Eileen's candy shop in Diagon Alley, *Golden Harp*, was just like their home in Spinner's End—narrow, dim, and humble.
The only place touched by sunlight was taken by colorful candy jars, the only bright spots inside the gloomy little store.
The candies were hard sweets Eileen had invented herself—sweet and sour in flavor, and when left to melt slowly in one's mouth, they emitted faint, continuous shrieks.
On the shelves along the walls sat the most popular treats among children—Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs. A few bunches of licorice wands lay in the shadows between them.
At the center of the shop, Eileen watched with a gentle smile as Severus stumbled out of the fireplace.
"Have a piece of candy before you go. I doubt Mr. Felinnon would mind the delay."
"Alright."
Severus nodded agreeably and took a bright green shrieking sweet from a jar. The moment he popped it into his mouth, faint terrified screams echoed through his teeth—sounds only he could hear. A subtle vibration followed, as though the candy itself resisted being eaten.
"I'll be off now, Mum," he said.
Enjoying the fading sweetness, Severus waved and slipped into the bustling crowd under his mother's fond gaze, heading for the *Felinnon Herb Shop*.
"Oh, look who's here! My dear little Severus—your help saves me so much time every day!"
"Thank you, sir. I'm only doing what I should."
The moment Severus pushed open the door, a warm, boisterous voice rang out, cheerful as a freshly baked pumpkin pie.
Smiling, Severus greeted the round, kind-faced Mr. Felinnon, who was poking his head up from the cellar.
"No need to be so modest! I'd wager you're the best helper I've ever hired. Even my former Hogwarts students couldn't match your efficiency!"
Mr. Felinnon gestured dramatically, his small head perched atop a plump body, a comical sight reminiscent of an apple on a watermelon.
Not wasting time, Severus stepped past him and descended to the basement, quickly noticing the problem: a row of *Barov tubers* swelling and trembling uneasily in their soil beds.
"You know, I like to wash their leaves every Monday after opening, but for some reason, this new batch gets startled so easily…" Mr. Felinnon muttered, sounding slightly guilty.
Ignoring the excuse, Severus approached the restless plants and placed his hand gently over the throbbing bulbs, stroking them softly in one direction—like soothing frightened cats.
When their quivering slowed, he massaged their leaves rhythmically with his left hand. Within moments, the tubers quieted and sank back into the soil, peacefully returning to sleep.
"Incredible, my boy," whispered Mr. Felinnon in awe. "Your Herbology professor's going to be speechless when you arrive at Hogwarts."
Severus smiled quietly. "That's still a long way off. Besides, you do pay me six Galleons a month—it's only right I earn it properly."
One Galleon equaled seventeen Sickles, or 493 Knuts. According to Severus's calculations, one Galleon was roughly worth 255 yuan in his previous life.
At first, because of his age, he had earned only three Galleons per month at the shop. But after Mr. Felinnon saw his value, he quickly doubled the pay to six Galleons—a fine wage. Even most Hogwarts students working part-time in the lower grades earned about five.
Severus's performance, however, outshone them all, thanks to his *Artisan's Insight*, which accelerated his mastery of both Herbology and Potions far beyond ordinary limits.
Felinnon's shop specialized in ingredients for potion-making, filled with botany books and hands-on training. With his employer's guidance, Severus went from clumsy beginner to astonishing prodigy within a month.
In that time, he had saved enough to buy a small cauldron and an old first-year Potions textbook—by far the best-value work he could find.
It was a full day of labor.
As the sun dipped low, Severus finished grinding the last unicorn horn, wiped his forehead, and bid Mr. Felinnon farewell.
When he left, he carried a small bundle of herbs wrapped in paper—near-expired ingredients that his boss let him take home as a job perk, saving him considerable cost for his experiments.
Diagon Alley buzzed with noise and life. Wizards in robes of every shape and color moved in flowing crowds, magic flickering in countless small details.
Walking calmly among them, the dark-eyed boy still couldn't help marveling at the wonder of it all.
Back at the *Golden Harp*, he greeted Eileen and set down his herb bundle before heading out again to sell candies on the street, just as he'd done for months.
By dusk, the shop closed. Eileen and Eric returned to Spinner's End and began preparing dinner without pause, while Severus went upstairs to his small attic room.
There he sorted the herbs carefully and opened *Magical Drafts and Potions*, a book he'd read more times than he could count.
The previous owner had filled the margins with childish doodles, clearly uninterested in the subject. But under Severus's care, the pages had become rich with notes and refinements—evidence of his fast-growing mastery of potion-making.
After dinner, having once again lightened Tobias's mood with calm conversation, Severus returned to his room to begin the night's work.
In the magical world, potions were considered luxury goods—their labyrinthine processes and costly materials deterred all but the most dedicated.
Yet such common limitations did not apply to Severus Snape.
The boy's innate gift, magnified by *Artisan's Insight*, made him a natural-born genius in the art of brewing. In time, his future self would stand as the greatest potions master in Britain—perhaps even Dumbledore's equal in his own field, a national treasure of wizardry.
But now, years before that legend would form, Severus brewed not for glory or power, but for survival.
According to his plan, this—mastery of potions—was the only way his family might one day escape the shackles of poverty.