Brewing potions always takes time—some, like Felix Felicis, reportedly need six months to complete.
With this in mind, Sean planned his move for after the first Transfiguration class of the afternoon. He prepared five sets of ingredients and brought along his crystal phial, a costly container tucked inside a small box.
At seven Galleons, it hadn't been cheap, but the shopkeeper at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary had thoughtfully included a little box for each phial. The old wizard with the long beard claimed these crystal phials preserved potions twice as effectively as regular glass bottles.
Sean wasn't convinced. According to his books, as long as potions were stored properly, they wouldn't spoil even if left out in the open. Ancient wizards used to store potions in kettles, and apothecaries back then loved a game where they'd pour different liquids from the same kettle, much to the amazement of Muggle nobles.
In reality, those potions had simply gone bad under certain conditions, like exposure to light. As for whether spoiled potions caused problems? Well, you'd know by morning if a wanted poster appeared at the castle gates.
In the afternoon, a pure white owl swooped over Sean's head, its soft hoots echoing as it passed.
Stepping outside, the warm sunlight bathed everything in a golden glow, as if determined to soak every young witch and wizard to the core. Sean had never seen such a radiant summer—Hogwarts and the surrounding fields shimmered like a gilded oil painting, the castle a golden jewel on the island.
If only Snape's classroom wasn't in the dungeons, Sean's mood might've been even brighter. This afternoon, he felt like a treasure-hunting adventurer, sneaking past Professor Snape's watchful eye to brew his potion prize.
With a head full of plans, Sean crossed a lush stone path and pushed open the greenhouse's oak door.
He'd promised to help Professor Sprout collect Puffapods and transplant Bouncing Bulbs to Greenhouse One. The air inside was thick with the rich scent of fertile soil, and tiny water droplets clung to the glass ceiling, trickling down in delicate streams.
Sprout wasn't alone today. A group of young witches and wizards surrounded her—round-faced Neville, Ernie carefully watering plants, and a short, chubby boy Sean didn't recognize.
Professor Sprout stood by a wooden crate filled with fresh manure, her grayish-brown hair tied into a neat bun. Her patched hat sat firmly on her head, and her bright eyes scanned her students keenly.
Soon, she clapped her dirt-covered gloves and approached Sean. "Oh, every year at this time, the greenhouse welcomes new sprouts. It's always exciting…"
She opened the door to Greenhouse One. "Come along, Mr. Green. Let's fetch those Bouncing Bulbs. The little rascals are probably itching to move."
Her hat usually bobbed in rhythm with her words, but today it stayed still. Sean's eyes lingered on the black patches of her hat, suddenly reminded of Professor Snape's dark, brooding gaze.
Brewing potions in secret shouldn't break any school rules, right? Sean wondered.
He snapped back to reality, meeting Sprout's warm, steady eyes.
"My dear Mr. Green, it's rare to see you so distracted," she said, though her tone held no trace of doubt. "Perfect timing. Come along, something interesting is waiting for you."
Sprout led him toward another domed building with a warm smile, ignoring his puzzled look. They stopped before a structure marked with a wooden sign: Greenhouse Three.
Sean had never been inside. According to Michael, the plants in Greenhouse Three were far more interesting—and dangerous.
Sprout pulled a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. A wave of damp, fertilizer-laden air hit them, accompanied by the sight of a spiky green plant extending its tendrils. Nearby, small green fruits resembling beans bounced around in a fenced area—Bouncing Bulbs, Sean recognized. But why were they surrounded by Venomous Tentacula?
And how were these territorial magical plants not attacking the bulbs?
As Sean observed, Sprout's cheerful, booming voice cut through the greenhouse's rustling sounds. "Oh, Mr. Green, let me tell you a story. Bouncing Bulb seeds need dark, damp conditions to grow—exactly where Venomous Tentacula thrive. About a third of the bulbs in the greenhouse grow alongside these plants. The Tentacula don't tolerate other plants invading their territory, but look—the Bouncing Bulbs are thriving."
Piquing Sean's curiosity, the plump professor continued in a deep, storytelling tone. "If you look closely, you'll see Fanged Geraniums standing nearby. It's the mutual threat between the two that gives the Bouncing Bulbs the conditions to sprout, grow, and bounce away. Nature is always miraculous—life finds a way."
She bent down gently, her eyes shining with sincerity and warmth. "The bulbs that stay far from here are safe, but if they cowered in dry, hot corners out of fear of the Tentacula, their fruits would wither. That, my dear, isn't what life's about."
Sean was struck by the story of the Bouncing Bulbs. He looked at Sprout, and the professor gave him a slow, encouraging nod. "You'll succeed, little one. Don't be afraid."
…She knows what I'm planning.
As Sean left the greenhouse, his heart felt calm and steady, his clothes carrying the faint scent of soil. He didn't know how Sprout had figured it out, but her silent approval and encouragement reassured him that his plan wasn't against the rules—or at least, it wouldn't lead to serious consequences.
So, after the afternoon's Transfiguration class, with Justin giving him a knowing "hero" look and Hermione watching him with confusion, Sean slipped away down the corridor.
The air grew chilly as he descended, the walls lined with eerie glass jars containing preserved animal specimens that sent shivers down his spine. Holding his breath, Sean prayed Snape wouldn't appear.
Truthfully, the professors were always busy—especially Snape, the Head of Slytherin. After a quick glance into the classroom to confirm it was empty, Sean let out a sigh of relief. He swiftly set out his ingredients on the table, lit the cauldron, and got to work. The faster he moved, the more attempts he could make.
Sean placed his notebook and quick-quotes quill nearby. Recording data was critical—analyzing results and improving was the mark of a true learner.
As wisps of white smoke rose from the cauldron, Sean's green eyes reflected the flickering candlelight.