Sometimes, brewing potions seems so Muggle-like
That plenty of folks reckon even a Muggle could whip one up, just by following the steps.
But the truth's the polar opposite.
Even armed with every ingredient and sticking to the script to the letter, a Muggle couldn't brew a potion—
Because it always calls for a spark of magic to guide it, sometimes a wand flick too.
For the Antidote to Common Poisons, the magic kicks in at the end:
The witch or wizard performs a precise gesture and murmurs a specific incantation.
Roughly translating to:
"Imbue this potion with the power to cure scabies."
As for the steps before that, Sean was deep into them now.
...
Down in the dungeons.
Faint light dappled the stone walls overhead, the cauldron simmering gently on low heat, puffing white smoke and a faint, clean scent.
The empty underground chamber echoed only with the glug-glug of bubbles and the soft rustle of Sean turning pages in Magical Drafts and Potions.
Snape had hammered home the essentials in that first lesson: precision and rigor.
Sean flipped to the relevant section in Magical Drafts and Potions—
He'd memorized it cold, but kept it handy regardless.
"Step one: measure ingredients, simmer the horned slugs..."
While the cauldron hadn't hit preheating temp yet, Sean swiftly portioned out four sets to exact measure,
Then dove straight into simmering the horned slugs without pause.
As they cooked, he followed protocol: crushed the snake fangs with the pestle on the bench,
And chopped the pre-soaked dried nettles.
Here, his greenhouse skills shone—he handled the selection and prep with ease, hitting standard flawlessly, and even carved out extra time.
He didn't idle, though; in the gaps, he jotted notes on current quantities, states.
Even the flame's rough behavior got logged—
Sure, the dungeon cauldrons auto-lit, but he'd learn wand-controlled fire soon enough, right?
Sean always prepped ahead.
"Step two: skim the slugs, add dried nettles and snake fangs..."
Time plentiful, Sean double-checked Magical Drafts and Potions, guarding against any fumble from nerves.
The brown-black tome, its cover etched with a cauldron and swirling steam, lay open beside him,
First page bold: [Basic Brewing Methods: This Book Suffices]
"Step three: stir counterclockwise twice, clockwise three times—force must be moderate..."
Sean stirred with that bubble-bursting strength, posture steady,
Though truth be told, he was a touch on edge.
Snape could slink in any second, and success wasn't guaranteed—
Folks fear the unknown; Sean was no exception.
So he redoubled his focus, meticulous as ever.
"Nearly there: add the slugs back, lift the cauldron, spike with porcupine quills."
The brew had hit critical now—the slugs melted in on contact, turning the potion a pale blue.
Sean counted silently in his head:
"Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three..."
No slacking in the interim; he logged every nitty-gritty detail: timings, material states, heat levels, the lot.
Next came the thrill:
Sean stirred the cauldron, flicked his arm, and intoned the incantation.
The cauldron bubbled furiously for a beat, then...
Turned into...
A bluish-green jelly.
Huh?
Why bluish-green?
And no system chime.
...
Sean knew for dead certain he'd botched it.
But eyeing the final result, the failure wasn't a total wash.
Brows knit, he reasoned: if prep hadn't slipped, the error lay in the brewing.
So—stirring? Heat? Final charm?
Or all three?
Out of nowhere, a line from Magical Theory surfaced:
[But once you've mastered a branch of magic,
To unleash its full might,
You need sufficient mental fortitude.]
Sean lingered on the phrasing—"a branch of magic."
Did Potions count? Same rules?
He knew his Potions talent was rubbish—like with Charms, it'd take scores of tries to nail the knack.
But time and materials were scarce.
So: shortcuts it was.
He fished Advanced Potion-Making from his bag with care, skimming the arcane bits,
Soon alighting on the passage that lit his eyes:
[The Ministry classes Polyjuice Potion as high-risk magic,
Owing to its effects' heavy sway by the brewer's emotional state—
Strict oversight required.]
He couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion Potions demanded, but tension and rote motion? Definite no-gos.
As the cauldron reignited, steam rising anew,
Sean's taut frame eased at last. He told himself:
If Snape caught him, success or flop—he was done for either way.
So: doomed triumph, or doomed disaster?
Worlds apart.
His green eyes deepened to serene pools; even his stirring took on a subtle rhythm.
Sean had always mastered his moods—kids who couldn't fared poorly at Holyshead Orphanage.
The nettles dissolved like rock candy in the cauldron, fangs hissing as they melded in.
Sean held the exact same heat as before—but this time,
It truly felt like crafting art.
The art of potions.
Misty white vapor wreathed the cauldron; time slipped by in the quiet and the faint ting of spoon against walls.
When Sean added the porcupine quills this round,
The off-heat cauldron seemed to absorb them seamlessly.
He focused on the ritual, voicing the incantation.
This time, the cauldron didn't dawdle—it churned as if heeding his will,
Swirling fast.
In moments, the liquid jellied, hue shifting to near-perfect ink-green.
[You've fully brewed a cauldron of Antidote to Common Poisons to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
Sean's eyes blazed bright; he gazed at the inky green jelly, lips curving unbidden.
Not a second wasted—he scrawled every step in his notebook, fine-grained,
The crux in bold caps:
[Potions are precise craft; the wizard's focus and calm are key.]
Lost in reflection and summation,
The dungeon stairs' torches flickered sudden,
And from the chill steps above, a swirl of black robes cascaded down.
______
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