Sean was getting more familiar with Hogwarts by the day.
He could walk to the dungeons steady as you please even with his eyes closed.
The glass cupboards packed with ingredients felt like his own storeroom now; he could even recall where most potion supplies were kept.
He'd already filled one notebook recording his brewing practice, which forced him to tuck Master Libatius Borage's slips of paper between the pages of a second.
Sometimes Sean felt that the wizarding world's knowledge wasn't passed down in a continuous line.
After Harry got the Half-Blood Prince's notes, his Potions work shot ahead, at points even outstripping the hard-studying Hermione.
It was the same for Sean: with Master Libatius Borage's refined ritual paired with the will-guided method, he could brew an adept-level Deflating Draught right from the start—something most ordinary witches and wizards would need a year or two of grinding study to reach.
That laid bare a clear problem: in some—perhaps many—areas, magic isn't necessarily advancing in a steady march.
Overall, of course, the wizarding world has progressed: Dumbledore's discovery of twelve uses of dragon's blood happened this century; the Wolfsbane Potion is plainly a breakthrough.
In alchemy, the Weasley twins later turned plenty of wild ideas into actual inventions.
Broomsticks, too, are obviously getting more advanced and faster.
Beyond that, the magical world keeps absorbing Muggle technology—Knight Bus, steam trains, cameras, newspapers, the Wizarding Wireless. All of it well past the medieval.
But to say the progress is dramatic? Not really.
Dumbledore's "twelve uses" count among the century's biggest research achievements.
Professor Snape already belongs to the innovators, yet even his findings run to things like "a short-bladed English knife expresses juice faster" and "a counterclockwise stir fixes it at once."
Sean also noticed there'd been a long drought in new spell creation; the only modern, self-made spell he could call to mind was Snape's Sectumsempra.
And here was another surprise: Hogwarts' textbooks hadn't been updated in forty years.
He was using the exact same editions Professor Snape had used four decades ago. In other words, for forty years or more, wizarding knowledge had barely been refreshed—unthinkable in the Muggle world.
All of this led Sean to a single realization:
Breakthroughs in branches of magic tend to rest on exceptionally gifted individuals—Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall.
History bears this out. Master Libatius Borage's discoveries alone could push the entire Potions field forward a century.
So finding those gifted witches and wizards—and understanding their reforming, trailblazing work—became, dimly, a necessary path in learning magic.
Fortunately, Hogwarts has such professors on hand.
Professor Snape is a modern Potions master; his command of the craft even lets him rewrite passages in Advanced Potion-Making.
Professor Flitwick is a former Dueling Champion; his theory and practical Charms ability sit at the very cutting edge.
Professor McGonagall is one of the few recorded Animagi, and her depth in Transfiguration could keep Sean learning for seven years.
Outside Hogwarts, where else could Sean find so many powerful witches and wizards willing to teach?
Not to mention, if he could stay over the summer, he could practically get one-on-one guidance from all of them—professors are simply too busy to spare time during term.
Take Professor Snape: more than once Sean had seen him grading with a cold smirk while, from the shadows, keeping a hard eye on Sean's simmering cauldron.
…
The cauldron's misty steam pulled Sean back to the present.
He was still brewing a Deflating Draught. Last time, with the refined ritual's help, he'd already reached adept level.
A few days earlier he'd read a passage in Magical Drafts and Potions:
"Caution in the use of Swelling Solution is essential. A witch named Loria once splashed herself while watering plants with it; for six whole days her neck was so swollen and thick it was like having a Quaffle hanging from it. Fortunately, her mother—a witch newly introduced to potions—brewed a Deflating Draught for her in time, soothing her and easing the pain."
Useful bits are always tucked away in a book's hidden corners.
Sean guessed that soothe and ease were probably the key emotions.
Firelight flickered across his face.
Holding his breath, he sprinkled in the final spoon of powdered galangal—the deep-violet potion surged with orange bubbles, releasing a spicy, warming scent.
He ran through the steps from his notes, weaving the refined ritual into the brew, one stage after another:
ingredient prep, heat control, stirring method, simmer time…
His technique was always precise and methodical; every batch drew on the last—never the same mistake twice.
From a cobwebbed corner, Professor Snape watched the boy wizard—the concentrated face, the constant note-taking—occasionally offering guidance with a curl of the lip.
Before long,
Sean felt again the focused calm the refined ritual brought. He adjusted himself in silence, imagining he was the witch or wizard desperate to soothe someone's pain with a Deflating Draught.
Under that emotional color, the will-guided fusion within the potion changed dramatically.
In an instant, Snape was at Sean's side, eyes locked on the cauldron.
"If that troll-sized brain of yours holds any wit at all, you'll know what happens when you alter a ritual without permission!"
Fury shook him; wand in hand, he never took his eyes off the boy.
Fool! Arrogant! Hopeless!
The words roared inside him, but he still didn't dare interrupt outright; brow knotted, anger forced down, he stood guard.
Sean heard none of it. With the refined ritual and the will-guided method, it was as if he'd truly used a rite to become that healer-wizard.
His magic poured into the billowing cauldron, emotion and all—and in that boiling brew he actually felt the wonder of potions: their power to help witches and wizards overcome, to solve the problem at hand.
He began to understand Snape's words from the very first lesson:
"I don't expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron—white steam curling up with a delicate fragrance. You won't truly grasp the subtle magic of a liquid that runs in the veins and makes the heart race and the will go dreamy… I can teach you how to win renown, brew glory, even hold death at bay."
Every word Snape had said was true.