In the dungeon, a chilly wind whipped through, rattling the glass with a loud clank-clank. Sean exhaled, his breath forming a white puff in the cold air.
He picked up his notebook, surprised to find Professor Snape's impatient annotations scrawled across it. Comments like "idiotic handling," "brainless choices," and "only Merlin's grace let you succeed at this point" filled the pages. But beneath the harsh words lay the deep insights of a Potions Master.
Ever since Libatius Borage's notes had appeared, Sean had come to a sad realization: Advanced Potion-Making didn't cover the three potions he'd mastered. It was like Borage had handed him a key to a golden treasure chest, but all Sean held was a beat-up wooden box. They didn't match.
So, Snape's notes were a timely gift.
With improved rituals and guidance, plus Snape's detailed annotations, Sean successfully brewed an [Expert]-level Swelling Solution.
[You've brewed a pot of Shrinking Solution at an expert level, +50 proficiency]
[A new Potions title has been unlocked. Please check.]
Sean felt a spark of excitement, but a gust of wind made him shiver, causing the Swelling Solution to spill onto the dried nettles on his desk. Luckily, the Shrinking Solution Snape had him learn early came in handy. Sean poured it over the mess, and the swollen nettles shrank back to normal.
"Hmph," Snape snorted, watching Sean handle it without panic.
After cleaning up, Sean quietly opened his interface:
[Title: Potions Novice]
[Greatly increases potion perception, slightly boosts potion talent]
Impressive boost, Sean thought, scrolling down with anticipation.
[Wizard Sean, Potions Talent: Green ( boosted by Potions Novice title, original talent: White). Note: Average wizard talent is Green.]
Next up, I'll need to level up that talent… Sean mused.
Over the past two months, aside from reaching the beginner threshold in Herbology, Sean had made solid progress in various fields. Compared to his earlier stats—one purple, three white—his talents had transformed dramatically.
After a quick glance at the interface, Sean grabbed his notebook, jotting down ideas still fresh in his mind. The guidance method wasn't complete; it only applied to the Swelling Solution and Shrinking Solution for now, and even the Shrinking Solution had room for improvement.
Compared to Borage's methods, the guidance technique added a step: crafting a ritual scene. Like the initial improved ritual, it wove countless subtle cues and preparations throughout the brewing process, culminating in a final transformation.
The deeper Sean dove into his research, the more details he needed. He realized refining potion rituals was a long, intricate journey. No wonder Libatius Borage had only perfected a few potions in his lifetime.
Sean knew his time was limited, so he had to choose his potions carefully. Some—like the Swelling Solution—he wouldn't bother refining further.
In the dungeon's corner, Snape's anger had calmed after reminding Sean to check his notes. He noticed the faint chill in the air and the slight tremble Sean thought he'd hidden well.
Snape fell silent, his cold gaze fixed on Sean as he tidied the desk and prepared to leave the dungeon.
"Stop, Sean Green," Snape's voice rasped, like it was forced from his throat.
Sean paused.
A piece of parchment, clutched tightly in Snape's hand, was slapped—then gently placed—on the desk. Snape seemed to catch himself mid-motion, roaring, "If you keep chasing those ridiculous theories and develop wrong ideas about the noble art of potion-making, I swear, Sean Green, I'll have you pack your things and leave this dungeon!"
At least he's letting me take my stuff, Sean thought wryly.
He quietly picked up the parchment, eyes widening at the dense notes on the back. As he studied them, Snape's sharp gaze caught the thin, ill-fitting collar of Sean's worn shirt.
Snape froze.
In the mocking voices, in the young wizard's faint trembling, in that threadbare, pilling shirt—memories rippled like a disturbed lake, reflecting a dark-haired boy from decades ago.
He saw himself, walking under cobwebbed eaves in his mother's hand-me-down maternity clothes, the fabric soaked with the sour decay of a fallen pureblood family. "Snivellus," they called him. His greasy hair wasn't neglect—it was the silent mark of a filthy sink and cracked tile walls.
His Hogwarts robes had been the first truly clean clothes he'd ever worn. When the silver-stitched house crest rested over his heart, a strange thrill had crept up his spine.
"Get out," Snape's voice came out hoarse.
Sean didn't notice, just gave a slight bow, clutching the parchment, and left the dungeon with a light step.
Snape stood alone, watching in silence.
---
In the corridor, Sir Cadogan appeared at the end of the hall, alone this time, clad in tattered armor—likely fresh from another duel. He was struggling to pull his sword from the ground.
How he'd gotten it stuck so deep was anyone's guess, but no matter how hard he tugged, it wouldn't budge. Finally, he flopped onto the grass, pushed up his visor, and wiped his sweaty face.
"A stout heart is needed! The toughest challenges are still ahead!" Sir Cadogan bellowed.
Sean watched the knight's sweaty struggle and quietly placed a painting of a stool and campfire beside him.
Sir Cadogan's eyes lit up. "Another grand quest, dear Green! We must find our target and meet a heroic end in the charge!"
He could barely climb onto his horse or draw his sword, but his roars were always full of vigor.
Sean nodded quietly, knowing the knight was capable of such feats.
"Well, not always…" Sir Cadogan added as Sean turned to leave. "Listen, young Green—singing through hardship and twists is no small feat. But silence in those same trials carries just as much weight. You'll learn not all lives roar. Some courage… it's quiet."
The wind howled around the castle, but the corridor and dungeon shared one thing: two pairs of calm, steady eyes.