Humid and dark. That was Sean's first, immediate impression of Snape's office.
Awe-inspiring. That was Sean's second, more considered, impression.
Standing within the confines of Snape's private domain, Sean surveyed the room. Shelves lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, crammed with countless drawers of varying sizes. Each drawer, he knew, contained different, meticulously organised potion ingredients or carefully brewed finished potions. These shelves, a testament to Snape's dedication to his craft, dominated the office. Peeking from within some of the glass-fronted cabinets, Sean could discern high-end, exceptionally rare potion components such as dragon's blood, unicorn bone powder, and even, to his surprise, vials of what appeared to be Veritaserum and Felix Felicis.
The contents of these shelves alone, Sean estimated, were worth a considerable fortune.
Snape placed the books he was carrying and the stack of collected homework onto the large, imposing desk situated in front of the window. The window here, much like those in the Slytherin common room, offered a view into the murky depths of the Black Lake. The eerie, emerald green light filtered through the thick glass, casting a dappled, shadowy illumination across Snape's desk, creating an aesthetic that was quintessentially Slytherin.
"Professor," Sean began, breaking the silence, "you called me here. Is there something you require?"
Without directly answering Sean's question, Snape stood before his desk, his dark eyes fixed on Sean. After a slight, almost imperceptible pause, he asked, his voice a low rumble, "Sean. What do you think potions are?"
"Potions are magic that doesn't require the use of a magic wand," Sean began, reciting the definition Snape himself had provided in class. "They are…"
Before Sean could finish his sentence, Snape raised a hand, cutting him off. "I am asking what you think potions are," he said, his voice taking on a slightly colder, more incisive edge. "Not what I stated in the classroom. This is not a classroom, Sean. I do not require a standard, textbook answer. I require your answer. What do you think potions are!"
Sean looked at Snape, a flicker of surprise in his eyes at the intensity of the question. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he frowned slightly, his gaze turning inward as he began to genuinely consider the question.
Time passed, marked only by the faint bubbling of a nearby cauldron and the distant drip of water somewhere in the dungeons. Snape, a man who usually possessed an almost legendary dislike for waiting, displayed a surprising degree of patience, remaining silent as he waited for Sean's response.
Finally, after several long minutes of contemplation, Sean raised his head again. He met Snape's cold, emotionless eyes, his gaze unwavering, and said, "Potions, much like a magic wand, are indispensable tools for any wizard…"
Hearing this first half of the sentence, Snape's brow furrowed slightly. It was clear that he was not entirely satisfied with this rather conventional answer. Until, that is, he heard the latter half of Sean's statement.
"At the same time," Sean continued, his voice gaining a subtle note of conviction, "for me, personally, potions are more than just tools. They are an art form – an art of substance and time. I enjoy the intricate process of brewing potions. And I enjoy even more the profound satisfaction of transforming seemingly ordinary, mundane ingredients, through my own hands, into concoctions with extraordinary, often life-altering, effects."
This statement wasn't a calculated attempt by Sean to deliberately cater to Snape's known passion for potions. In fact, it was his genuine, deeply held belief.
Sean was undeniably driven by a desire for methods that could make him stronger. He was acutely aware of the perilous direction this world was heading, and he knew he needed to bolster his own abilities to protect himself and those he cared about.
But in truth, what Sean truly, purely enjoyed during his time at Hogwarts was the focused, almost meditative process of brewing potions. He found a unique satisfaction in the meticulous transformation of various raw ingredients into substances imbued with magical effects. This precise, demanding work allowed Sean to temporarily forget the various troubles and pressures of his reality, to find a measure of his own peace and tranquility amidst the looming uncertainties.
To put it simply, for Sean, the act of brewing a magic potion was akin to a model kit enthusiast meticulously assembling a complex Gundam model – a focused, absorbing, and ultimately rewarding endeavor.
"The art of substance and time..." Snape murmured the phrase to himself, his voice barely a whisper. His thoughts seemed to drift far away, back to a time long, long ago, to a beautiful girl with long, flowing crimson hair and vibrant green eyes. He remembered that girl, so full of life and passion, once saying…
I like Potions. I like the process where substances gradually transform as time passes, just like art.
Lily…
Snape's heart, a place usually guarded and cold, ached with the silent calling of that name – a name that evoked both profound nostalgia and a crushing, unbearable guilt.
At this moment, Sean was observing Snape, who seemed lost in a distant memory. As he watched, he suddenly noticed a trace, a very faint, almost invisible flicker of a smile touch the corners of Snape's thin lips. It was a remarkably gentle smile, a smile so uncharacteristic that, in Sean's opinion, it was something that could never, ever appear on the face of Severus Snape.
However, before Sean could fully process this startling, fleeting display of emotion, the almost imperceptible smile vanished from Snape's face as quickly as it had appeared. He once again looked at Sean, his gaze returning to its customary coldness, devoid of any discernible warmth or sentiment.
"A good answer," Snape said, his voice regaining its usual clipped tone. "I… like it very much." Saying this, Snape turned, scribbled a few words on a piece of parchment, and handed it to Sean. On it were a time and an address. "If you wish to advance further in the art of Potions", Snape instructed, "go to the address on this note at the time indicated."
Looking at the address written on the parchment in his hand, Sean had a fairly good idea of what it signified.
Carefully, almost reverently, putting the note away in his pocket, Sean said to Snape, "Professor, I will most definitely be there on time."
"Alright," Snape replied. "If you have nothing further, you may leave."
"Goodbye, Professor."
Without lingering any longer, Sean offered Snape a slight, respectful bow, then turned and left the Potions Master's office.
Walking along the dimly lit path leading out of the dungeons, Sean couldn't help but let out a slow, thoughtful breath.
Since entering Hogwarts, Sean had occasionally heard whispers and rumors that for certain students who displayed exceptional qualities in a particular subject, some professors would establish exclusive clubs or study groups. These were designed to provide advanced instruction and foster deeper understanding for those with genuine talent. However, gaining entry into these elite circles required considerable aptitude, and the number of members within these clubs was typically quite small.
For example, the "Slug Club," formed by Snape's predecessor as Potions Professor, Horace Slughorn, as depicted in the original stories, was precisely such an organisation. Slughorn, however, tended to select members based not only on talent but also on influential family connections. His club was slightly larger in number, but its fundamental nature was the same – a selective group for promising students.
Sean had previously considered whether he should actively strive to join such a club, but he had always envisioned that as a plan for at least his third year at Hogwarts. Now, it seemed, the opportunity to join such an exclusive group had arrived much earlier than he had ever imagined.
Emerging from the gloomy depths of the dungeons, Sean found Blaise waiting for him at the entrance, his expression curious.
Smiling, Sean clapped Blaise on the shoulder, and the two friends headed off together towards the Great Hall.
Strictly speaking, Sean mused, life at Hogwarts, if one were to exclude the overtly magical aspects, was actually not that dissimilar to university life in the ordinary, non-magical world. The primary difference, of course, was that the subjects studied were entirely, and wonderfully, different.
By the time they walked out of the Astronomy Tower later that evening, it was already very late.
Astronomy classes, by their very nature, needed to be held at night, so the weekly lessons always commenced after dinner. Consequently, the finishing time was invariably quite late. Generally speaking, at this late hour, most first-year wizards, with the exception of a few truly dedicated study enthusiasts who might still choose to make their way to the Library, would opt to return directly to their respective House common rooms. The Slytherins were no different in this regard.
But for Sean, tonight was different. After the Astronomy class concluded, he had another, more clandestine, destination he needed to visit.
"Blaise," Sean said, as they reached a junction in the corridor, "I'll go on ahead."
"Alright," Blaise replied with a yawn. "I won't wait up for you tonight then. I'm just going to head straight to bed."
"Okay, see you tomorrow then."
"See you tomorrow, Sean."
Standing in the familiar chill of the Hogwarts dungeons, Sean said goodbye to Blaise. He watched as Blaise headed off in the direction of the Slytherin common room and, coincidentally, the Potions classroom. Then, Sean turned and walked the other way, venturing into a deep, shadowed dungeon passage on the opposite side, his footsteps echoing softly in the silence.
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