The dungeons always made a wizard tug their robes a little tighter.
Tila had already curled up in the padded lining of Sean's pocket and no longer poked her head out.
A Bowtruckle almost never follows a wizard out; the last person to manage it was an old Hufflepuff gentleman. So up to now, Sean still wasn't sure whether the living conditions he'd provided made Tila feel safe.
He decided that once he got back, he needed to make Tila a little house—keeping her in his robe forever wasn't exactly reasonable.
From the dimming stairwell, a draft rode in as Sean opened the door.
No firelight in the dungeon; the cauldrons that usually burbled had gone cold. It was as silent as Severus Snape standing along the wall—utterly soundless.
"Professor Snape."
Sean's arrival brought the faintest trace of life into the room. He set about organizing the ingredients with practiced hands.
Shrivelfig, daisy root, caterpillars, wormwood, leeches, rat spleens, essence of hemlock…
By the time Sean finished with the left-hand cupboard, he'd gathered everything for a Shrinking Solution.
The Shrinking Solution is a potion that reduces a creature in size or returns it to a juvenile state. In its usual form, it's a bright green, acidic liquid.
It can be used to deal with large monsters that resist charms, or to move livestock—shrinking an entire herd of pigs to fit in a wizard's pocket.
This potion would help Sean refine the Bowtruckle transformation ritual; after all, it's easier to transfigure a wizard who is only a dozen centimeters tall than one standing over a meter high.
Next, Sean took some ingredients for a Regrowth/Restorative Draught—this potion can revive dead plants.
Its function is to promote new cell growth.
By borrowing the procedures of these brews, Sean's keen intuition could glean other necessary steps for the Bowtruckle ritual.
Potions and Alchemy—joined by the same underlying thread.
The cauldron's firelight seemed the room's only glow. Snape hadn't lit candles; the window admitted only a smear of moonlight.
He was already irritable, and seeing Sean fumbling through his first Shrinking Solution only aggravated him.
"Clumsy!"
For a famed Potions Master of the wizarding world, how… could this be the sort of wizard he had to work with?
For a long time after that event, he hadn't been able to accept it.
Even though the boy's talent was gradually revealing itself—it was still too slow, far too slow.
So slow he feared he might never live to see the day.
"Put down your cauldron… Sean Green—look carefully!"
His wide black robes billowed as he crossed the space in two seconds to the neighboring cauldron. His movements held the polish and grace honed over years; Sean didn't blink, afraid to miss a single detail.
"Heh—next batch, you may use that not-entirely-terrible method of yours."
Snape watched Sean copy cat-fashion, step by step finishing a Shrinking Solution, and gave the smallest nod.
"If your brain is larger than an almond, you'll complete the refining ritual before you attempt the brew."
From boil to calm, Sean's technique reached the apprentice practice standard.
The next step was to align with the potion's nature—guiding a wizard's will to raise the potion's quality.
That was exactly what he'd been studying in the library of late.
So he succeeded quickly, bumping Shrinking Solution to Apprentice level.
After that, he took out his notebook and, following "Scurvy Grass Salve," "Swelling Solution," "Deflating Draught," "Draught of Peace," and "Antidote to Common Poisons," he added: "Shrinking Solution (unfinished)."
Ever since inheriting those secret slips from Master Boorage, Sean had been steadily adding ritual notes there.
It is, however, a very long process. Even a single ritual refinement has countless variants; to find the truly correct result, the most effective path is a sharply honed talent.
Sean could feel he'd reached his current talent ceiling.
Creation could be a bit rough—but refinement was nearly endless.
As Sean frowned, the notebook he'd left on a side table arced neatly into his hand.
"With your troll-witted 'gift'…"
Snape's cold laugh cut the air; then only the whisper of pages turning remained.
After a while, Sean could think only one thought—just how high was Snape's talent in Potions?
But he soon set the pointless question aside and went back to studying the Restorative Draught.
"White—imbecile! Watch closely!"
Snape's roar filled the dungeon again.
Cauldrons boiled and settled; it was the dungeon's steady heartbeat.
When Sean, carrying enough new insight, was ready to leave, Snape's gaze grew even colder:
"With your moronic performance in Potions, you'd better never breathe a word about me—to anyone, ever!"
The draft slipped down his throat; as he spoke, the dungeon seemed to grow darker.
His expression, in that darkness, was even harder to read.
"I understand, Professor," Sean said.
Only then did Snape snort heavily.
Sean tidied the workbench and headed out.
At the threshold, he suddenly stopped.
"Professor—what standard… isn't 'moronic'?"
Snape hesitated; a complicated look flickered and vanished, replaced by feigned disdain.
"When—setting aside those passable studies of 'will'—you can win the Golpalott's Third-Law Prize."
He named a practically impossible bar.
Golpalott's Prize?
Sean had seen it in the magical history section, in Master Boorage's biography.
It's granted—if at all—only once a decade to the finest Potions Master.
With his current talent, he wasn't even close to the margins of that standard.
At the dungeon door, Sean nodded calmly.
"I understand, Professor."
…
Outside the dungeon.
Sir Cadogan clutched his pony, apparently drunk as a lord.
Lady Violet steadied the Fat Lady at his side. She'd managed to drink the knight under the table, but she wasn't much steadier herself.
They were swapping bits of Minerva McGonagall lore.
When Sean passed, Sir Cadogan parted from the ladies in melancholy and stood alone by the dungeon door, muttering far too fast to catch:
"Yes, Severus Snape—what else can you do? The Big Cat can be public… you can only stay as far away as possible… You tell yourself it's protection—ha! Of course you would… To avoid the ending, you refuse every beginning, do you?"
Snow was still falling on Hogwarts.
Severus Snape didn't need anyone to know what he buried deep.