"Water from the Lethe River, mistletoe berries, valerian, standard ingredients… it's a Forgetfulness Potion," Sean muttered, eyeing the materials on his table. Guessing the potion from the ingredients was the first hurdle of the Potions practical test. Figure that out, and you were halfway to passing. Then, add the materials in the right order, and you'd secure a passing grade.
To score higher, the potion's quality had to shine.
For Sean, a Potions Club member, this test was manageable. But as he reached for his cauldron, Snape loomed beside him, voice low. "Sean, show me what you've learned in the Potions Club. The Forgetfulness Potion takes 45 minutes to brew. I want it done in half an hour."
Cutting the time meant tweaking the standard recipe—a tough challenge.
Hermione Granger, working nearby, overheard Snape. Shortening a potion by 15 minutes? Her first thought was that Sean had upset Snape, and this was punishment. But Snape's tone wasn't angry, and Sean was his star student. Could it be done? Hermione's curiosity sparked.
She watched Sean, but Snape's cold stare snapped her back. "Miss Granger, you have one hour for this exam. Go over, and you'll fail."
Failing was Hermione's worst fear. Grudgingly, she focused on her cauldron, brewing the standard Forgetfulness Potion, sneaking glances at Sean between steps.
Sean mind was on the potion, racing to rethink the standard recipe.
Snape's warning to Hermione applied to him too—one hour total. That left maybe half an hour to figure out a faster way, maybe less.
He could stick to the normal recipe and still score well—Snape wouldn't dock him unfairly. But that'd risk his spot in the Potions Club next year. Snape's club was elite because he tested members like this at term's end, weeding out the weak.
This recipe tweak was Sean's test.
Standing at his cauldron, Sean's brain churned. Every Potions Club lesson, every book he'd read, flashed through his mind. Blaise's nervous fidgeting, Hermione's curious stares, Draco Malfoy's sneering, Miles Bulstrode's quiet spite—none of it fazed him. He stood still, thinking hard, the classroom's steam and sharp herb scents fading away.
Snape watched, calm and unhurried. He knew Sean's skill. This challenge, tough for other club members, wouldn't stop Sean. Snape's confidence held steady.
As time ticked on, other students started whispering about Sean. Usually, he crushed Potions, leaving others in the dust. Now, seeing him frozen, they didn't know why but hoped the first-year star would slip.
Their hopes didn't matter. After nearly 20 minutes of thought, Sean moved.
"Professor, can I grab extra materials?" he asked.
Snape's face stayed blank. "Yes, but only three kinds."
"Three's enough," Sean said.
"Go get them. It counts against your exam time," Snape warned.
"Got it!" Sean replied.
He dashed to the classroom's storage door, shoving it open. Helping Snape sort materials for the Potions Club made him familiar with the warehouse. He grabbed two ingredients fast and raced back, hands flying as he prepped them.
Using one material as a catalyst, he solved the tricky mix of Lethe River water and valerian. The second, he turned it into an extract to pull the key parts from mistletoe berries. These tricks, inspired by chemistry from his past life, worked like magic in Potions.
Sean poured the processed extracts into his cauldron, brewing swiftly. By the 25th minute, the Forgetfulness Potion was done, its surface shimmering in the dungeon's dim light.
Snape, after giving Neville Longbottom a quick passing mark, strode to Sean's station. He lifted the potion vial, sniffed it, then drew a drop with his wand, letting it hover for inspection.
"Very precise… truly impressive… top quality," Snape said, his voice carrying.
Draco and Miles, hoping for Sean's failure, scowled, their faces sour. Snape ignored them, studying the potion closely before delivering his verdict.
"A brilliant potion," he said. "I'm pleased someone finally earned a perfect score in the end-of-term Potions exam!"
"Sean, go to my office and wait," Snape said after scoring his potion.
Snape's voice was sharp, urging Sean to leave while he finished the exam. His usual calm seemed frayed, a rare impatience flickering in his dark eyes.
Sean and Blaise Zabini left the Potions classroom. Blaise headed to the Slytherin common room, while Sean made his way to Snape's office, the dungeon air cool and damp.
Sean knew Snape's office well. He pushed open the heavy door, its hinges creaking, and found a chair. The room smelled of potions and old parchment. He grabbed a book from the shelf, flipping to the first page. The Potions knowledge was complex, far beyond his current skill. He struggled to grasp it.
"This book's too advanced for you," Snape's flat voice cut in, startling Sean. "You can't fully understand it yet."
Sean jumped up, facing Snape. He'd been reading for nearly half an hour, lost in the pages. Snape had finished the exam and slipped in quietly.
"Professor, I was bored, so I grabbed a book," Sean said, setting it down.
Snape nodded, glancing at the book Sean had read past ten pages. "You read this far. Did you get any of it?"
"Some parts," Sean said. "There's stuff I don't understand, though."
"What did you catch?" Snape asked, his eyes narrowing.
"It's about removing the werewolf virus," Sean said. "The book suggests pulling the virus from a person's body for study. I think that could work."
Sean saw the werewolf virus like a disease. The book's idea mirrored vaccine research in the Muggle world. Whoever wrote it likely studied Muggle medicine, aiming to adapt it to cure werewolves.
"Good thinking," Snape said, closing the book and shelving it. "Now, to the main point. Where did you learn those two tricks for brewing the Forgetfulness Potion?"
Sean took a breath. "Professor, my parents have no magic, so I grew up in the Muggle world, learning their ways. They have a science called chemistry, used to make medicines. My tricks came from that—borrowing chemical ideas and mixing them with potion-making. The Forgetfulness Potion's ingredients worked well for it, but other potions might not."
Snape showed no interest in Muggle chemistry, nodding slightly. "You're used to writing essays for club assignments. Exams are done, and classes are paused. I want you to write a detailed essay on how you changed the Forgetfulness Potion's recipe. Give it to me. If it's solid, I'll help you submit it to The Golden Crucible, a Potions journal run by the Wizengamot. If it's published, it'll open your doors to the wizarding world."
The Golden Crucible? A Potions journal? Sean hadn't heard of it. After a year with Snape, he felt relaxed enough to ask.
"Professor, what's The Golden Crucible?" he said.
Snape's lip curled. "If your ears work, I explained it already." Still, he went on. "It's a top Potions journal, backed by the Wizengamot. Only high-level work gets published. Authors who make it gain fame and Galleons. Take Damocles, from that werewolf book. He's working on a potion to keep werewolves calm when they transform. He's published 14 papers in The Golden Crucible, each one tracking his progress. In a year, he'll likely finish it. Even now, his papers have earned him investments and a big name."
Sean knew that potion—Wolfsbane Potion, a game-changer for werewolves. Snape's words showed him the wizarding world's journals were like Muggle science ones, sharing breakthroughs. Who copied who? He couldn't tell.
"I get it," Sean said. "I'll take it seriously and get the essay to you before the holiday."
"Good," Snape said. "If that's all, go."
Snape had talked more than usual, and now he was done. He waved Sean out, his face blank again.
Leaving the office, Sean's mind buzzed about The Golden Crucible and magic journals. The wizarding world was vast—bigger than Hogwarts, bigger than Britain. There was a whole world out there he hadn't touched.
In the Slytherin common room, its green glow flickering, Sean took a deep breath, steadying himself.
The essay was a must, but he also had to watch Harry. This term, he and Harry barely talked, only chatting in shared classes. Harry was chasing the Philosopher's Stone, keeping distance to avoid suspicion. Sean, swamped with his own plans, hadn't pushed to connect.
Sean recalled that before Quirrell tried stealing the Philosopher's Stone, he'd forge a Ministry letter to trick Dumbledore away. That's when Harry would act to stop him. If Sean tracked when Harry went to Dumbledore, he'd know when to move on his own plan.