lighting. Enterprising, wannabe-cool boys glared, girls giggled and fluttered lashes, most just stared outright, as befuddled by his inexplicable experience in Hogwarts as always; general Brit behavior. But little could spoil his mood. He was…..pleased. He was heading to the RoR, the only decent room in the entire castle, where he could test his concoction, and make modifications if required.
He brew not for publishing his name in Potions journals, or earning money, or praise. He brew for pleasure, for the sheer desire of exercising his mental faculties and triumphing over theoretical obstacles. For the wish of achievement, for the sake of achievement. So he wasn’t happy, but pleased.
But clearly, Fate was out to ruin every single remotely non-negative emotion he ever possessed. She had always been this way. He shouldn’t have been surprised.
Two third-years were dueling on the corridor outside the library, that was what Reid’s mind registered in the first second. In the second, a strangely orange light shot out from the first kid’s wand, narrowly missed the second…..and with horrible slow-motion, impacted his vial of potion.
Immediate explosion. Reid was flung back against the wall, his legs and arms immediately crouching into a ball in order to attain minimum damage. Still his spine hit the cold stone with remarkable strength, and he crumpled; less out of the force and more from a strangely acidic stench that scoured his nostrils and lungs and shit, the potion.
Dimly, he opened his eyes despite the almost clawing sensation in his eyelids; he hated feeling incapacitated or handicapped in anyway. He registered someone breathing next to him. He turned his head, neck propped against the wall and aching….and saw……
Himself.