Severus Snape was not in a good mood today.
That cowardly, timid boy he had to keep a close eye on had been acting increasingly elusive lately.
"Whatever you're up to, you'd better pray I don't catch you…" he muttered coldly, turning a corner on the staircase.
Then, a faint gurgling sound caught his attention. No one at Hogwarts knew that sound better than he did—the beautiful, bubbling hum of a potion simmering in a cauldron.
But he wasn't in the dungeons.
Which meant someone had broken into the potions classroom!
Snape stormed down the stone steps, his black robes billowing like a thundercloud carrying a storm.
"What are you doing?!"
His voice crackled with barely contained rage as he loomed over Sean.
"Utterly reckless! Completely ignorant!"
He took in the sight: a steaming cauldron, scattered ingredients, a crystal vial filled with liquid…
Was it not obvious what was happening?!
In all his years of teaching, Snape had never encountered a student so brazen!
Brewing a potion unsupervised?!
Did this boy think Potions was some foolproof subject like Astronomy or History of Magic?!
Potions was a precise science, a dangerous art! Without proper skill or supervision, a single mistake could cost a young wizard their life before they even had time to react, let alone save themselves.
Sean's smile froze, and he quickly swallowed the surge of emotions rising within him.
He knew he'd triggered the worst possible outcome—Snape had returned just as he finished brewing, catching him red-handed before he could clean up and slip away.
"Well, well…" Snape hissed, his voice like a venomous snake. "Let me guess, Mr. Green of Ravenclaw believes he possesses such extraordinary talent in Potions that he doesn't need guidance, convinced he can brew a perfect potion all on his own…"
Sean kept his head down, staying calm and silent. He knew Snape too well—explaining himself would be like signing his own death warrant. No exaggeration.
"Oh, let's see his masterpiece then," Snape sneered. "Let's see what glorious results he's achieved after his last utterly idiotic attempt, what makes him think he can challenge the authority of Potions like some brainless troll…"
He shot Sean a withering glare.
Sean glanced up briefly, then quickly lowered his eyes again.
"Hmph!"
Snape's mocking laugh carried a hint of relief. At least this boy hadn't caused an explosion like some Gryffindor dolt.
His focus shifted to the potion. He had to ensure it wasn't a ticking disaster.
As for Sean's results?
Did he think Potions was a branch of magic where progress came quickly? After his last disastrous attempt, avoiding catastrophe this time was already a stroke of luck from Merlin himself.
But then, Snape froze.
The potion was… passable. Far from excellent, but the improvement was astonishing.
"This is your handiwork?"
Snape's piercing gaze locked onto Sean, who nodded faintly.
"I'd wager your stirring arcs were too wide, your heat control utterly deplorable, and it's only your barely adequate ingredient preparation that's keeping you standing here talking to me. The worst part? You don't even realize it…"
Snape's sarcasm flew over Sean, who was mentally noting every critique, even the insults.
Snape's face darkened further, and he roared, "Get out of the dungeon! Now! Immediately!"
Without hesitation, Sean gathered his crystal vial, books, and ingredients, leaving the dungeon quietly.
No arguments, no fear, no anger—just a calm, "I'm sorry, Professor Snape."
Snape's stern expression faltered for a moment, watching the light in Sean's vivid green eyes dim as he disappeared down the corridor.
As the surroundings grew brighter and warmth enveloped Sean, his mood didn't improve. If anything, it plummeted.
He had successfully brewed a potion. With practice, he could master the techniques, strengthen his talent in Potions, and even his proficiency panel seemed to be on his side:
[Boil-Cure Potion: Not Unlocked (1/30)]
[Brew one apprentice-level potion to unlock the Apprentice Potions Title]
The Boil-Cure Potion required 30 proficiency points, but just one apprentice-level brew would unlock a new title in Potions.
Everything was going so well… until he messed it up at the worst possible moment.
No one could predict Snape's movements. All Sean knew was that Snape taught Potions on Mondays and Fridays.
He had no way to prepare for this.
Silently, he reflected. Without practice, he couldn't improve, so practice was non-negotiable. He'd stick to the proper methods until his talent grew, ensuring no catastrophic mistakes.
His practice was safe and effective, but reasoning with Snape? That was a lost cause.
On his way to the Great Hall, Sean suddenly realized something. Snape hadn't forbidden him from returning to the dungeon, nor had he taken points from Ravenclaw.
Why?
Sean wasn't sure if he was overthinking it, but a faint glimmer of opportunity seemed to flicker in his mind.
Back in the dungeon, Snape let out a cold huff. With a wave of his wand, the cauldron floated before him. The inky green liquid sat calmly, as serene as the young wizard who had just left.
Those strikingly bright green eyes had silenced his sharper barbs.
Snape examined the Boil-Cure Potion closely. From its final state alone, he could deduce the effort the boy had put in.
In just three days, Sean had not only prepared ingredients above a passing standard but had also fine-tuned his stirring technique. Most crucially, he had achieved absolute focus.
Without that, with his troll-like heat control and shoddy ingredient timing, there was no way he could have produced a passable potion.
All this progress in three days.
Snape could almost picture the sleepless nights, the relentless study of Herbology.
"Hmph. Such a pity," he muttered. "The beauty of Potions doesn't welcome wizards without sufficient talent…"
…
In the Great Hall, Sean pulled out his notebook, meticulously recalling every step and detail of his brewing, committing them to memory.
Give up practicing Potions because of Snape's mockery?
The odds of that were about as likely as Snape awarding Gryffindor a hundred points.
Snape couldn't be around all the time, could he?
Sean thought to himself, The cauldron doesn't care who's using it.