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The living room on the first floor sat in heavy silence.
Down in the basement, Rock led Snape into a sealed room Newt had prepared for them.
At the center stood a workbench crowded with potion-brewing equipment. Snape stepped forward, scanned the array of ingredients, and his brow gave the faintest twitch. Every single one was rare and expensive—nothing less than the gifts Rock had sent him at Christmas.
"Let's begin," Snape said. His voice was low and steady, the usual ice noticeably absent.
Rock nodded and quickly opened the device hanging from the chain around his neck. The crimson Philosopher's Stone gleamed in the dim light.
For the next several hours the basement became a focused hive of activity. Snape directed every step while Rock assisted. Rock had seen the full process in the vision; Snape took that knowledge, refined it with his own mastery, and made it better. Nicolas Flamel might have been a once-in-a-generation alchemist, but when it came to the actual brewing of potions, Snape trusted no one above himself.
When the potion reached its final stage and shifted into a swirling silver-gold light, Snape spoke without looking up. "You're not afraid I might decide to keep the immortality potion for myself?"
"Professor, I don't think you would," Rock answered, eyes still fixed on the cauldron as he continued analyzing every shifting thread of magic.
Snape raised an eyebrow, watching the rotating glow. "How long until the moon reaches its peak?"
Rock checked his pocket watch. "Three minutes, Professor."
The basement fell quiet again. When the potion finished, the entire room filled with a soft, dreamlike radiance. Inside the crystal vial, the liquid looked like liquid starlight—silver and gold flowing together in perfect suspension.
Rock studied it closely. The energy inside pulsed with raw vitality, and beneath that ran something older and quieter—the unmistakable signature of time itself.
"Professor Snape, it's done."
Snape had been wiping his hands. He paused for a long moment before answering. "After term begins, I expect a complete paper on the catalytic theory of sensitive herbs in alchemy. Full derivation included."
He turned without another word and climbed the stairs, black robes billowing behind him like wings.
Upstairs, everyone had stayed awake through the night. Newt looked toward the sound of footsteps and saw Snape emerge. For a second the professor seemed surprised by the crowd still gathered there. He gave a small, polite nod and headed for the door.
"Professor Snape, stay for dinner," Queenie called after him, gratitude clear in her voice.
Snape's step faltered. Something flickered across his face—gone almost before it appeared—before the familiar cold mask returned. "No need."
He kept walking. Newt hurried after him.
In the living room, everyone exchanged glances. Jacob opened his mouth. "Why do I get the feeling that guy's a little… off?"
"Yeah, Jacob," Queenie said quietly, still watching Snape's retreating back. "He's carrying a lot of sadness. Heavy. And the pain never really leaves him."
Jacob blinked. He'd only thought Snape seemed strange. He hadn't expected Queenie to read that much.
"Grandpa, Grandma—where's Professor Snape?"
Rock came up from the basement holding the crystal vial and found the room missing one person.
"He left. I just saw him out," Newt said as he stepped back inside. Then he remembered something. "Before he went, he told me to remind you the paper is due tomorrow."
"Huh?"
Rock stared, confused. Hadn't Snape said after school started? He shook his head, gave the vial a small shake, and handed it to Queenie. "Grandma Queenie, this is the immortality potion. Grandpa Jacob needs to take it in divided doses over the next three days. Oh—and there's a share for you in there too."
Queenie took the vial, then passed it straight to Jacob without hesitation. She turned and pulled Rock into a tight hug.
"Sweetheart, don't ever do something like this again. You know what this could do to people."
Rock patted her back gently. "I know my limits. It's okay."
He made an excuse about being tired and slipped upstairs before anyone could press him further.
September first arrived before anyone quite realized it—the first day of the new Hogwarts term.
Rock had told Newt and Tina he didn't need them to see him off; the other students had already made plans to meet. Newt and Tina insisted anyway. In the end Rock gave in. After warm goodbyes at King's Cross, he walked alone through the barrier toward platform nine and three-quarters, small trunk in hand.
The moment he stepped through, he heard a familiar stream of worried instructions behind him.
"Write if you have time. And don't forget to rest properly…"
"Okay, Dad." The reply came in a light, dreamy voice.
Rock turned. A girl with pale skin, light-blonde hair, and wide silver eyes stood there looking faintly dazed.
"Hello—excuse me, could I get past?"
The middle-aged man pushing the luggage cart gave Rock a sharp look, clearly displeased at the way he'd been staring at his daughter.
"Ah—sorry!" Rock stepped aside quickly.
The man muttered something under his breath as he passed—something about not getting too close to strange people—and kept walking, still talking quietly to the girl.
Rock rubbed his nose. He knew exactly who they were now: Luna Lovegood and her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler. Tina had always enjoyed the magazine when she wanted something light to pass the time.
He shook his head and moved to the side to wait for Theo and the others.
"Hey!" A hand clapped his shoulder. "Rock, didn't expect you to beat us here."
Theo appeared beside him, scanning the platform.
"You guys took your time," Rock said, nodding toward the barrier where Adam and the rest of the group had just come through.
They hurried over. Adam was pushing an overloaded cart stacked so high it looked like he was moving house.
"I swear, are you relocating?" Theo asked, staring at the mountain of luggage.
"Nope. This is everything I need for my project this year." Adam grinned. "I'm serious about studying ghosts."
Rock couldn't help laughing. He flicked his wand and began directing some of the bulkier items into his own much smaller trunk. "Stick a few things in here for now. Otherwise the compartment's going to be packed before we even sit down."
The train whistle blew in the distance. The new term had begun.