Chapter 15 — Brewing Foundations
The stack of parchment Snape had sent him sat neatly on the old desk in Ron's room at the Burrow. Faded ink, clipped corners, and tightly packed handwriting filled page after page — detailed accounts of classroom incidents, potion failures, and accidents spanning more than a decade of Hogwarts teaching. For two whole months Ron had pored over them, his quill constantly scratching as he took notes, copied details, and marked curious connections. He avoided using the System this time. Not after the unsettling incident earlier in the summer, when its interference had left him shaken.
"This time, it's me. No shortcuts," he whispered to himself, adjusting the candlelight as he flipped another page. He wanted his own thoughts, his own observations, unswayed by the mysterious panel that seemed to push him forward in ways he didn't yet understand.
The notes revealed more than he expected: common mistakes by nervous first-years, mismeasured ingredients, wand movements too sharp or too hesitant, cauldrons warped by excessive heat, fumes that poisoned the air for lack of proper ventilation. Yet between the failures and the warnings, Ron saw patterns forming. Certain ingredients reacted violently only when paired with others in exact sequences. Some incidents weren't errors at all, but accidents born of poorly designed classroom setups.
By the end of the second month, his candle stubs had dwindled and his fingers bore ink stains, but he had read them all. Charlie, Percy, and the twins had already left for Hogwarts weeks earlier, leaving the Burrow strangely quiet.
Well — not entirely quiet.
"Ron! Play with me!" Ginny burst into his room without knocking for the third time that day, clutching her battered toy broom. "You've been reading for hours. Come outside!"
Ron groaned, setting his quill down. "Ginny, I can't right now. This is important."
"You always say that," she huffed, pouting as she leaned against his bed. "Books, parchments, quills — boring boring boring! You'll go blind before you're even eleven."
He fought the urge to snap at her. Ginny wasn't wrong — his eyes ached, and the candlelight wasn't helping. But he also knew that every interruption set him back, and time was already slipping away. "I'll play later," he muttered. "Promise."
"Later always means never," Ginny declared, storming out in a rustle of red hair and indignation.
Ron sighed. He loved his sister dearly, but she was restless without the older brothers to boss her around or play with her. Sometimes he caught her peeking curiously at his parchments, but she'd lose interest the moment she saw the dense writing.
Alone again, he tapped the end of his quill against his lips. The Burrow's owl Errol hooted sleepily from the windowsill. Old, clumsy, barely able to carry a letter without crashing into the hedge — Errol had been with the family since before Ron could remember. He stared at the bird and thought, not for the first time, how useful it would be to have an owl of his own. One that wasn't half-dead, that could actually deliver letters quickly and reliably.
"Someday," he whispered, "I'll buy one with my own money. A proper owl. Then I won't have to wait or worry."
But for now, he had only Errol.
And doubt still gnawed at him. He was nine years old. Could he truly bridge gaps in potion craft when even grown wizards made catastrophic errors?
"Not yet… I need more," he admitted one evening, pulling fresh parchment toward him. He penned a careful letter to Snape, his script sharper now from months of practice:
Professor Snape, I have read through every note you entrusted me. I see patterns, but I still lack the foundations. Could you recommend the best books for beginners, especially ones that give both theory and practice?
Errol, after several failed flaps, took the letter and spiraled clumsily into the night. Ron watched him vanish and leaned back with a sigh. "If he replies at all, it'll be curt." He knew Snape's reputation. But the man had given him those records, which meant he had seen some potential.
The reply came quicker than expected. By the following afternoon, Errol crash-landed on Ron's desk, nearly tipping over the inkpot. The letter was brief but to the point, written in Snape's razor-sharp handwriting:
Weasley,
If you wish to avoid the mistakes of your predecessors, study systematically. These texts will suffice for a start. Do not waste my time with idle curiosities.
—S. Snape
Beneath the note, Snape had listed them:
• Advanced Potion-Making, Libatius Borage (1952, 1970 reprint) — the cornerstone of instruction, precise recipes, with notes for first- through third-years.
• The Complete Guide to Magical Ingredients, Zygmunt Budge (1980 edition) — encyclopedic, detailing magical flora, fauna, and compatibility rules.
• Experimental Brews and Ethical Concerns, Damocles Belby (1988, Ministry-approved excerpts) — Wolfsbane trials and research notes; critical for understanding risk and responsibility.
• Hogwarts Potion Safety Manual, Prof. Severus Snape (1976 revised 1984 edition) — classroom-tested protocols, brewingclassroom-tested protocols, brewing hazards, antidote procedures.
• Herbal Magic and Magical Flora, Prof. Pomona Sprout (1969–1989 editions) — practical cultivation, harvesting, and preparation of plants.
Ron's eyes widened as he read through the list. Not only were these actual textbooks in use, but some were advanced references he hadn't even expected Snape to share with a child. He ran his fingers along the parchment, a quiet thrill racing through him.
"Books," he whispered. "If I get these, I'll have more than just fragments of notes. I'll have the building blocks."
He imagined himself stepping into Hogwarts with a foundation even some third-years lacked. If he could combine careful study with the business sense he'd been mulling over from the Muggle world, he might create something powerful. A new line of safer brews, more efficient brewing kits, or even entirely new potions.
But to do that, he first had to master the basics — thoroughly, patiently, and without shortcuts.
Ron folded Snape's letter carefully and tucked it into his notebook. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself a small smile.
Somewhere in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Snape had likely dismissed the matter already, sneering at the thought of a Weasley trying to master his craft. But perhaps — just perhaps — Ron would prove him wrong.