In the dimly lit dungeon classroom, inside Snape's office, Edward stood before a long table cluttered with cauldrons, enduring Snape's thunderous tirade.
"Mr. Bedivere, I honestly don't know if your brain is mixed with troll snot! To think you'd be foolish enough to take on a troll single-handedly!"
"Maybe others didn't know what you were up to, but I saw right through you! I bet you've got a big bottle of troll snot and troll toenail powder stuffed in your pocket right now, don't you?"
"Uh, just a small bottle, sir. That stuff's pretty rank," Edward managed to interject during a brief pause as Snape caught his breath.
"Don't talk back to me!" Snape snapped, looking like a bat spitting venom.
"You ought to go up to the eighth floor of the castle and take a good look at that painting—what's it called? *The Troll Beating Silly Barnabas*! See what happens to people who mess with trolls!"
"Remember, you're a wizard, not some baboon swinging a club! I'm guessing that lump on the troll's head came from you smashing it with a hammer, didn't it?"
"You're lucky to be standing here alive to get scolded!"
The sarcastic rant went on for a good five minutes until Snape finally stopped, parched but still fuming. Edward, aside from his one cheeky remark, had no intention of arguing back. He knew Snape's harsh words came from a place of concern, delivered in a way most people wouldn't exactly find warm and fuzzy. Besides, Snape didn't seem inclined to punish him further—no points deducted, no detention. If that was the case, a bit of yelling was no big deal.
Finally, Snape's roaring subsided, and his face settled back into its usual cold, impassive mask.
"Where are those items? Hand them over," he said, gesturing for Edward to produce the troll materials. "Set up the cauldron. I assume you've got the recipe for the Troll Strength Potion memorized by now?"
"Brew it for me. If you can't, I think it's time to take *Powerful Potions* back from you."
Edward's eyes lit up. "Professor, what about the other ingredients?"
"Do I need to hold your hand? Get them from the cabinet yourself!"
Soon, wisps of smoke, tinged with odd colors, began rising from the dungeon classroom. Edward couldn't help but marvel at Snape's private storeroom—it was like a treasure trove. From dragon sinew to Mandrake-infused liquor, even phoenix feather ash, the contents could fetch tens of thousands of Galleons in Diagon Alley. Some of the items were so rare you'd only find them in Knockturn Alley. If his mother, Anne, saw this stash, she'd probably empty it in the blink of an eye.
Glancing at Snape's tattered, threadbare robe, Edward had a hunch where Hogwarts' generous staff salaries were going.
Before long, the foul stench of the troll materials vanished, replaced by a tar-like substance in the cauldron that gave off a faint bloody scent. As it heated, the liquid turned a golden-red hue, then, after swirling, layering, and adding other ingredients, it deepened into a rich amber.
"Done, Professor," Edward said, rolling down his shirt sleeves and casting a quick cleaning charm on his hands. He'd rehearsed the process countless times in his head, and now it was second nature. The entire brewing took less than ten minutes.
Snape squinted, dipping a dropper into the potion and letting a single drop fall onto a test iron strip. With a hiss, the metal corroded, forming olive-shaped holes—a sign the potion was up to standard.
"Not bad," Snape muttered, his terse approval. With a flick of his wand, he summoned a small vial, filled it with the potion, and thrust it into Edward's hands.
"I assume you've got what you came for, Mr. Bedivere. Now, get back to your common room!"
"I don't care how you plan to use that potion, but if I find students wandering around with troll-level stupidity in a few days, someone's going to regret it!"
With a sweep of his robes, Snape dismissed him. But Edward lingered.
"Thank you, Professor! I know this might be out of line, but… what's wrong with your leg?"
Edward had noticed Snape's right leg the moment he entered the bathroom earlier. Despite Snape's efforts to hide it, Edward's keen senses, sharpened by his protective charm, picked up on the unevenness in his gait. It had worsened into a noticeable limp. Snape's leg was clearly injured, and recently.
Snape quickly tucked his leg under his robes. "Mind your tongue, Bedivere. A head of house isn't obligated to report their whereabouts to students. Didn't you hear me? Back to your house—now!"
His voice was nearly a roar, a clear order to leave. But Edward, unfazed, pulled a small vial from his pocket.
"Professor, this is a potion my mother made. It smells like lilies and works better than standard Dittany, though it might sting a bit on wounds. I'll leave the troll materials here. Happy Halloween, Professor."
With a slight bow, Edward turned and left the classroom, not catching the faint look of surprise on Snape's face.
Snape hobbled forward, picking up the vial that shimmered silver in the candlelight. *Lily-scented?* Anne had good taste. He hesitated, then cautiously uncorked it, inhaling the fragrance. The scent instantly transported him back twenty years to Hogwarts, lying on the grass by the lake with Lily, the air filled with the perfume of lilies.
His expression softened. Pulling his robe aside, he revealed a bloodied right leg. Edward was right—the wound was fresh. When Quirrell burst into the Great Hall announcing a troll in the dungeon, Snape's first instinct wasn't to join the other staff in the basement. Instead, he'd headed to the fourth-floor corridor to check on the trap's security. Unfortunately, not only did he fail to catch the culprit, but he'd nearly lost half his leg to that blasted Cerberus.
Carefully, Snape sprinkled a pinch of the powder onto his wound. A searing pain shot through him, yanking his thoughts back from the past. He nearly hurled the vial across the room. *A bit painful?* This was worse than the claw from that three-headed beast! Still, the potion's effectiveness was undeniable, so he gritted his teeth and applied the rest.
Meanwhile, Edward, oblivious to the scene in the dungeon, walked cheerfully down the corridor toward his common room. The moment of truth had arrived. With Snape's approval backing the Troll Strength Potion, it couldn't possibly fail. He pulled out the vial, eyed the amber liquid, uncorked it, and downed it in one gulp.