The dungeon echoed with the clinking "ping-pong" sounds of young wizards stirring their cauldrons. Every now and then, a chilling voice cut through the air. But mostly, it was the rustle of ingredients dropping into cauldrons and the soft bubbling as potions simmered.
Snape lurked in the shadows, his sharp eyes watching. Years of observation told him one thing: aside from a few quirks, this fool's talent was no different from the countless mediocre wizards he'd seen.
Standing over a cauldron trailing wisps of white vapor, the boy couldn't discern the delicate dance of ingredients reacting, nor sense the subtle shifts as flames licked the cauldron's base. As for pinpointing the critical moments in brewing? Hopeless.
His only strength was precision.
Hmph. If it weren't for that precision, he'd probably be lying in the Hospital Wing by now.
[You brewed a Draught of Peace at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]
Without the crutch of ritual magic, Sean could only manage an Apprentice-level Draught of Peace. Still, this was real progress after over a week of effort.
Back when he started, even success was a struggle.
[You brewed a Draught of Peace at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]
Another Apprentice-level batch. After several cauldrons' worth, Sean had to pause for a break.
He was one point away from unlocking Beginner-level Draught of Peace, but his mental energy was drained. Under Snape's thoughtful gaze, he uncorked a potion vial and drank.
A warm trickle coursed through him, easing his exhausted mind.
He set the crystal vial down—huh, apple-flavored.
Three months of Quidditch training and Snape's potions had restored his magic to the level of a first-year wizard before starting Hogwarts.
Compared to when a simple Levitation Charm would knock him flat, he could now cast multiple Silent Spells without breaking a sweat.
More importantly, Sean felt he was on the edge of a breakthrough.
Before, his body produced only a trickle of magic, far below a young wizard's norm. But if he crossed this threshold, it wouldn't just be his body recovering—it'd be his magical growth hitting a normal level.
All he needed was—
A vial flew from nowhere, landing in his hand. Sean looked up, but Snape's face was hidden behind a piece of parchment.
He glanced at the vial. Another crystal bottle, its contents a deeper hue than before, labeled with a single word: Drink.
Sean didn't hesitate. This potion—let's call it Mystery Potion No. 2—was leagues better than the last, its effects ten times stronger.
And, yep, richer apple flavor.
His body warmed, almost glowing. He'd crossed the threshold into a normal young wizard's magical capacity. When he flicked his wand to cast Lumos, the dungeon lit up so brightly that Snape's roar echoed from outside:
"Idiot! Rein in your magic!"
Sean quietly stowed his wand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
The good news didn't stop there.
[You brewed a Draught of Peace at Beginner level. Proficiency +3]
His magical growth was clearly boosting his skills across all magical disciplines.
[A new Potions title has been unlocked. Please review.]
Sean's heart raced as he checked:
[Title: Potion Adept]
[Greatly enhances potion perception and significantly boosts potion-making talent.]
[Wizard Sean, Potion Talent: Blue (enhanced by Potion Adept title; original talent: White). Note: Average wizard talent is Green.]
[Advancement: Brew six Expert-level potions and six Skilled-level potions to unlock the Expert Potion Master title.]
His talent had improved!
Sean realized those days of chasing inspiration, obsessing over precision, and agonizing over flame control and stirring strength were paying off.
He was halfway to being a potions prodigy, wasn't he?
Snape's gaze lingered on Sean. He'd felt the boy's magic surge—nearly turning the dungeon into a chandelier with a hundred glowing orbs. Some ingredients had to stay in the dark.
Details swirled in Snape's mind, coalescing into a fleeting sense of error.
Late November in the dungeon was cold, the chill seeping into the stone walls. Snow dusted the castle's edges, falling with a soft, soothing rustle.
Sean deftly lit the cauldron, prepped ingredients, added them, and stirred, waiting for them to meld.
Guided by a newfound instinct, he fine-tuned his brewing technique, his quill scratching notes nonstop in a nearby notebook.
Now he understood why Snape got so irritable. Looking back, his earlier attempts were like a Muggle trying to copy a painting—clumsy and riddled with mistakes.
[You brewed a Draught of Peace at Skilled level. Proficiency +10]
Maybe it was steady progress, maybe it was luck, but Sean's face lit up with joy.
A Skilled-level Draught of Peace could fetch a whopping twenty Galleons, even at resale.
This meant he could now brew advanced potions on his own.
Compared to struggling with a basic Boil-Cure Potion as a first-year, he was a hundred times better.
In the dungeon's deepest chill, Severus Snape turned away, standing by the window, his gaze sinking into the frozen Black Lake.
In Sean's cauldron, the last red flame flickered out into ash, sighing softly.
Snape didn't move. He watched his breath form white mist in the air, then fade into the dungeon's stagnant chill.
As if waiting for something—or perhaps he'd long forgotten what waiting felt like. In this corner even ghosts avoided, only memories and potion dregs lingered, sealed in the subzero cold, guarding wounds that never healed.
He'd thought it was just low talent. But Sean's potion skills were starting to shine, and in a fleeting moment, Snape considered one possibility:
Hardship had given him a frail body, crushed his natural talent, and frozen his magic at a barely passing level.
While Sean buzzed with quiet excitement, Snape's face remained blank. In a rare, even tone, he asked:
"Why don't you resent it?"
Hogwarts' snow fell silently—onto the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, a long winter without letters sent. The snow grew thicker. The cauldron's flames rose, crackling faintly. This winter, the snow seemed to settle on Snape's rusted trachea and lungs.
His voice was like a train derailed, a name caught in his throat, stranded in the endless winter.
---