Foolish thods used by a foolish boy—following every step to the letter, yet still barely scraping by with a passing grade.
To Severus Snape, Potions Master, even a glance at such a talentless wizard was a waste of his precious ti.
Watching the boy's flawed technique, Snape's dark eyes practically burned with fury. But when he t those strikingly bright green eyes, his anger slowly simred down.
The boy had been sneaking around, playing hide-and-seek with him, braving all sorts of obstacles just to brew a cauldron of worthless potion. For a mont, a strange mix of emotions stirred in Snape's chest.
At least the boy had shown so progress. In the last Potions class, he'd managed to brew a barely passable potion, which was the only reason Snape hadn't thrown him out yet.
Sotis, Snape would co to the dungeon, watching the boy fumble and ponder through his painstaking practice. Those dim-witted students thought he was in his office, unaware of the countless secret passages in Hogwarts, more nurous than the towers themselves.
One thing he'd never admit, though, was that he wasn't just here to mock the boy—he was quietly keeping an eye on the young wizard's safety.
---
"Failed again…"
[You have successfully brewed a Scouring Potion to apprentice standards. Proficiency 1]
In the dungeon, beside the cauldron, Sean sighed. But he wasn't discouraged. He knew success didn't co overnight.
He'd found a spark of inspiration, though he hadn't quite nailed it. One small change in the process had a ripple effect on every other step, and his failure to adjust those steps had lowered the potion's quality.
Still, he was certain—one more try, and he'd get it right.
As he cleaned his cauldron, ready to start anew, the dungeon door flew open, slamming against the stone wall with a dull thud. A shadow swept in, followed by the billowing hem of a bat-like black robe that seed to swallow the faint light at the doorway. Footsteps echoed on the damp stone floor—slow, deliberate, like the rhythm of a judgnt.
Sean froze, his wide green eyes staring blankly at Professor Snape as he approached.
The dim yellow glow barely illuminated the sharp shadow cast by Snape's hooked nose, making his cold words even icier.
"Sean Green…" His voice hissed like a serpent.
Sean's eyes dimd. He didn't try to explain himself. Silently, he packed away his ingredients, cleaned the cauldron, and prepared to leave the dungeon.
He knew his choice to sneak around was risky, and being caught ant facing the consequences.
"Sorry, Professor Snape," Sean said quietly. "I'll leave now."
He slung his black bag over his shoulder, ready to go.
"Hmph," Snape sneered. "If I were as hopeless as you—brewing such pathetic potions with such flawed technique—I'd be too ashad to linger in this sacred place."
Sean didn't react. He only felt a pang of regret—he'd been so close to success.
"Running away, then? Is that your choice?" Snape's voice cut through the silence.
"If I were you, I'd light that cauldron again—and when you stir at the end, use wider strokes and add one extra turn."
Sean stopped in his tracks, stunned. He turned to Snape, wide-eyed. Was Professor Snape… teaching him?
Without hesitation, Sean set his bag down and reached for his ingredients. At that mont, a bundle of materials floated onto the wooden table.
Snape's icy voice followed: "If you dare fail…"
His gaze was sharp, almost threatening. But Sean didn't feel intimidated. He had a knack for seeing past appearances, thanks to his knack for understanding people.
Take Hermione, for instance. She could co off as a bit superior, always eager to guide others, but beneath that was genuine care. Or Snape, who hid his emotions behind a mask of sarcasm, bias, and hostility.
No one could fault Snape for that. Not everyone knew how to love.
Recalling Snape's advice, Sean relit the cauldron, and bubbles began to rise once more. This ti, his movents were smooth and precise.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Snape's stern face. Unlike those loudmouthed Gryffindors or dim-witted Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws were always a bit sharper. This boy was one of the best—clear about what he wanted, willing to act, and… extraordinarily diligent.
When the inky green liquid appeared again, Sean felt a surge of nerves. But then—
[You have successfully brewed a Scouring Potion to proficient standards. Proficiency 10]
[Scouring Potion unlocked]
[New Potions Mastery title unlocked. Please check.]
[New wizarding talent unlocked. Please check.]
The fireplace crackled brighter. Sean carefully bottled the potion, not daring to relax until the cauldron went cold. Only then did he let out a breath.
Snape gave a slight nod.
Sean, visibly excited, hadn't even needed his improved ritual. "Thank you, Professor Snape," he said sincerely, his clear eyes brimming with gratitude.
Snape, about to turn away, paused. For once, he didn't respond with a biting remark. Instead, he looked at Sean more closely.
"You should be thankful you succeeded," he said, his sallow face unreadable, a rare complexity in his eyes. "Let teach you sothing, Sean Green. Respect the version of yourself that fails at Potions, and you'll find the power to change reality. But if you belittle yourself, I swear, the door to Potions will remain forever closed to you."
Even after leaving the dungeon, those words echoed in Sean's mind, shattering his preconceived notions about Snape.
Beneath a massive portrait, ignoring Sir Cadogan's endless chatter, Sean thought of Snape again.
The man was undeniably starved of love. His tragedy was a lifelong yearning for it, yet his childhood had robbed him of the ability to understand or express it. He'd clung to Lily, his one true love, only to destroy it with his own flaws and the era's tragedies. His life beca a long, painful self-punishnt, written in loyalty and courage.
His greatness lay in his astonishing bravery and resilience, but at his core, he was still that lonely boy from Spinner's End, never nurtured by love.
And yet, Sean thought, did that an he could reduce Snape to a soulless shell, incapable of growth?
"Sean," he told himself, "you're sorting your biases and trying to pin them on a living, breathing person."
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