Sean's potion-brewing plan was going smoother than he'd imagined, thanks to an unexpected accident during Friday morning's Potions class. Neville had botched his potion, drenching himself in it and sprouting red, swollen boils all over his arms and legs. As a result, Professor Snape had to escort him to the hospital wing.
According to Justin's breathless report, Snape would be tied up there for a while, giving Sean at least three hours to brew potions undisturbed.
The dungeon was as chilly as ever, but Sean's enthusiasm burned bright. He swiftly pulled out his ingredients, books, and lit the cauldron. Justin was still at the hospital wing, keeping an eye on Snape's whereabouts. Sean had to make the most of this time to rack up as much proficiency as possible.
If I can reach beginner level in potion-making and show my progress in the next class, Sean thought, maybe Snape will treat me like an upper-year student and let me use the dungeon to practice.
After all, he was a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. As long as he followed the rules and stayed reasonable, Snape shouldn't have a reason to pick on him.
Unless, of course, your last name was Potter.
"Ignite the cauldron, prepare the ingredients…"
Sean was already well-versed in these steps. The only things that needed extra care were the heat control and stirring.
Just last night, he'd scoured Advanced Potion-Making and stumbled upon a profound passage by the master potioneer Libatius Borage:
[Different potions require different preparation methods. In truth, from ancient times to the present, a physical phenomenon without metaphysical insight, or metaphysics without physical expression, is equally unsatisfying.]
Tucked behind this cryptic text, on a page that looked like a scribbled note, was a revolutionary passage in the art of potion-making:
[Every master potioneer must understand that heat control is critical to brewing potions. If everyone could simply use an Incendio charm, anyone could brew a perfect potion. But as I wrote in A Cauldron Carnival of Your Own, without the peculiar intuition provided by charms, a cauldron is as useless as scrap metal…]
Sean flipped the page, and there it was—the key insight:
[Though this section was once mocked as something only "foolish wizards" would need, and it's not recognized by traditionalists, I say, to hell with them! If you're reading this, I'll let you in on a secret: an auto-igniting cauldron can achieve perfect heat control just as well.]
Sean's excitement was on par with Harry discovering the Half-Blood Prince's notes, Hermione finding a Time-Turner, or Tom Riddle uncovering Secrets of the Darkest Art.
"I'm not missing anything now!"
Sean focused intensely on preparing slugs and other ingredients. His stirring was no longer haphazard—he'd adjusted it based on Snape's critiques. His heat control didn't rely on vague standards anymore but followed Libatius Borage's guidance.
The dungeon's dim light barely illuminated the young wizard, but it was enough to cast a soft glow on his silhouette. Wisps of white steam rose from the cauldron, delicate and silky.
Amid the gentle gurgling of the potion and Sean's steady breathing, the liquid in the cauldron turned a pale teal. Sean knew the critical moment had arrived. Using the exact same technique as before, he added the slugs and began the final stirs.
In the cold dungeon, stone shelves were lined with glass jars containing twisted roots, animal eyes, and shimmering, iridescent scales. A single icy droplet seeped from the mossy ceiling, landing precisely on the back of Sean's neck.
He didn't flinch. His mind and body were fully immersed, flowing with the incantations he whispered and the magic he channeled into the misty steam.
[You have successfully brewed a Boil-Cure Potion to beginner standards. Proficiency +3]
The panel's notification snapped Sean out of his trance. His eyes gleamed as he stared at the inky green, jelly-like liquid.
He'd done it—the hardest part was over.
Now, it was just a matter of maintaining this level, solidifying his potion-making skills, and transforming his pathetic "white" talent into something better.
Sean's heart burned with determination, but he packed up at lightning speed.
In an instant, all his ingredients were back in his bag. He carefully bottled the Boil-Cure Potion in a crystal vial, then flicked his wand:
"Scourgify!"
The cauldron gleamed as if untouched. Sean tucked Advanced Potion-Making and Magical Drafts and Potions into his bag, now understanding the difference between the eight-Galleon Advanced Potion-Making and the two-Galleon Magical Drafts and Potions.
He double-checked the dungeon to ensure no trace of his work remained.
As the air warmed slightly, Justin's anxious face appeared in the sunlight. Seeing Sean, he let out a visible sigh of relief.
"Thank Merlin, Sean! Everything go okay?" he asked, catching his breath.
"Yeah," Sean nodded.
At that moment, a man with sallow hair and a hooked nose strode around the corridor's corner. Every young wizard in his path quietly stepped aside.
Sean and Justin watched as Professor Snape swept into the dungeon. They exchanged a glance, feeling like thieves caught in the act.
"My mum always said the bond from doing something naughty together is stronger than doing something good together," Justin said with a grin. Then, after a moment's thought, he added, "Not that this was naughty, but, you know, same difference."
Sean gave him a puzzled look.
What kind of lessons does Mrs. Finch-Fletchley teach?
…
In the wizarding world, words like "science" were rarely respected, even in a subject like Potions, which demanded deep scientific knowledge and precise craftsmanship. Metaphysical debates were often dismissed as well.
These weren't Sean's words—they came from Libatius Borage, the master potioneer behind Advanced Potion-Making, Antidotes of Asia, and A Cauldron Carnival of Your Own!.
His insights on heat control had been a game-changer for Sean. So, with lunch still hours away, Sean decided to head to the library to dive into Borage's other works.
If he could find more of those "unorthodox" notes tucked into Advanced Potion-Making, even better.
Hogwarts' library on a Friday buzzed with a strange mix of urgency and pre-weekend laziness. Perhaps the young wizards had finally realized that avoiding the library meant unfinished homework.
The oak tables were nearly full, the scratch of quills on parchment filling the air. Fifth- and seventh-years, visibly stressed, sat behind towering stacks of books. First-years weren't far behind, with some grumbling, "A one-foot History of Magic essay?!" before being swiftly "invited" out by Madam Pince.
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