The afternoon Potions class was, to put it mildly, a slow-motion car wreck for anyone without iron nerves. The atmosphere in the dungeons hadn't just returned to its usual damp gloom; it had curdled into something far more toxic. Snape didn't just walk through the rows of cauldrons; he prowled. Every swish of his robes sounded like a threat, and his silence was heavier than a lead-lined casket.
For the average student, facing Snape in this state was pure psychological warfare. Neville Longbottom looked like he was vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass, and even some of the more stoic Ravenclaws were double-checking their ingredient measurements four or five times with trembling fingers.
The wizarding world is a strange place; while everyone uses potions, the number of people who can actually brew them without blowing up their kitchens is remarkably small. To find a true Potions Master like Snape—someone who treated the subtle science like a high-stakes chess match—was rarer still. Expecting a bunch of twelve-year-olds to meet his standards on a day when he was already looking for a reason to snap someone's neck was, frankly, a bit much.
The task of the day was the Hair-Regrowing Potion. To Albert, this stuff was a gold mine disguised as a school assignment. As he sliced his ginger root with surgical precision, he couldn't help but think about the millions of middle-aged men in the Muggle world who would gladly sell their firstborn for a single vial of this liquid. If he could find a way to stabilize the magical signature so it didn't set off the Ministry's "Underage Magic" alarms or cause the Muggles to grow antlers, he'd be richer than the Malfoys within a fiscal year.
"Anderson," a voice like silk sliding over gravel whispered directly behind his ear.
Albert didn't flinch. He finished his fourth slice of ginger before turning slightly. "Yes, Professor?"
Snape was standing far too close, his dark eyes bore into Albert's with a disturbing intensity. Albert felt the familiar mental pressure of a Legilimens trying to find a crack in the wall. Fortunately, being a Level 3 Occlumency user meant Albert's mind currently resembled a very boring, very thick book about historical plumbing. There were no memories of Mandrakes or midnight strolls to be found here.
"Stay behind," Snape said, his voice dropping to a near-inaudible hiss. "I believe we have... matters to discuss."
"Of course, Professor," Albert replied smoothly. He caught Fred's worried glance from the next table and gave a microscopic nod of reassurance.
When the bell finally rang, the exodus from the classroom was nothing short of a stampede. Students scrambled to bottle their samples and vanished into the corridors as if the devil himself were chasing them. Soon, only Albert and the flickering torches remained in the cold dampness of the dungeon.
Snape picked up Albert's sample, swirling the shimmering orange liquid. "You added an excessive amount of ginger root, didn't you?"
"Five slices instead of three, added in two stages," Albert admitted, his tone conversational. "The standard recipe prioritizes speed of growth, but adding the ginger in stages increases the follicle density. It's a bit more pungent, but the results are far more durable."
Snape stared at him for a long time, the silence stretching until it became uncomfortable. Then, slowly, he reached into his robes and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. He didn't hand it over immediately.
"You've become quite the celebrity in certain circles, haven't you, Anderson?" Snape asked, his tone unreadable. "It seems my colleagues in the academic world are easily impressed by youth."
"I prefer to think of it as being 'productive,' sir," Albert replied.
"And were you 'productive' last night?" Snape's eyes flashed. "Do you have any insight into the... disturbances in the lower levels? Or perhaps the curious fate of a certain Slytherin student caught wandering the halls?"
Albert let a small, pleasant smile touch his lips. "I heard the rumors at breakfast, sir. A shame about the Slytherin boy. Curiosity often leads to unfortunate consequences after curfew, doesn't it?"
Snape's lip curled. He sensed the lie, but he couldn't find it. The wall was too smooth. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the parchment onto the desk. "Now, take your 'productivity' and get out. Before I decide that your presence is an eyesore I can no longer tolerate."
Albert took the parchment, gave a polite nod, and made a swift exit. He found the twins and Lee Jordan lurking around the corner, trying to look like they weren't eavesdropping.
"You're alive!" Fred exhaled, grabbing Albert by the shoulder. "We were about to go find McGonagall and tell her you'd been fed to a giant squid."
"Snape's a bit grumpy, but he's not going to murder a student over a ginger root," Albert laughed, pulling the parchment from his pocket as they walked toward the library on the fifth floor.
"So what was the 'secret meeting' about?" George asked, peeking over his shoulder. "Is that a detention notice?"
"Better," Albert said, unfolding the paper. "It's a letter of introduction. Apparently, an editor from Practical Potions Master heard about my correspondence with Hertok Dagworth. They want to know if I'm interested in submitting a short piece on 'Modernizing Common Draughts.'"
"You're basically a celebrity in the nerd world, aren't you?" Fred teased. "Next thing you know, you'll be on a Chocolate Frog card."
"Minister of Magic, more like," Lee added.
Albert rolled his eyes. "Being Minister is a thankless job. You spend all day dealing with angry owls and political scandals. No, I'd rather be the guy the Minister has to ask for a loan."
They reached the library and found a quiet corner far from Madam Pince's hawk-like gaze. While Fred and George began scouring the shelves for the Encyclopedia of Poisonous Fungi, Albert pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment to reply to Dagworth.
He had a two-fold mission. First, he wanted to pick the Master's brain about the Hair-Regrowing Potion. If he could dilute the magical potency to pass for a "miracle tonic" in the Muggle world, he could tap into a market of millions. Second, he needed a supplier for dried Mandrake root. His interest in creating a "Mandrake Amulet" wasn't just academic; in a castle full of things that go bump in the night, a bit of extra protection was worth every Galleon.
"Found it!" George hissed, dropping a heavy, leather-bound volume onto the table. "The Flutterby Bush. Page 402."
The four of them huddled together. The entry was far more daunting than the brief mention in their textbook.
"Listen to this," Fred whispered, reading the cramped text. "'The Flutterby Bush is a sentient fungus that thrives in high-moisture environments. Warning: The spores are a potent hallucinogen. Inhalation leads to extreme mental confusion and, in some cases, the belief that one is a teapot.'"
"A teapot?" Lee snorted. "Imagine Snape as a teapot."
"Wait, there's more," Fred continued. "'Harvesting requires Dragonhide gloves; skin contact results in a rash that glows neon blue for up to three weeks. To prevent the specimen from rotting within minutes of being picked, the harvester must preserve the root system intact and store it in a vacuum-sealed jar immediately.'"
"The difficulty spike is real," Albert muttered, leaning in to examine the diagram. "We can't use the baiting method mentioned here—using rotting meat to lure the bush into a dormant state—it's too messy and we'd be smelled a mile away."
"So, what's the move?" George asked.
"We wait for the rain," Albert said, his mind already calculating the costs. "The humidity keeps the spores heavy, reducing the chance of us 'becoming teapots.' But we're going to need equipment. Dragonhide gloves aren't cheap, and neither are vacuum jars."
He looked at his coin purse, which was feeling uncomfortably light. Between the potential purchase of Mandrake roots and the gear for the Forbidden Forest, his savings were taking a hit.
"I need a side hustle," Albert sighed, leaning back in his chair. "A way to make some serious Galleons without involving the Ministry."
"We could sell your Hair-Regrowing Potion to the teachers?" George suggested with a grin. "I think Professor Flitwick could use a bit of a boost."
"If Snape found out I was selling his lesson plan for profit, he'd actually feed me to the squid," Albert laughed. "No, we need something bigger. But first... let's survive the forest. If we can get enough Flutterby Bushes, the Babbling Beverage will be the most valuable thing in this castle."