Sean originally thought brewing a potion wouldn't be too difficult—
at least compared to spellcasting.
After all, the recipe looked rigid and precise.
But reality proved far messier than expected.
He knew the instructions:
add dried nettles and crushed snake fangs into the cauldron to boil together,
then add porcupine quills after removing the cauldron from the flame.
A simple description.
But the moment theory met practice?
Everything fell apart.
How finely should the fangs be crushed?
How long after extinguishing the flame should quills be added?
How strong should the stirring be?
What angle?
How fast?
The textbook offered no details.
And Snape provided not a single explanation.
Sean suspected these were details wizardborn students understood instinctively—
the same way he had discovered an innate "feel" when practicing Levitation.
Something unspoken, something that couldn't be taught, only sensed.
Which meant that because every wizard knew it,
no one bothered to explain it.
And Snape?
He probably never even considered that someone might struggle with the basics.
Otherwise a Potions Master would have noticed these gaps long ago.
"But I'm clearly not a genius.
So these become my obstacles."
Sean sighed silently.
His fear was confirmed seconds later—
when he followed the written instructions and trusted whatever "instinct" he could muster.
The cauldron before him—under his bewildered and Justin's horrified gaze—
began turning bright blue.
"I'm fairly sure Boil-Cure Potion… isn't supposed to be blue,"
Justin said weakly, scratching his head.
The potion bubbled thickly, deepening into a glue-like sludge.
And Snape's expression grew darker with every rising bubble.
"Idiots!"
He stormed toward them, robes snapping like whips behind him.
He conjured a stool with a flick, sat, and leaned in,
black eyes fixed on the cauldron with vicious precision.
After barely a few seconds, he sneered.
"Your porcupine quills are foolish, your nettles are idiotic, and your snake-fang choice is catastrophic—
non-venomous fangs?! Two imbeciles fit to be framed on the dungeon wall!"
With another sharp sweep of his wand, the cauldron emptied itself instantly.
"You should be grateful your procedure wasn't wrong—
or you'd have learned precisely how Potions punishes stupidity."
The temperature in the room plummeted further.
"One point deducted. Each."
Justin flushed bright red with shame.
The glare of the entire class felt suffocating.
Sean's green eyes dulled.
Just like when he first learned spells—
no instinct, no spark, no natural guidance.
He didn't need anyone to say it.
He understood his Potions talent perfectly.
Even after dismissal, no one dared speak above a whisper.
The shadow of the class hung over them like fog.
"Sean… don't worry,"
Justin murmured, voice still shaking.
"We'll earn those points back."
"Mm."
Sean looked distant, but inside his thoughts had settled.
If I had stopped because things were hard—
I wouldn't know a single spell today.
His silence wasn't defeat—
he was replaying Snape's words in his mind:
Fire control failure.
Improper stirring.
Incorrect ingredient selection…
These were fundamentals,
and these were exactly the flaws he faced.
That left only two paths:
Path One
Do what he did with spells—
brute-force repetition, try every variation, learn through trial and error.
But he rejected that instantly.
Potions was nothing like Charms.
Potions could explode. Poison. Corrode lungs.
One wrong attempt could turn a cauldron into lethal gas.
Trial-and-error meant gambling with death.
Path Two
Understand everything—
the nature of ingredients, the logic behind reactions, the role of timing and temperature.
Learn the framework first.
Then practice.
Gain proficiency.
Unlock a specialization and improve talent.
A slower, harsher path—
but the only real path.
And once he succeeded once,
progress would accelerate.
"One problem at a time. Quickly.
Hogwarts isn't just Potions."
Only he heard the words.
At lunch, the long tables overflowed with food:
roast turkey, buttered peas, tiny sausages, gravy boats, lingonberry sauce, Christmas pudding, turkey sandwiches, baked rolls…
The feast glittered like treasure.
Terrible talent and Snape's cruelty had zero effect on his appetite.
Merlin's beard… this is divine.
Sean ate with astonishing speed and perfect manners,
a combination only someone trained amid starvation could master.
Six months without a real meal—
even last night's feast barely filled him.
The orphanage's solution to poverty was simple:
cut food.
Cut again.
Cut until children learned to survive on air.
The memory of acid burning his throat while lying sleepless at night…
the wild dogs outside looking like emergency rations—
Sean devoured another bite.
Not today.
Not anymore.
"Hermione! Over here!"
Justin shouted, waving wildly.
Hermione Granger hurried over, cheeks pink with embarrassment.
"You were so loud!" she scolded.
"Sorry—thought you might not hear me."
Justin's dimples deepened.
"We have Herbology first this afternoon.
It shows up more than any other class on our schedule…
so I figured it must be important.
I reread the textbook—hopefully it helps.
Oh, and I heard you two already had Potions—"
She launched into rapid-fire speech, excitement and nerves tangled.
Justin listened earnestly. The two soon immersed themselves in discussion.
Their voices faded into background hum as Sean stared thoughtfully at his schedule.
Wednesday morning: Herbology
Wednesday afternoon: Herbology
Friday afternoon: Herbology
Indeed—the most frequent subject.
Hogwarts did nothing without purpose.
If Herbology appeared that often, it mattered.
"So why?"
"...disastrous ingredient choice…
materials were the primary issue…"
Snape's voice echoed in his thoughts—
and suddenly everything aligned.
Herbology taught the harvesting, cleaning, preparation, drying, and handling of magical plants.
Ingredient handling comes before brewing.
To learn Potions,
one must first master Herbology.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon