Potion-brewing was a lengthy business. He knew that so of the more complex draughts, like Felix Felicis, required a full six months to mature.
Taking this into account, Sean planned his operation for the break right after his first afternoon class, Transfiguration. He had five full sets of ingredients packed, along with his own set of crystal phials, which had co in a small, velvet-lined box. The set had cost him a steep seven Galleons, and the shopkeeper at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary had kindly packed each one in its own protective casing.
The old, long-bearded wizard who had sold them to him claid they would preserve a potion's potency twice as long as standard glass.
Sean suspected that was just a sales pitch. The books said that as long as a potion was properly stoppered, it was perfectly stable. Ancient wizards had been known to store potions in old wineskins, and dieval apothecaries had famously entertained Muggle nobles with a "ga" of pouring five different draughts from a single kettle. In reality, it was just the potions spoiling and changing colour as they were exposed to the air. As for what happened to the nobles who drank them... well, one only had to check the wanted posters on the castle gates the next day.
In the early afternoon, a snowy owl soared overhead, hooting softly as it passed.
The sun was warm as he left the castle, a glorious late-sumr light that seed to plate the entire grounds in gold. The castle stood like a beacon on the vast, painted landscape. His mood would have been perfect, if only Snape's classroom weren't in the dark, cold dungeons.
He felt like an adventurer about to sneak into a dragon's lair. His quest: to brew a potion, right under the nose of Professor Snape.
His mind racing, Sean walked down the grassy slope and pushed open the heavy oak door of the greenhouse. He had promised Professor Sprout he would help her collect Bouncing Bulbs and transplant the Leaping Toadstools to Greenhouse One.
Greenhouse One was thick with the scent of rich loam. Professor Sprout wasn't alone. A few other students were already there—Neville Longbottom, Ernie Macmillan, who was watering so plants with extre care, and another short, plump boy Sean didn't recognize.
Professor Sprout was standing by a wooden crate overflowing with dragon dung compost. Her flyaway grey hair was tucked into a tight bun beneath her patched hat, and her bright eyes were keenly observing her students.
She clapped her gloved, soil-covered hands together and walked over. "Ah, Mr. Green! This is the ti of year I love most, when the greenhouses are full of new sprouts, all eager to grow."
She led him out of Greenhouse One. "Co along, Mr. Green. Let's go fetch those Leaping Toadstools. The dear little troublemakers are probably getting impatient."
Normally, her hat bobbed cheerfully when she spoke, but as Sean watched her, his gaze fixed on a dark patch of soot on the brim. It made him think of Professor Snape's cold, black eyes.
Brewing a potion in secret… that can't be against the school rules, can it? Sean worried.
He was so lost in thought that he was startled to find himself staring directly into Professor Sprout's kind, steady eyes. "My dear Mr. Green, it's rare to see you in a daze."
She was smiling, though, and there was no confusion in her gaze, only a knowing warmth. "The timing is perfect. Co along. There's sothing interesting waiting for you."
She led him toward another of the dod structures, ignoring his puzzled expression, and stopped before a door with a wooden sign that read 'GREENHOUSE THREE'.
Sean had never been in this one. Michael had told him Greenhouse Three was where the really interesting—and dangerous—plants were kept.
Professor Sprout took a large, ornate key from her belt and unlocked the door. A wave of damp, pungent air hit him. Just inside, a mass of spiky green tentacles was writhing slowly in a large planter. Next to it, a pen of green, bean-like bulbs was hopping about energetically. Sean recognized them as the Leaping Toadstools. But why were they right next to a Venomous Tentacula? He knew for a fact the Tentacula was extrely territorial and should have attacked them.
As Sean watched, Professor Sprout's cheerful voice rang out. "Oh, Mr. Green, let tell you a story. Leaping Toadstools need dark, damp soil to sprout. As it happens, that's the exact sa environnt the Venomous Tentacula prefers."
"The Tentacula, as you know, is fiercely protective of its territory and attacks any other plant that gets too close. And yet, look. The Toadstools are thriving."
Having piqued his curiosity, the professor continued in a deeper, narrative tone. "If you look closely, you'll see the Fanged Geraniums planted right beside them. It's the mutual threat between the Tentacula and the Geranium that creates a safe space, giving the little Toadstools the chance to sprout, grow, and finally, leap away. Nature is a wondrous thing, Mr. Green. Life always finds a way."
She leaned down slightly, her eyes full of a sincere, warm light. "A Toadstool that grows far away in a safe patch of soil will always be safe, yes. But if it's so afraid of the Tentacula that it stays in a dry, hot corner, its bulb will simply wither away. That, my dear, is no way to live."
Sean was struck by the story. He looked up at the professor, and the kindly witch gave him a slow, aningful nod. "You'll succeed, Sean. Don't be afraid."
...She knew. She knew exactly what he was planning to do.
When Sean left the greenhouses, his heart was calm and steady, and he carried the scent of rich, damp earth with him.
He didn't know how she'd guessed, but her quiet encouragent ant that what he was about to do wasn't truly against the rules. And even if it was, the consequences wouldn't be severe.
And so, after Transfiguration class let out, Sean ignored the look of heroic admiration from Justin and the utterly baffled one from Hermione, and disappeared down the corridor toward the dungeons.
The air grew colder as he descended, and the familiar, unsettling sight of pickled specins in glass jars lining the walls ca into view.
Sean held his breath, praying that Snape was not in his office.
The professors were busy people, he reasoned, especially a Head of House like Snape.
He peeked into the empty classroom, let out a long, silent breath, and slipped inside. He quickly laid out his ingredients on a workbench and lit a fire under his cauldron. The faster he worked, the more attempts he could make.
He set out his notebook and his Quick-Quotes Quill. The data from each attempt was critical. Summarizing his failures and making incrental improvents was the only way to learn.
A thin, white plu of smoke began to rise from the cauldron, and the flickering candlelight of the dungeon was reflected in Sean's focused, erald-green eyes.
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