Recently, I posted about some Harry Bottle bottle decals from Amazon. As promised, here are the (almost) finished bottles:
Okay, so the Polyjuice Potion ended up a bit pink, looking like Pepto-Bismol. 🙂 I’ve also still got plan to add some washi tape around the foil at the top to make that area look more finished. The bottles I got didn’t have any type of lid, so I had to improvise.
Overall, though, these were very easy to make. The only supplies were:
- Clear craft bottles (I got mine at Michaels)
- Harry Potter decals (link at the end of this section)
- Craft paint (e.g., Ceramcoat, FolkArt): two bottles of each color is best. I only had one, and it was kind of difficult to make sure the paint was spread throughout the interior
- If doing the foil wrappers for the tops, clear gesso and aluminum foil
The process was pretty much what you’d probably guess. For the bottles, the paint was squirted directly into the bottle, then swished around to cover inside. Because I only had one container of each color and that wasn’t quite enough, I added just a little water to the inside to pick up what color it could, and swished that around, as well. There are a couple of spots that are not as opaque for that reason, but it’s not too noticeable. The watery mixture was poured out immediately.
After 24 hours, some remaining wet paint in the bottles had puddled at the bottom, so that had to be poured out, also. I let it sit for a few days to make sure the paint inside was dry.
Meanwhile, for the foil tops, I just took foil, tore it to the right size and gessoed over the foil. After that, the foil was painted.
Then the labels were applied, and that was it! My four bottles were done.
Well, they’re done other than the washi tape mentioned at the beginning.
Remember your first drink or first time at a pub? So does the boy in this medieval fantasy flash fiction piece.
“A Boy at the Pub”
The boy was but 13 years of age: all of 13 and nothing else. At least, that was his age when he first went to a pub.
He recalled the day fondly, now closer to 50 years of age (or “13 years thrice and then some,” as he often put it). His father had taken him back then, now that he was a “man.” He thought, though, that was an odd age to be a man; yet that’s what his father had told him.
The pub had loud music with a lute and drums. It had maidens running around with pitchers held high. It had drunkards at wooden tables, screaming for more ale, and the maidens would scurry around to bring them more drink.
It had pipes being smoked and a fire stoked.
It also had a pubkeeper—and like many pubkeepers, he handled well, in retrospect, the drunkards and the noise and the hot fire stoked on a summer night by those too drunk to know the difference between hot and cold.
That night on the beginning of his 13th year, he witnessed a bunch of such merry-makers, pints of ale in hand, having the time of their lives (much longer than his at the time), who spoke in slurred speech that only the pubkeeper seemed to understand.
And he always remembered the pubkeeper’s reply: “Well, when somebody has their head up their derriere, only they can pull it back out. You can’t do none of that for ’em!”
The ale-drinkers heard it naught: something the pubkeeper was likely used to, his patrons not even paying attention.
Yet the boy did. He was all of 13 years of age and nothing else…and he was the only one who listened.
From the free ebook Medieval Tales: Tiny Tales of Mirth and Woe, a book of flash fiction. New stories are added regularly.