Severus Snape was not in a particularly good mood today.
That timid, craven fellow he had to keep a close eye on had been even more erratic of late.
"Whatever you're trying to do, you'd better pray I don't catch you…" he murmured coldly, turning the stair.
Then a faint glug-glug sound caught his ear. No one at Hogwarts knew that sound better than he did—the lovely churn of a potion rolling in a cauldron.
But he wasn't in the dungeon, which meant—
The dungeon had been breached.
He swept down the stone steps in long strides, a thundercloud bringing storm and roar with him.
"What are you doing!"
He slashed into view before Sean, fury barely contained in his voice.
"Reckless! Utterly ignorant!"
A steaming cauldron venting white vapor, ingredients strewn about, liquid in crystal vials… Did he really not understand what was happening?!
Since he'd begun teaching, he had never seen a first-year this brazen.
Brewing potions in secret?!
Did the boy think this was Astronomy—or that idiot subject, History of Magic?!
Potions is a precise science and a dangerous craft. With poor skill and no supervision, one tiny error can cost a young wizard his life—no time to react, let alone save himself.
Sean's smile froze. He swallowed the surge of feeling in one gulp.
He understood: he'd triggered the bad end—Professor Snape had returned, catching him just after he finished brewing, before he could tidy up and leave.
"Heh… let me guess. Mr. Green of Ravenclaw fancies himself exceptionally gifted at Potions—so gifted he needs no guidance, and believes he can brew a flawless potion all on his own…"
Snape's words came like a snake's tongue, cold and constricting.
Head down, Sean didn't panic or explain. He knew Snape—explaining was suicide. No exaggeration.
"Ah—then let us admire his achievement. Let us see what glorious result he's produced after that last, spectacularly foolish attempt—what emboldened him, like a brainless troll, to challenge the authority of potions alone…"
He shot Sean a murderous glare. Sean lifted his head and just as quickly lowered it.
"Hnh!"
Snape sneered—yet felt a sliver of relief: at least this one, unlike those brainless Gryffindor trolls, hadn't blown up the cauldron.
He focused on the brew; first he had to make sure it wouldn't explode. As for the result? Did the boy think Potions was a branch where progress came quickly? After that last debacle, the fact nothing had gone wrong this time was already Merlin's grace.
And then he looked—and blinked.
A passable potion. Not remotely excellent, but an astounding leap all the same.
"This is your masterpiece?" Snape asked, eyes cruelly fixed on Sean.
Sean nodded.
"I presume your stirring arc was far too wide and your heat control absurdly poor. It's only the barely adequate ingredient prep that allows you to stand here speaking to me at all. The frightening part is that you've no inkling of any of this…"
Snape watched Sean skim over the mockery and swiftly jot down the technique buried in his words—so quickly the sneer itself lagged behind. His face darkened further and he barked:
"Get out of the dungeon. Now. Immediately!"
Sean didn't hesitate. He scooped up the crystal vials, books, and ingredients and slipped out—no argument, no fear, no anger, no anything. Only a steady:
"Sorry, Professor Snape."
The black-haired wizard paused a fraction. He watched the light in those green eyes dim as the boy vanished at the end of the corridor.
As the passage brightened and warmth wrapped around him again, Sean's mood did not improve. If anything, it curdled.
He had managed a successful brew; all he needed now was repetition to harden his technique and nudge up his "talent." Even the panel seemed to smile on him:
[Cure for Boils: Locked (1/30)]
[One apprentice-level brew unlocks the Potions domain's Apprentice title]
Thirty points to unlock, and a single apprentice-grade brew to gain a Potions title—everything was turning the right way.
And right at the key moment, it all went sideways.
No one can predict Snape's movements; the only knowns are Monday and Friday when he teaches. Sean had no way to plan around him.
He walked in silence, thinking. If he couldn't practice, he couldn't improve—so practice was essential. He would practice correctly until his "talent" rose. He was sure he wouldn't make outrageous errors that caused danger. His practice was safe and effective; any "conversation" with Snape would be the ineffective part.
On the way to the Hall, something struck him: Snape hadn't told him not to come again next time. He hadn't even docked house points.
Why?
Maybe he was overthinking it. But faintly, it felt like a sliver of opportunity.
Back in the dungeon, Snape snorted. A flick of his wand and the cauldron floated to his eyes. The ink-green gel lay quiet—quiet as the boy who'd just left. Because of those too-bright green eyes, he added no further barbs.
He examined the brew. From the finished state alone he could deduce the work that went into it. In three days the boy had not only pushed ingredient prep above the pass line, he'd also sharpened his stirring force—and even reached the most crucial step:
absolute focus.
Without that, given his troll-like heat control and timing of additions, he could never have produced a passable potion.
All this progress in three days.
Snape could practically see the sleepless thinking, the painstaking Herbology drills.
"Heh. A pity—the beauty of potions does not welcome those without enough talent…"
…
In the Great Hall, Sean took out his pocket notebook and carefully replayed every step and detail, fixing them in his mind.
Give up potions because Snape sneered? The odds of that are about as low as Snape awarding Gryffindor a hundred points.
Snape must be absent sometimes… Sean thought. A cauldron doesn't care who uses it.