The dungeon classroom was as cold and damp as ever, the stone walls stained with age. Jars filled with grotesque shapes and unidentifiable substances lined the shelves, so bubbling faintly, others settled in murky silence. Steam from the simring cauldrons filled the air, partially obscuring Professor Snape's already indistinct features.
"Sean, we can definitely do this!" Justin whispered, trying to bolster both Sean's spirits and his own. Sean, however, noticed the slight tremor in his friend's hands. It was understandable; their last attempt had resulted in a cauldron of blue goo and a scathing critique from the Potions Master.
"Do you need help preparing the ingredients?" Justin asked nervously.
Sean shook his head gently. "I'll be quick."
Justin didn't press further, instead watching intently as Sean moved with a newfound confidence – preparing the ingredients, lighting the cauldron, controlling the heat… each action was precise and fluid. Compared to the hesitant, worried movents of the other students around them, Sean was working at least three tis as fast.
Potion-making was a demanding discipline. A competent potioneer needed a vast and comprehensive knowledge base. This was why Snape was so strict; deviation from the precise steps could lead to rlin-knows-what brewing in the cauldron. Most students simply followed the instructions like automatons, only beginning to grasp the subtleties of the art after countless repetitions.
Sean, however, was already fully imrsed in the mysterious craft. Flawless ingredient preparation, perfect heat control, asured stirring, precise timing… The cauldron bubbled softly. Justin acted as his silent assistant, passing ingredients and keeping track of the ti, morizing every step.
While most of the class was still fumbling with their initial preparations, Sean and Justin were already adding the final ingredient: the porcupine quills.
Snape's sharp eyes noted their unusual progress. His gaze swept over their cauldron, and in an instant, he assessed the potion's likely outco – acceptable, but unremarkable. He gave a faint sneer and looked away.
"It's ti," Sean murmured. They had reached the final, crucial stage. He pushed aside the centuries-old traditional ritual in his mind, focusing instead on Libatius Borage's radical, unproven thods.
He uttered the modified incantation, beginning the new ritual for the first ti. His focus intensified, absolute. He channeled the feeling of a dedicated healer, striving to create a perfect redy. As the emotion flowed through him, the potion underwent a fundantal transformation. The pale blue-green liquid thickened, solidifying into a smooth, flawless jelly, completely free of impurities.
[You have successfully brewed a Boil-Cure Potion to the Adept standard. Proficiency 10]
Justin held his breath, comparing the potion in their cauldron to the perfect example Snape had demonstrated in their first class. They were nearly identical.
"Sean… did we do it?" he whispered, his voice tight with tension.
"Yes." A profound weariness washed over Sean, the kind that ca from pulling three all-nighters. Libatius Borage wasn't exaggerating about the ntal toll, he thought wryly.
"Brilliant! I knew we could!" Justin let out a huge sigh of relief. He carefully transferred the potion into one of Sean's crystal phials, then stood tall, waiting for Snape's inspection, a stark contrast to his pale, trembling state during their previous class. The sight brought a faint smile to Sean's exhausted face.
"You're finished already?" Michael hissed from the next table, craning his neck. Terry peered over, his expression one of dawning realization.
"Of course," Justin began proudly. "Sean brewed a perfect—"
His words caught in his throat. The dark cloud had returned.
Professor Snape lood over their table, his tall fra blocking the candlelight, his cold eyes silencing the nearby students.
"Perfect—" Snape began, lifting the crystal phial, a sarcastic sneer already forming on his lips. Then, miraculously, the sneer vanished. He stared at the potion, montarily stunned.
If the brew he'd glimpsed monts ago had rely been acceptable, this… this was bordering on outstanding. A truly terrifying improvent.
"Barely adequate," Snape forced out, setting the phial down sharply. His voice was strained. "One point… each."
With a swirl of his black robes, he swept away.
"Did I hear that right?" Michael whispered, his eyes wide. The surrounding students exchanged looks of disbelief.
"That's fantastic, Sean!" Justin bead, clearly thrilled. "We earned back the points we lost!" He had clearly been stewing over the previous deduction.
Sean simply nodded, his gaze fixed on his Panel.
[Boil-Cure Potion: Locked (15/30)]
Halfway there, he thought. If I can maintain the Adept standard, just two more successful brews will unlock the Potions title.
Professor Snape awarding points to Ravenclaw might have been a minor event in itself, but in Michael's retelling, it transford into Snape gifting Sean two hundred Galleons and personally cooking him dinner. The rumour mill churned wildly, the tale growing more outlandish until their afternoon History of Magic class.
The usually soporific lesson devolved into a buzzing hub of gossip. Though Sean wasn't the only topic, the snippets he overheard were increasingly bizarre.
"—fought off a Mountain Troll single-handedly and escaped without a scratch! Wrestled a werewolf into submission—"
Even Michael, the rumour's originator, looked baffled when he heard that one. Do these people even hear themselves? He leaned over to a nearby group. "One Mountain Troll?" he scoffed. "It was three!"
Justin, sitting next to Sean, was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.
Sean sighed and returned to organizing his History of Magic notes. He had the basic frawork down and had filled in the essential details, but it was still far from perfect.
The schedule had shifted slightly this week, and the Hufflepuffs were sharing History of Magic with the Ravenclaws. Justin found it impossible not to peek at Sean's notes. The level of detail was astounding. Sean had created a secondary index, cross-referencing events and figures by category and page number. Justin was currently engrossed in the section labelled 'Eccentrics,' which included Uric the Oddball, Wendelin the Weird, and several others. He found himself completely absorbed, the subject suddenly fascinating rather than tedious. He could even follow Sean's other notes comparing the contributions of different Magizoologists like Elfrida Clagg and Newt Scamander, tracing their impact on Ministry regulations.
He read through the entire section on the history of magical creature legislation without even realizing it, the efficient structure making learning effortless.
Suddenly, he pulled back, his breath catching. "Sean," he whispered urgently, "I think you could actually publish this! I've never seen History of Magic presented so clearly!"
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