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He scanned the room and paused slightly at Ian, a flicker of caution crossing his otherwise impassive face, before turning to his lectern.
"This potion is designed to kill or remove magical and mundane plant life. It is not ant to be ingested. In all my years, I've never t anyone idiotic enough to drink Herbicide… though I'm sure one of you will prove wrong."
His sarcasm, as usual, stung more than it helped, but it was oddly restrained, for second-years, anyway.
"If it's useless, why are we brewing it?" Ian asked, the only student brave enough to raise his hand.
He hadn't studied many potions related to magical horticulture, mostly because he didn't own a personal greenhouse. The only plants under his care were watered occasionally with leftover bathwater from a Twilight Realm wraith, and they thrived well enough.
"Where do you think all these 'whys' co from?!" Snape shot Ian a scowl for asking what he deed a pointless question, but still deigned to respond.
"The Hufflepuff House Head requires it in bulk. And judging by recent events, there's more than one thief helping themselves to our potion stores, and another who seems fond of nicking the cultivated flora in Professor Sprout's greenhouse. Frankly, if anyone were to accuse Hogwarts of being overrun with pilfering brats, I'd have little to argue."
That last bit carried a clear undertone and a pointed barb.
Ian didn't rise to it. He simply leaned over and whispered to Aurora.
"I paid him for those ingredients. You were there, you can vouch for ." He repeated it quietly, more for his own peace of mind than hers.
"I didn't steal the plants Professor Sprout was cultivating." Ian spoke sincerely, he truly hadn't. Though, he had a sneaking suspicion the little witch in Hufflepuff who'd been raising those mutated cabbages might have been copying his ideas.
However,
"I know," Aurora replied flatly.
'Ian stared at her, utterly stunned. So she was the copycat, and she'd gone straight to the source for materials? And surpassed him while at it?'
"I paid for them too," She added, her tone matter-of-fact. "Been paying double, actually. Professor Sprout never turned down."
"So... she agreed, then?"
Ian detected a familiar tone, a certain ambiguity often used to wriggle through technicalities.
"She didn't say no." Aurora calmly repeated her earlier line.
The unspoken ssage said it all.
"Hiss... you're about to graduate," Ian muttered, impressed. He shot her a thumbs-up. Aurora really was catching on quickly. She'd even picked up the subtle art of half-truths and loopholes.
While the two of them whispered behind their cauldron, Snape, who had long grown used to this sort of behavior, seed to have upgraded his perception to magical retinal filters, ignoring their murmuring completely. He'd already finished explaining the potion recipe and had moved on to safety precautions.
He recited them briskly.
Then he promptly tossed the textbook aside and waved them off to begin practical brewing.
"If you're sloppy with the ingredients," Snape snapped, "your potion will be just as sloppy. Concentration is key to a properly brewed draught."
"You've got forty minutes. Anyone who fails will be scrubbing the third-floor lavatories with a toothbrush tonight." He threw out the threat as though it were tradition, because it was.
A collective groan followed, and many students straightened up at once.
No one fancied cleaning enchanted toilets.
Especially not Lirim.
The boy sat bolt upright and chucked his storybook aside. Ian had been quietly observing him, after all, Lirim wasn't supposed to be in a second-year class. And yet, Snape hadn't so much as comnted on it, not even when the boy had been openly reading fiction during the lecture.
And now the classroom was a flurry of motion.
Ian and Aurora got to work as well.
They weren't the only ones who noticed that Snape paused briefly at Lirim's cauldron before walking on without rebuke, still no attempt to remove the odd blond intruder.
"This is truly bizarre," Ian muttered, his eyes narrowing. He was beginning to understand what it felt like to be on the receiving end of wild speculation, he himself had beco suspicious of Lirim's identity.
gū lūgū lū~
Their cauldrons bubbled steadily.
At first, the herbicide potion gave off a sweet, fruity aroma, pleasant, almost like overripe berries. But the deeper into the refining process they went, the more vile and pungent the sll beca.
It was the sort of stench that seed to climb down your throat and slap your lungs. Several students gagged, shielding their noses with sleeves. Aurora had long since cast a Bubble-Head Charm on herself, and Ian was regretting not doing the sa.
Lirim, anwhile, was the first to finish.
He raised his hand and Snape stalked over imdiately.
"Excellent potion quality," he said, with genuine surprise, praise so rare from the Potions Master that even the dust motes might've frozen in disbelief. He fetched a flowerpot overrun with thick weeds.
One drop of Lirim's brew.
The weeds yellowed instantly, then crumbled into ash.
No question, Lirim's herbicide potion was not only successful but superb. Even Snape couldn't hide his approval.
"I believe I've finally encountered a student with a brain," Snape muttered. High praise, indeed. He placed Lirim's cauldron on the front desk as the class example.
The others gasped. So gave Lirim an impressed thumbs-up. He simply smiled and accepted the admiration with grace.
"This guy actually has talent," Ian noted quietly.
He and Aurora were still mid-brew. Yet Ian's expression remained calm, far more relaxed than most of his classmates.
It wasn't just composure. He'd made a few subtle modifications. Nothing drastic.
Snape glided over like a grim spectre and stopped beside Ian's cauldron, frowning deeply.
"What are you doing?"
Ian blinked innocently. "Brewing the herbicide potion, sir."
"I don't sll the reek that should be coming from it," Snape said, his tone turning cold, his gaze boring into the softly steaming potion.
"I made a few small improvents," Ian said honestly. "The original sll was, well, let's say it lingered too long on robes."
"I distinctly recall warning you last term not to tinker with my recipes." Snape's eyes flashed with irritation.
"You think I don't know how vile that stench is?" he snapped. "You think I've never considered changing it? Let enlighten you, you arrogant little devil, the foul odor is intentional. Built-in as a safety asure. Prevents so dim-witted dunderhead from drinking it by mistake!"
Ian winced.
He had, in fact, guessed as much, but he also had his own magical thods for preventing accidental consumption. Of course, Snape wasn't about to listen to that explanation.
"If I hadn't stopped you, I suppose your next brilliant idea would be adding pineapple essence, hmm?"
The sarcasm dripped off him like boiling draught. He hadn't read Ian's thoughts, he simply knew him far too well.
Upon hearing this, Ian had no imdiate reaction.
Lirim, who had resud reading his book, suddenly looked up, casting Snape several exasperated glances before letting out a weary sigh and lowering his gaze once more.
"So that's how it is." He murmured under his breath, quiet enough that no one heard him.
"Complete failure! No one in their right mind would buy a herbicide potion like yours!" Snape barked, not targeting Ian specifically, rather, it was the boy's casual disregard for the hard-earned wisdom of potioneers past that irked him.
To this, Ian offered no defence.
Not far away, Lirim had already raised his hand.
"If we viewed it as a form of poison, it might actually fetch a decent market price, low production cost, potent lethality, and difficult for standard detection charms to identify."
The blond-haired boy made the unexpected suggestion coolly.
"You're a genius!"
Ian turned to stare at Lirim in astonishnt; he hadn't expected to encounter soone in this world whose train of thought ran so parallel to his own. Their intentions behind their respective approaches to potion refinent seed surprisingly aligned.
After all.
The herbicide potion did carry uncanny similarities to sothing as dangerous as cursed nightshade extract.
(To Be Continued…)
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