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Dumbledore and Snape both froze under Rock's new gaze. Snape let out a soft snort. Dumbledore stroked his beard.
"Rock, can you tell us what you're seeing right now? And can you turn those eyes off?"
Rock blinked. The swirling silver nebula vanished from his irises. He'd gotten too excited and stared straight at both of them—really looked.
"Sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore. Professor Snape."
He looked genuinely embarrassed. Outside the castle, that kind of stare could've earned him a curse to the face.
"It's quite all right," Dumbledore said gently, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. "I'm actually very eager to know… what exactly you saw."
Rock described it as best he could. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. Snape's eyes grew even darker.
"Headmaster. Professor. What… is this?"
What he'd seen wasn't the usual threads of magic. It felt more like looking at their very essence.
"Hmm…"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, thinking. This wasn't Legilimency, yet it cut straight to the core of a person.
"For now, I don't have an answer. I'll consult a few old friends who might know more about this sort of thing."
Snape was more direct. He flicked his black robes, deliberately avoiding Rock's eyes even though the boy wasn't using the ability anymore. "Until we understand it better, do not use this outside the castle."
Then he stepped behind Rock and spoke quietly. "While your eyes were closed… do you remember what you did?"
Rock thought back. He remembered feeling something off about the protective array around him and instinctively adjusting one of the lines.
"Yeah. There was this shield around me, but one spot felt… wrong. Like it needed to be moved."
Snape's brow furrowed. The best way to test something was to see it in action.
He moved back to the workbench, facing Rock. "I'm going to brew a potion. Keep your eyes open and watch. If you feel anything like before, tell me. And—" Snape's voice dropped to a menacing drawl—"do not observe me personally."
Rock nodded quickly, sweat prickling at his neck.
Dumbledore drifted to the side, watching with the wide-eyed fascination of a first-year.
This time Snape started from the very beginning—prepping ingredients. Rock watched closely. Normally he would've thought Snape's movements were flawless. Now they looked… slightly off.
"Professor, maybe if you angle the knife against the slice and press lightly instead of cutting straight down…"
Snape paused, picked up a fresh piece of the ingredient, and tried it Rock's way.
The juice flowed smoother. Brighter. More potent.
Snape swirled the beaker, studying the liquid. It was noticeably more vibrant than his usual result.
He said nothing and kept working. Every time he followed the textbook exactly, Rock pointed out a better way. Some of those tweaks were things Snape had only figured out after years of trial and error.
Finally the Draught of Living Death shifted from pale lotus-gray to soft purple.
Snape summoned a toad, fed it a drop, and the creature went limp almost instantly.
He lifted it by one leg and gave it a little shake. "Less potion used. Same effect."
Dumbledore clapped lightly. "A flawless brew."
Snape's dark eyes stayed locked on Rock. "All of that… from watching?"
"Yes, Professor."
Rock had never brewed the Draught of Living Death before, yet he'd spotted every improvement just by observing Snape's technique. Of course, knowing how to do it and actually doing it were two different things. Right now he could see the essence perfectly—his hands just hadn't caught up yet.
Like a troll with a human brain but clumsy fingers.
"Over the summer I'll assign you several potions," Snape said, turning away. "I'll test you when term starts."
If Rock had been a promising apprentice before, he was now something far more dangerous. Talent like this needed constant sharpening.
"Yes, Professor."
"You've given us quite a show tonight, my boy," Dumbledore said kindly, noticing the exhaustion on Rock's face. "Go get some rest."
Snape offered no objection. Rock grabbed his bag, thanked them both, and left the office.
"Quite the talent, wouldn't you say?" Dumbledore murmured once the door closed.
Snape gave a soft snort and stared down at the potion in his hand, expression unreadable.
Talent? It was downright terrifying.
Under those eyes, even the most gifted students looked like trolls.
Rock wandered the corridors, trailing his fingers along the stone walls. His nebula eyes drank everything in.
Everything felt different. The castle no longer seemed like cold stone—it was a sleeping giant, its magic vast and unfathomable.
"The four founders who built this place… they must have been something else."
He headed toward the Great Hall. Dinner hour meant the corridors were nearly empty.
Exam week was finally over. Students had been wound tight for months; tonight was pure release—especially for the fifth- and seventh-years.
As Rock descended the stairs from the fourth floor, a cold voice slithered from behind him.
"Well, well… look who's the student that's been giving me so much trouble…"
Rock's stomach dropped. That voice—
Quirrell.
No. It was deeper. Colder.
Voldemort.
How the hell did he get back in?
Before Rock could spin around, a wand jabbed hard into his back.
"Now then… you're coming with me."