Potion brewing always took a long time. Some special potions, like the Felix Felicis, were said to require six months of preparation.
Considering this, Sean chose to carry out his actions after the first Transfiguration class in the afternoon.
He had prepared five portions of ingredients and brought his crystal vial—a costly container, packed carefully in a small box.
Since it cost a full seven Galleons, the manager at Slug & Jiggers thoughtfully provided each crystal vial with its own little box.
An old wizard in the shop with a long beard said, "These crystal vials preserve potions twice as well as ordinary glass bottles."
Sean suspected he was lying.
Books stated that as long as a potion was stored properly, it wouldn't spoil, even if left outdoors.
Ancient wizards even stored potions in kettles; potion masters of the time delighted in the game of pouring different liquids from the same kettle, much to the fascination of Muggle nobles.
In reality, potion spoilage only occurred under certain conditions, like exposure to light.
As for whether spoiled potions caused problems, one only needed to see if a wanted notice appeared at the castle gate the next day.
In the afternoon, a pure white owl swooped overhead, and Sean heard its soft cooing.
Stepping outside the castle, the sunlight was warm, as if trying to penetrate every little wizard.
Sean had never seen such a brilliant summer; Hogwarts and the surrounding fields seemed bathed in gold.
The island looked like an oil painting, dotted with the golden castle.
If only Snape's classroom weren't in the dungeon, Sean's mood would have been even better.
This afternoon, he felt like a treasure-stealing adventurer, set to brew a potion treasure under Professor Snape's watchful eye.
With countless thoughts swirling in his mind, Sean walked along a lush stone path and pushed open the oak doors of the greenhouse.
He had promised to collect Bubotuber pods with the professor and transplant the bouncing bulbs into Greenhouse One.
Inside, the greenhouse smelled of rich soil. Fine droplets clung to the glass roof, flowing down in tiny streams.
Professor Sprout was not alone today; a group of young wizards had gathered around her—round-faced Neville, careful Ernie watering plants, and a short, chubby boy Sean didn't recognize.
Professor Sprout stood beside a wooden box filled with fresh compost. Her gray-brown hair was twisted into a compact bun at the back of her head. Beneath her patched, thick hat, her bright eyes scanned her students keenly.
Soon, she tapped her soil-covered gloves and walked toward Sean:
"Oh, at this time of year, the greenhouse always sprouts new growth—truly exciting…"
She opened the door to Greenhouse One.
"Come on, Mr. Green. We'll bring over the bouncing bulbs. Those dear little mischiefs have probably been waiting impatiently."
As she spoke, her hat usually bobbed in harmony, but today it remained still. Sean's eyes lingered on the black part of the hat, and he suddenly thought of Snape's dark, brooding eyes.
I'm secretly brewing potions. That shouldn't break the school rules, right? Sean thought.
When he snapped back to reality, he was meeting a pair of warm, steady eyes.
"My dear Mr. Green, you seem a little distracted?"
Though she asked this, there was not a hint of doubt in Professor Sprout's eyes.
"The timing is just right. Come, dear Mr. Green, some interesting things await you."
Professor Sprout led Sean gently toward another domed building, ignoring his puzzled gaze.
They stopped in front of the domed building marked "Greenhouse Three."
Sean had never entered here—Michael had said that Greenhouse Three held plants both more interesting and more dangerous.
Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door.
A damp, earthy smell greeted them. A spiky green plant extended its tendrils,
and nearby, green, pea-like fruits bounced within a fence.
Sean recognized them as bouncing bulbs, but curiously, they were surrounded by venomous tentacles.
Why didn't these territorial magical plants attack them?
As Sean observed, Professor Sprout's loud, cheerful voice cut through the soft rustling of the greenhouse:
"Oh, Mr. Green, let me tell you a story: Bouncing bulb seeds need to grow in dark, moist environments. Coincidentally, this is where the venomous tentacles gather. About one-third of the bouncing bulbs in the greenhouse coexist with them. Venomous tentacles do not allow other plants to invade their territory, yet see—the bouncing bulbs still thrive…"
After piquing Sean's curiosity, the plump professor continued in a storytelling tone:
"If you look closely, you'll see the towering Devil's Snare nearby,
and it is the mutual deterrence between the two that allows the bouncing bulbs to grow, sprout, and leap.
Nature is always marvelous; life always finds a way."
She bent down gently, her eyes warm and sincere.
"The bouncing bulbs that stay away from here are always safe, but if they were to hide forever in dry, hot corners out of fear of the venomous tentacles, letting their fruits wither, my dear, that is not the meaning of life."
Sean was somewhat struck by the story of the bouncing bulbs. He looked at the professor, and the plump witch slowly nodded:
"You'll succeed, don't be afraid, little one."
…The professor knew exactly what he intended to do.
When Sean left the greenhouse, his heart was calm, and he carried the earthy scent on his clothes.
Though he didn't know how the professor guessed, her implicit encouragement meant his actions wouldn't violate school rules.
Even if they did, the consequences wouldn't be severe.
So, after the afternoon Transfiguration class, under the puzzled gazes of Justin and Hermione, Sean disappeared down the corridor.
The environment grew colder. Glass jars lined the walls, and preserved specimens of animals made him shiver.
Sean held his breath, hoping Professor Snape would not appear.
In truth, the professors were busy—especially Professor Snape, head of Slytherin.
After a quick glance into the classroom, Sean exhaled deeply, then swiftly arranged his ingredients on the table and lit the cauldron.
The faster he worked, the more trials he could attempt.
Sean also placed his notebook and quill nearby. The brewing data was crucial; summarizing experiences and continuous improvement was the proper way to learn.
White smoke curled from the cauldron, and Sean's green eyes reflected the candlelight.