Chapter 40: Felix Felicis and Old Wounds
In the damp, chilly dungeons, the air in the Potions classroom was thick with the scent of a thousand brewing ingredients, overpowering even the ever-present smell of pickled magical specimens.
"What do you need the Felix Felicis for?" Snape finally asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them since they had left the Great Hall. He was already acting as if he had agreed to give Ryan a vial.
"It's the most famous potion in the wizarding world," Ryan said, finding a stool to sit on. "It's only natural for me to be curious about it. Especially since it's said to improve one's luck."
"That is a falsehood," Snape sneered in his trademark tone. "I am surprised, Mr. Welles, that even you would be taken in by such rumors. Besides, Felix Felicis would have little effect on you." As he spoke, he tapped a stone on the wall with his wand. After a complex sequence of magical gestures, a small recess opened, and he retrieved a small vial of shimmering golden liquid.
So certain it won't work on me? Ryan thought, bemused. How could he possibly know that?
"The idea that Felix Felicis makes the drinker 'lucky' is an illusion, Mr. Welles," Snape said, handing the vial to Ryan. "Its true effect is to imbue the drinker with an overwhelming sense of confidence, to broaden their mind and enhance their reflexes. It allows them to perform at their absolute peak, to achieve things that were previously beyond their grasp."
Snape sat down opposite Ryan. "This behavior is not your usual standard, Mr. Welles. I do not believe you would be so easily swayed by common gossip. I suspect that there is something else, something that has clouded your judgment, something related to 'good luck.'"
Ryan noticed that Snape seemed to enjoy staring people down with his empty, black eyes, even when he wasn't using Legilimency. Perhaps he thinks it's intimidating, Ryan thought, a small smile playing on his lips. "Professor," he said, "for a moment there, I mistook you for a Ravenclaw, so adept are you at reading people."
"It's true," he admitted, holding the vial up to the light. "There is something… important… to me, that requires a bit of luck." He smiled and pocketed the vial. "Since I have given you an answer, Professor, I hope you will answer a question for me. Why are you so certain Felix Felicis won't work on me?"
"Professor Welles," Snape said, his voice laced with an unreadable emotion. "You are a professor now. You need not address us as such."
"I am still a student," Ryan replied. "I do not yet feel I have met the standard of a professor."
Snape waved a dismissive hand. "I have already explained the potion's effects. Unlike Minerva and the others, who believe you are simply a prodigy, I have a different theory. Your talent is indeed first-rate among the current students at Hogwarts. However, it is not nearly enough to account for your level of magical skill in your fifth year. A multi-talented 'Elite Wizard,' in your own terms, should not exist at the age of fifteen."
This is so awkward, Ryan thought. The side-effects of showing off were truly terrible. All of his teachers were now quoting his own half-baked theories back at him. He could only comfort himself with the thought that this was all happening in-house, away from the prying eyes of the outside world.
Snape, noticing Ryan's slight wince, continued. "It was only after I found several familiar-looking potions in the shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade that I was certain. You have made yourself exceptional through an immense amount of practice and study."
"Your constant practice keeps your magical abilities stable. You do not need a potion to broaden your mind or enhance your reflexes in order to perform at your peak."
Ryan applauded. "Thank you for clearing that up, Professor. And no wonder I used to see you so often during my late-night… strolls… in my fourth year." He then changed the subject. "So, Professor, what was your question?"
"My question… is about Harry Potter," Snape said, his voice a low hiss, as if he were championing Ryan's cause. "He is rash, arrogant, ignorant, and lazy. Why did you allow him to join the Adventurers' Club? Was it because of his fame?"
Rash, arrogant, ignorant, lazy… If it weren't for what the intel told me, Professor, you would have almost convinced me. I never knew you were the tsundere type. Ryan was genuinely shocked.
He repeated the prophecy he had received, then asked, "Forgive my impertinence, Professor, but does Harry know how much you care about him?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he saw a side of Snape he had never seen before.
"CARE ABOUT POTTER?! IMPOSSIBLE! YOU ARE A VILE, PEEPING SCOUNDREL, WELLES!" Snape shot to his feet, his eyes burning with a murderous rage.
"SILENCE! SILENCE! SILENCE!" he roared.
"Professor, you know that a Seer's visions are often uncontrollable," Ryan said calmly. "Until I saw the look on your face just now, I truly did not understand what had happened all those years ago. But now… your expression is telling a very clear story."
"BE QUIET, YOU SEER!" Snape roared, like a wounded animal, trying to drive away anyone who dared to get close. Gradually, his rage subsided, and he slumped back into his seat, a hollowed-out shell of a man.
"Ryan," he said, his voice flat and dead. "How do you Seers view prophecy?"
A talking corpse, was Ryan's first thought. "In my view, Professor," he said, drawing on his own experience with the daily intel, "a prophecy is something that is about to happen." He had heard, however, that the prophecies of this world were different from his own, more akin to an unchangeable, predestined future.
"Things that are about to happen…" Snape whispered, his head bowed. "Can they be changed?"
So, Snape and Harry's relationship is tied to a prophecy, Ryan thought. And his mix of hatred and concern, and now his question about changing the future… He thought about the fact that Snape and Harry's parents were contemporaries, and a plausible theory began to form. Snape and the Potters had been friends, but a prophecy had driven them apart. That was why Snape was so conflicted about Harry.
"Professor," Ryan said, deciding to play the role of therapist, "do you want it to be changeable, or unchangeable?"
"What do you mean?" Snape asked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
"We are all masters of self-deception and self-punishment, Professor. If it would make you feel better to believe that prophecies are unchangeable, then I can tell you that they are. Or, perhaps, no matter what I say, you will continue to deceive yourself… about Harry's parents."
"Be quiet, Welles! You know nothing!" Snape's breathing was becoming ragged.
Ryan met his hollow gaze without flinching. "This time, Professor," he said softly, "you are afraid."
He waited until Snape looked away, then pulled a bottle of Firewhisky from his ring and poured the professor a glass. "What a coincidence. I just happen to have a bottle of this. And I just happen to be a very good listener. Anything, Professor, when bottled up, will fester and grow into a monster, regardless of joy or sorrow, love or hate."
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