Chapter 56: The Same Knowledge
Professor Snape wasn't always despised by young wizards. At least Shawn looked forward to seeing him in the dungeons.
Though the professor loved to mock, the knowledge he taught never diminished.
Such knowledge was accumulated over the years by a Potions master. It was always perfectly suited, leaving Shawn greatly enriched.
Evening descended on Hogwarts corridors, immersed in lazy warmth.
The setting sun cast a golden light through the soaring arched windows, throwing long, bright patches across the cold stone floor.
The edges of the Forbidden Forest began to blur. A thin veil of twilight crept from between the trees, slowly swallowing the towering pine tops.
Shawn carried his small black pack, passing energetic young wizards at play. Several Hufflepuffs looked up when he passed, but said nothing.
An orphan boarding for study had few opportunities to earn money.
Shawn considered his options for making Galleons:
Writing essays for others. But income was low, and competition existed.
Bulk purchasing and reselling. This required knowing hidden passages, and Shawn suspected the Weasley twins had already entered that business.
His preferred method was the greenhouses. Professor Sprout gladly gave young wizards seeds. Shawn could grow them, then sell them.
Earning Galleons mattered, but if it consumed time meant for magical study, Shawn felt the cost exceeded the benefit.
Like his History of Magic notes, Shawn wouldn't rush to complete them just to earn Galleons. Magic history itself held enough fascination. Without spending considerable time creating genuinely conscientious work, hurrying through for profit couldn't truly be called right.
So when Professor Snape's words came, they arrived perfectly timed:
"Even the most wretched potions never lack wizards desperate to acquire them..."
When Professor Snape had said this last time, Shawn's eyes suddenly brightened considerably, causing the Potions professor to pause for a second.
The surroundings grew gradually colder and dimmer. Shawn pushed open the dungeon doors.
He felt slight disappointment at not seeing the Potions master's figure. Yet this didn't hinder him from swiftly retrieving materials and lighting his cauldron.
Professor Snape's guidance could have doubled his learning progress, but without a solid foundation, a true understanding remained impossible.
White steam rose again silently through the dungeon. For centuries, this place had scarcely changed. Only the figure before the cauldron kept shifting. The sole constant was the focused eyes.
Two pairs, actually.
In the dungeon's depths, beside a row of oddly-shaped specimens, a pair of shadowed eyes appeared. Now they lingered frequently and longer beside Shawn's cauldron, silently observing each step.
Progress, extraordinary progress, stemming from what was almost a clumsy, stubborn effort.
Just as Shawn was about to add the slugs, a cold voice cut through:
"Has your intelligence deteriorated so completely that you can't recognize slugs? They're on the second shelf on the left."
Shawn paused and looked up at the high shelf. Then he carefully retrieved the glass jar using the Levitation Charm.
"Your impoverished eye only manages to collect inferior ingredients. Next time, if I see you profaning magnificent potions with such wretched materials again, Shawn Green, you'd better vacate the dungeon beforehand!"
Shawn naturally dismissed Snape's sarcasm, but paused in slight bewilderment. This was peculiar. Was Professor Snape actually willing to let him use his personal ingredients?
Well, Shawn thought, apparently, Hogwarts professors were hidden wealthy people.
As Shawn again immersed himself in potion-brewing, Professor Snape grew unusually silent.
He wouldn't forget that technique. Though merely a clumsy imitation of his own methods, such a thing had never happened. Few wizards possessed the intelligence to record every detail of his Potions class brewing.
Constant imitation, constant correction. This was nearly the universal path to success.
The wizard before him wasn't a Potions genius, but could be called an equally solitary student devoted to Potions study. Snape had observed him casually. He didn't care about social interaction, only the cauldron before him. Such bearing made it difficult not to see the shadows of that boy from Spinner's End.
Combined with the thought of those stupid Gryffindors creating stupid explosions in Potions class, especially Harry Potter, who didn't even stop his foolish friends!
Pure provocation!
Thus, Professor Snape's brow, usually tightly furrowed from sarcasm and displeasure, relaxed slightly.
The cauldron gurgled with bubbles. The thick liquid gradually became dark green. Shawn focused intently on controlling the heat. Master Libatius Borage's cauldron control technique nearly caused the potion quality to surge.
This made Snape's pupils contract: "Where did you learn that heat control? I don't recall teaching it that way!"
Shawn's heart tightened. Damn. Did Professor Snape not approve of Master Borage's heat control method?
Shawn remembered that in the original books, Professor Snape had made extensive footnotes in Borage's book to improve the potion-making methods described there.
"The Advanced Potions Guide, Professor," Shawn admitted.
"Ha," Professor Snape gave a cold laugh. "Your heat control in the final step was too low. Your stirring direction in step three was reversed. Redo it! Are your eyes for decoration?"
Shawn froze. Professor Snape actually understood this hidden aspect as well?
He didn't hesitate, quickly emptying and starting again.
Two hours later.
[You completely brewed one cauldron of Scourgebusting Potion at Proficient standard, Proficiency +10]
"Thank you, Professor," Shawn said.
This was the second Proficient-standard Scourgebusting Potion he'd brewed, meeting sale standards. Professor Snape collected his potion under the pretense of Hogwarts' fixed potion recycling policy, though Shawn suspected this was invented on the spot.
The professor gave him three full Galleons.
So Shawn carefully placed the Galleons in his pack without a word, silently thinking that potions were truly a profiteering industry in the magical world.
Snape watched the cautious young wizard, his face reading "Ha, no ambition."
After the potion's completion, he reviewed that barely-passing brew again, his lips pulling into a cold arc.
His voice rustled through the dungeon like dried leaves, hoarse and full of malice:
"It seems that even the most barren soil occasionally manages, through pure chance, to squeeze out something barely acceptable. An acceptable product merely means you've barely crossed the chasm of incompetence, not that you've stepped into the halls of Potions mastery. Don't use arrogance to numb your nerves. Otherwise, regret becomes your only cure. Shawn Green, mediocrity is a choice, and here, I absolutely will not accept those who choose mediocrity."