"Maybe," says Imogen, who is bad at Potions.

She tilts her head at the vial. There's a brief impulse to get closer and sniff it, just to see what it's like -- but stronger is her distaste of the tendrils, so she stays rooted in place, grooming herself.

"What do you mean it feels weird?" She asks of Armani, always curious about the uncomfortable and nasty.