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Hey everyone, LuxRadium here. It's been a while. I'm sorry for taking another week off without notice. My laptop broke down two weeks ago, and I only just got it back from repairs yesterday.
As an apology, I'll be releasing 10 chapters in total: 5 today and 5 more tomorrow.
As always, thank you for your support, and happy reading!
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Ravenclaw, for all its reputation, was not without its flaws.
Snape sighed inwardly.
He had mentally prepared several responses for the moment Vizet might ask about the Sorcerer's Stone. But throughout their walk to the office, Vizet merely followed, silent and composed, never once posing a question.
This, Snape thought, was undoubtedly the best possible outcome. He wouldn't have to waste time untangling Dumbledore's typically cryptic decisions or constructing half-truths to satisfy a curious student.
A rare flicker of contentment crossed his mind. Yes — he had made the right decision in choosing to teach Vizet. Far preferable to serving as a glorified nanny for Harry Potter.
Kill Harry Potter? The very idea was laughable.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," he said aloud, as if that thought had triggered the response.
"Uh..." Vizet glanced up at him. His face was blank — entirely unreadable.
Another one of those deductions for no apparent reason. But he seemed used to it now. Not only used to it — he could suppress his laughter and maintain a perfect poker face, mirroring Snape's own.
They entered the office. In the corner, beside a neat stack of notes, sat a gleaming new potion kit — unused and pristine.
Vizet's eyes narrowed slightly. He recognized the emblem stamped into the side.
Ah, yes. The Christmas gift he had given himself.
Luna had been right. No true potioneer would resist a brand-new set of professional-grade equipment. Even Snape had accepted it, silently, by placing it so prominently on his work table.
Next to the kit sat a cage. Inside, a toad blinked up at them quietly, its demeanor oddly... observant. Not anxious, not frightened — merely watching, as if it understood far more than it should.
Vizet frowned. He felt a strange familiarity in the toad — not recognition, exactly, but something deeper. A resonance he couldn't explain.
If Luna had been here, she might've known the feeling at once. Some things, like that silent current between them, didn't need words.
Snape, meanwhile, moved efficiently. He strode to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat with his arms crossed. With a flick of his wand, a cloud of potion ingredients levitated into place.
Vizet recognized them immediately — components for the soul soothing draught.
Snape gave a single nod. "Begin. I'll observe."
Without a word, Vizet rolled up his sleeves, lit the cauldron, and set to work.
Moonstone, ground into a silvery dust... Moon nectar mixed precisely with wormwood infusion... dewwater measured to the drop, stirred clockwise with an even wand flick...
Every movement was smooth, rehearsed, and calm.
During the holidays, Vizet had brewed this potion so many times that the steps had become second nature. There was no hesitation now — only confidence and clarity.
Snape could see it all. Vizet's technique, timing, and command of the process were impeccable.
The boy had learned through sheer repetition, yes — but Snape couldn't ignore the raw precision for someone so young.
First year. Eleven years old.
Snape exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to his brow.
And now, they waited for the potion to reveal its final form.
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"Professor Snape, it's done."
Vizet spoke calmly, handing over a vial of soul soothing draught that shimmered with soft silver mist.
Snape studied the potion with a frown. "Still the same…" he murmured. Then, narrowing his eyes slightly, he asked, "Have you tested it yourself?"
"I have," Vizet replied with a nod. "It doesn't match your version's potency, but it does relax me. I always feel drowsy after taking it."
"In other words…" Snape arched a brow, "you tested it on yourself from the start? Why not use an owl? I remember you have an owl?"
Vizet coughed lightly. "I didn't want to use Sol. He's usually worn out from delivering letters — and he's my friend."
Snape gave no response to that. In truth, Vizet hadn't mentioned the other reason: he had already analyzed the potion with the Eye of Insight and confirmed its safety. Only then had he decided to test it himself.
Without comment, Snape moved to the cabinet at one corner of the room. Inside, a toad still struggled sluggishly, pressing its slick body against the bars of a cage.
Toads had always been a potion master's old ally. Their skin absorbed liquid well, making them ideal for preliminary testing.
"Observe closely," Snape said, tapping the toad gently with his wand. The creature immediately stilled, as if paralyzed. "Administering the draught to its back. If the potion is effective…"
As he spoke, he demonstrated, uncorking the vial and pouring a few drops onto the toad's back.
"…the toad should absorb it through the skin, gradually relax, and fall asleep. The better the potion, the quicker the effect."
Vizet watched intently.
But something went wrong.
The toad didn't calm — it quivered. It twitched violently, and then began hopping erratically across the table. One moment it would leap skyward, limbs splayed wildly, the next it would convulse mid-air and land with a thud, only to immediately roll back and forth as if chasing its own tail.
Vizet stared, brows knitting. "This… this isn't normal, is it?"
"'Excited' isn't quite the word," Snape muttered.
Before the toad could collide with the new potion equipment, Snape flicked his wand, erecting a translucent barrier in front of it. The toad bounced off harmlessly and continued its frenzied antics for nearly ten minutes.
Then, finally, with a strained, almost dramatic croak, it collapsed on its back — utterly exhausted.
Vizet swallowed hard. "Professor Snape… why did that happen?"
"Perhaps the lingering effect of the Obscurus," Snape said, his voice unreadable. He dropped the limp toad back into the cage with a dull thunk, and kept the cage back into the tall cabinet. "Try another potion."
Another flick of his wand summoned a different set of ingredients to the table.
Scurvy grass. Lovage. Sneezeweed. Castor oil. Frog brain.
Vizet immediately recognized them. This was for a Befuddlement Draught.
He hadn't brewed one before. It wasn't introduced until third year, according to the standard curriculum.
Snape looked over his steepled fingers. "You know what it does?"
"A mind-altering draught," Vizet answered. "It clouds judgment, induces recklessness. A stronger batch can push someone into full-blown delirium — difficult to reverse."
"Correct," Snape said. "You'll brew it under my instruction. Begin."
Vizet gave a short nod and turned back to the cauldron.
"Start with dew," Snape dictated, "low flame. While it heats, crush the scurvy grass in a stone mortar."
"Pour castor oil into a beaker, same low flame. Once it bubbles, add the frog brain. Meanwhile, slice the sneezeweed into thin strips."
Snape's pace was deliberate but swift. With the aid of the Eye of Insight, Vizet managed to keep up — barely.
"When fish-eye blisters appear on the cauldron's interior, add the lovage. Boil for ten minutes," Snape continued. "Remove the frog brain. Mash it in raw castor oil until it forms a paste."
"Add the scurvy grass. Raise to medium heat. Simmer until the potion shifts to a chaotic hue — when a dim gray mist rises, remove from flame and cool."
As Vizet moved through each step, the bitter-sour scent of the potion began to fill the air, heavy with strange tension.