Stupid fools with stupid methods. Even following the steps strictly, they remained stuck at the passing line. Such talentless wizards—looking at them even once was a waste of his precious time. Severus Snape, master of Potions!
Watching those glaringly flawed techniques, fire almost erupted from Snape's gloomy eyes. Yet when he focused on those remarkably bright emerald pupils, the fire in his heart gradually subsided.
Recalling how the other had been playing this careful game of avoidance with him relentlessly, rain or shine, only to brew a worthless pot of potion, Snape found himself experiencing a peculiar, complex emotion. At least the boy had made progress. In the last Potions class, he'd even brewed a barely excellent potion. This was the only reason Snape hadn't immediately thrown him out.
Sometimes he came here to watch this brat fumble and rack his brain through difficult practice. Those stupid wizards thought he was in his office? They didn't know Hogwarts Castle had more hidden passages than anyone realized.
Though one thing he'd probably never admit was that he believed he was watching a fool practice, when in reality he was quietly monitoring the young wizard's safety.
"Failed..." Shawn sighed in the dungeons by the cauldron. Yet he wasn't discouraged. He knew success didn't come overnight. He'd found inspiration but hadn't fully grasped it. Changing one step produced chain reactions in others. He hadn't adjusted those steps, causing the potion's quality to drop. But given another brewing cycle, he'd definitely succeed.
Just as he cleaned the cauldron and regrouped, the dungeon door was suddenly thrown wide open, crashing against the stone wall with a dull boom. Shadows poured in before the figure, followed by black robes sweeping through the weak light at the entrance.
Footsteps echoed on damp stone, unhurried yet carrying a judgmental rhythm. Shawn was completely stunned, his emerald eyes dazedly fixed on Professor Snape as he approached step by step.
The dim light barely illuminated the sharp shadow cast by his hooked nose, making his gloomy words carry even more chill. "Shawn Green..." His voice was like a snake's hiss.
Shawn's eyes gradually dulled. He didn't attempt to argue; he simply and silently packed his materials, cleaned the cauldron thoroughly, and then prepared to leave. Shawn understood his choice was risky. Being discovered meant being prepared for discovery.
"Sorry, Professor Snape," Shawn said quietly. "I'll leave now."
Then, shouldering his small black bag, he turned to go.
"Ha. If I were like you," Snape laughed coldly, "with such stupid potion-brewing, with such glaringly flawed technique, I would be utterly ashamed and wouldn't dare linger long in this sacred place."
Hearing Professor Snape's words, Shawn showed no reaction. He simply quietly regretted that he'd almost succeeded.
"Fleeing. Is this your choice?" Snape suddenly spoke. "If I were you, I'd immediately light the cauldron and on the final stir, increase your amplitude and complete one more circle."
Shawn suddenly froze. His footstep halted, then he turned in surprise toward Professor Snape. Professor Snape was actually teaching him?
Shawn didn't hesitate. He set down his bag and reached for materials.
At this moment, a bundle of materials suddenly floated onto the table. Shawn heard Snape's icy voice: "If you dare fail—"
Snape's gaze was frigid, seeming to threaten. Yet Shawn felt nothing. He'd always possessed the ability to look past others' surfaces. This came from a deep understanding. Just like Hermione. She was indeed condescending at times, but beneath that arrogance lay a sincere concern.
Just like Professor Snape. He always hid his emotions in caustic remarks, favoritism, and hostile intentions. But no one could fault him for this, because not everyone possessed love.
Shawn recalled Snape's instruction in his mind as the cauldron reignited, again producing bubbles. This time, Shawn brewed smoothly. Satisfaction flickered across Snape's gloomy face.
Unlike those noisy Gryffindors like trolls, unlike those brainless Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws were always smarter. This young wizard was among the best. He knew what he wanted and acted on it, and was sufficiently hardworking and extremely dedicated.
When the dark green liquid reappeared, Shawn couldn't help but feel nervous until the transformation was completed perfectly.
The fireplace burned brighter. Shawn carefully stored the potion in a crystal bottle without becoming complacent. Only when the cauldron was completely extinguished did Shawn gradually relax. This earned a slight nod from Snape.
Shawn was somewhat excited. After all, he hadn't even used the improved ritual yet.
"Professor Snape, thank you," Shawn sincerely thanked him, his clear eyes showing only gratitude.
This made Snape, about to leave, pause. For a moment, he didn't make sarcastic remarks; instead, he looked at Shawn more deeply.
"What you should celebrate is your success. Otherwise—" Uncertainty flickered across his sallow face, rare complex emotions appearing in his eyes.
"Shawn Green, let me tell you a truth: respecting yourself despite accomplishing nothing in Potions holds the power to change reality. If you despise yourself, I swear, the doors of Potions will forever remain closed to you."
Even after leaving the dungeons, these words echoed in Shawn's mind, nearly shattering his stereotypical impression of Professor Snape.
Beneath the enormous painting, tolerating Sir Cadogan's rambling, Shawn found himself recalling Snape again. He was undoubtedly starved for love. His tragedy was that throughout his entire life, he yearned for love, yet childhood's lovelessness robbed him of the ability to understand and express it.
He clung to Lily, that sole love, yet destroyed it himself through his own flaws and the era's tragedy. Ultimately, his life became a long, painful self-punishment written in loyalty and courage.
His greatness lay in his astonishing courage and determination, but his fundamental character was undoubtedly that of the lonely boy in the cold house on Spinner's End, never nourished by love.
Then, could he simply define Snape as a soulless, growth-stunted husk?
Shawn, he said to himself, you're organizing your own prejudices and trying to force them onto a living person.