Shawn had originally thought brewing potions wouldn't be too difficult. After all, the process followed strict procedures laid out clearly in the textbook. But the reality proved far more complex than he'd imagined.
He knew the basic steps: add dried nettles and crushed snake fangs into the cauldron to simmer together, then add porcupine quills after removing from heat. Simple enough on paper. But once it involved actual practice, problems emerged from every direction.
How finely should the snake fangs be crushed? How many seconds after removing from heat should porcupine quills be added? How much force should be applied when stirring? What arc should the stirring spoon follow? At what exact moment should stirring begin?
The textbook explained nothing about these critical details, and Professor Snape hadn't offered even the slightest explanation during his demonstration. These were apparently things wizards simply understood instinctively—like when Shawn had first practised the Levitation Charm, that peculiar internal sensation had guided his wand movements without conscious thought.
The frustrating result was that since this knowledge was assumed to be universal—or if not universal, quickly learnt through experience—no one bothered teaching it explicitly. Professor Snape, regarding these fundamental questions, had very likely never paid them conscious attention. As a Potions master, he couldn't possibly have failed to notice these variables. He simply took the knowledge for granted.
"But I seem to lack that instinct entirely, so these problems become insurmountable obstacles," Shawn thought with resigned frustration.
His grim suspicion was confirmed the next moment. When he strictly followed the textbook's steps and attempted to rely on possibly nonexistent instinct to brew the potion, the cauldron—under his "exactly as I feared" gaze and Justin's bewildered expression—produced a distinctly blue potion.
"I don't think the Cure for Boils is supposed to be this colour," Justin said slowly, scratching his head in disbelief at the result.
The cauldron gurgled ominously, bubbles rising through the blue liquid as it slowly thickened into a viscous sludge. The acrid smell made both boys wrinkle their noses.
Professor Snape's expression darkened along with the failed potion.
"Idiots!" His cold voice cut through the dungeon as he strode toward their table, his robes billowing dramatically with each step.
"I believe, aside from catastrophic failures in stirring technique and heat management, your material processing displayed an extraordinarily high probability of fundamental incompetence." Professor Snape waved his wand with casual precision, and a stool appeared before their workstation. He sat with elegant disdain, his dark gaze locked firmly on that pot of blue disaster.
After observing for mere seconds, he sneered coldly. "Foolish porcupine quill selection, troll-brained nettle selection, and utterly disastrous snake fang selection. You actually chose non-venomous snake fangs?! Two complete fools who deserve to be written up as cautionary examples in every first-year textbook!"
He roared mercilessly, waving his wand to vanish all the failed potion from the cauldron in a single gesture. Steam hissed as the silver vessel emptied.
"You should be grateful your procedural steps weren't completely wrong, or you'd have learnt precisely what lesson foolish students receive in Potions class—from the hospital wing!" His voice carried the chill of the dungeon's perpetual cold.
"One point deducted from each of your houses."
Justin had sensed impending disaster the moment he'd seen Snape approaching, but such concentrated, specific mockery still made his face flush crimson with humiliation. Shawn's bright eyes also dimmed, losing their usual sharp focus. Just like when practising spells during those first terrible weeks, he possessed not even a shred of instinctual perception for potion brewing.
He could roughly estimate his Potions talent now: essentially nonexistent.
Even after class was dismissed, the young wizards didn't dare speak at normal volume. The oppressive shadow of Potions class still loomed over everyone's heads. Students hurried through the dungeon corridors with hunched shoulders, avoiding eye contact.
"Shawn, don't worry. We'll earn back those lost points," Justin's voice sounded beside Shawn's ear, the words seemingly encouraging both of them equally.
"Yes," Shawn replied simply.
He appeared somewhat dazed as they climbed the stairs toward the Great Hall, but internally his emotions had already settled into cold determination. If he stopped because of difficulties, obstacles, or others' cruel mockery, he wouldn't have learnt even the Levitation Charm by now. Weakness had never been an option.
He was processing Professor Snape's cutting words, dissecting them for useful information. Failed heat control. Unreasonable stirring technique. Fundamental problems with material selection and preparation. These were the absolute basics of potion brewing, and also the specific deficiencies Shawn now faced.
Two paths lay before him, clearly delineated.
The first option was to mindlessly brew potions repeatedly like when learning charms initially—summarising experience through exhaustive trial and error, hoping instinct would eventually develop.
This approach was immediately rejected as soon as it formed. Potions weren't remotely like Charms. This wasn't some relatively safe branch of magic where mistakes produced minor sparks or failed levitations. Potion processing and brewing were genuinely dangerous and unpleasant work. The slightest carelessness could transform them into toxic fog, explosive reactions, or corrosive disasters. Trial and error on this scale meant gambling his health—possibly his life—on every practice session.
Only the second path remained viable.
Understand the Potions branch of magic as comprehensively and quickly as possible. Solve all potential problems through theoretical study before attempting practical application. Then gain proficiency through careful, informed potion brewing, and finally obtain a title to artificially improve his abysmal natural talent.
This approach was far more complex and difficult than mindless repetition, but it was demonstrably achievable and significantly safer. With just one correctly executed practice, subsequent progress would accelerate dramatically.
"Solve one problem at a time, but quickly. Hogwarts curriculum includes more than just this single subject," Shawn murmured to himself, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
The Great Hall tables were covered with the lunch feast—a dazzling array of dishes that momentarily drove away his frustration. Roast turkey, small sausages glistening with fat, buttered peas, rich gravy, cranberry sauce, Christmas pudding despite the early autumn date, turkey sandwiches, baked flatbreads still steaming from the ovens...
Terrible talent and Professor Snape's venom hadn't affected Shawn's enthusiasm for eating in the slightest. The food was miraculous, abundant, free.
Shawn ate his meal with swift efficiency, savouring every bite while maintaining proper dining posture. For six months, he'd never eaten until truly satisfied. Even at yesterday's opening feast, he'd stopped when only about seventy percent full, cautious about overwhelming his shrunken stomach.
When the orphanage couldn't increase income—which was always—it invariably chose to cut expenditures instead. Matron Anna had once seriously proposed that each child only needed one meal per day to survive adequately. The burning pain of stomach acid reflux in the middle of the night was no pleasant experience. At his hungriest, Shawn had occasionally regarded the stray dogs at the orphanage entrance as potential emergency rations, though he'd never quite reached that desperate point.
"Hermione! Over here!" Justin called enthusiastically, waving toward Hermione Granger, who appeared to be searching for a quiet corner seat far from attention.
She quickly jogged over, her face slightly flushed with embarrassment at the attention.
"You were far too loud!" Hermione hissed, glaring at Justin with mock severity.
"Sorry, I was afraid you wouldn't hear me otherwise," Justin replied, his dimples deepening with his unrepentant grin.
"Our first afternoon class is Herbology," Hermione began immediately, already shifting into information-sharing mode. "I noticed it appears most frequently on the schedule compared to other subjects. I'm guessing it won't be simple at all, so I memorised the entire textbook again last night, hoping thorough preparation will help. By the way, I heard your house had Potions class this morning. How was Professor Snape? Was he as intimidating as everyone says?"
"Herbology sounds genuinely fascinating. Will we get to work with those magical plants directly? Like the ones in the textbook illustrations? As for Potions class, I have to say..." Justin launched into an animated description, carefully editing out the worst of their humiliation.
Hermione listened intently, occasionally interjecting questions or observations, and soon the two were deep in enthusiastic discussion about curriculum expectations and study strategies.
Their voices gradually faded into background noise as Shawn's mind shifted focus. He thoughtfully extracted his class schedule from his robes, spreading it flat beside his plate.
Wednesday morning: Herbology. Wednesday afternoon: Herbology. Friday afternoon: Herbology.
Herbology appeared more frequently than any other core subject. Hogwarts' course schedule must have been designed with deliberate pedagogical reasoning. Herbology receiving so many class periods meant it was fundamentally necessary—possibly prerequisite knowledge for other subjects.
But why specifically?
"Disastrous material selection... your material processing displayed fundamental incompetence..." Professor Snape's cutting words echoed in Shawn's memory.
He sorted through the professor's criticism methodically. After several seconds of careful analysis, the reasoning became clear.
Herbology class would teach young wizards proper material identification, selection, and processing techniques. Material processing was the essential first step in potion-making—the foundation upon which everything else depended. Without understanding plant properties, growth patterns, harvesting timing, and preparation methods, successful potion brewing was essentially impossible.
The logical deduction wasn't difficult: to excel at Potions, one must first master Herbology. The curriculum structure itself provided the answer to his dilemma. He needed to approach these subjects systematically, building knowledge in the correct sequence rather than struggling blindly.
Shawn allowed himself a small, determined smile. He had his strategy now. First, master Herbology to understand materials. Then apply that knowledge to Potions. Systematic, logical, achievable—even with his lack of natural instinct.
He returned his attention to his meal with renewed purpose, already mentally cataloguing which sections of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi he should review before afternoon class.