The moment Lucien stepped into Snape's office, a thick, bitter smell assaulted his senses. The room was dimly lit, with shelves packed full of bizarre potion ingredients lining the walls. Jars of preserved creatures floated silently in murky liquids, while bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. At the center of it all sat Snape behind his desk, a black cauldron bubbling softly in front of him as steam curled lazily into the air.
Snape didn't even look up when Lucien entered, nor did he offer him a seat.
"Do you know how to process the shed skin of an African tree snake?"
"Yes, Professor."
Lucien immediately recited the treatment method he had memorized from his potion textbook, carefully explaining each step. When he finished, Snape finally lifted his eyes toward him.
"Barely passable."
For Snape, that already counted as high praise.
Ignoring the sarcasm in the professor's voice, Lucien walked directly toward the medicine cabinet beside the wall.
"At the very bottom. Third cabinet."
"Yes, Professor."
Lucien opened the cabinet and quickly noticed there were no protective enchantments placed on the ingredients inside. Everything was neatly organized and carefully sorted according to type and use. Thinking about it now, it made sense. If Snape had truly protected the cabinet heavily, Hermione would never have managed to steal the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion in the original story.
He retrieved the snake skins and began following the process he had learned from the book. Before he could even finish handling two pieces, Snape's cold, mocking voice drifted over from behind him.
"Mr. Grindelwald, perhaps show some mercy to your poor Head of House's wallet. Not everyone can casually open dozens of shops in Diagon Alley like you."
Snape sneered lightly as he glanced at Lucien's work.
"At the rate you're wasting materials, less than half of that snake skin will remain usable."
Lucien didn't argue. Instead, he lowered his head slightly and asked calmly, "I'm sorry, Professor. This is my first time handling this material personally. If I've made mistakes, please correct me."
Snape seemed momentarily caught off guard by the respectful attitude. After a short pause, he leaned back into his chair.
"Start from the tail. Make a small incision there and discard that section. The rest can be peeled away intact."
"Thank you for the guidance, Professor."
Lucien carefully examined the snake skin in his hand for several seconds before starting over using Snape's method. This time, his movements became noticeably steadier.
Unfortunately, Snape's criticism didn't stop.
"Mr. Grindelwald, I was under the impression only giants possessed fingers that clumsy."
"Go easier. Processing snake skin does not require the strength of a troll swinging a club."
"Yes, Professor."
"Mr. Grindelwald, slugs may actually be more suitable companions for you. They appear to possess a comparable level of intelligence."
"These skins have already been cleaned. Washing them again is unnecessary."
"Yes, Professor."
"Mr. Grindelwald—"
By the end of the afternoon, Lucien had completely lost count of how many times Snape had insulted him.
At last, he understood how that Ravenclaw girl had once been reduced to tears during Potions class. Snape's talent for verbally destroying people was honestly astonishing. What impressed Lucien even more was that not a single insult had been repeated the entire afternoon.
Still, he wasn't angry.
Because every criticism Snape made was precise and useful.
Beneath the venomous tone, Snape was genuinely teaching him. Many of the techniques he casually mentioned weren't written in textbooks at all. They were methods refined through years of practical experience. In some areas, Snape's knowledge even surpassed the so-called standard answers in advanced potion guides.
As long as someone could endure his horrible personality, Snape truly was one of the finest potion masters in the wizarding world.
Time passed slowly as Lucien continued processing the snake skins under Snape's supervision. Gradually, the professor spoke less and less.
Lucien's learning speed had exceeded Snape's expectations.
In only a single afternoon, his handling technique had already begun to resemble that of a professional potion brewer. A faint trace of satisfaction flickered briefly through Snape's dark eyes before disappearing once more behind his usual cold expression.
Most of the methods Snape taught required more than talent alone. They demanded patience, concentration, and absolute attention to detail—qualities that many wizards lacked entirely.
Over the years, Snape had encountered countless students with natural talent in Potions. Yet most of them couldn't tolerate the repetitive, tedious work required to truly master the subject. Usually, they lasted less than a week before inventing excuses to escape detention or simply never returning again.
Lucien, however, never complained once.
Not only that, but he carefully followed every instruction Snape gave him without protest. That level of discipline made Snape feel a rare sense of appreciation.
Outside the office, darkness slowly settled across Hogwarts as torches along the corridors flickered to life. Inside the room, Lucien finally finished processing the last of the medicinal materials.
He stood up slowly and stretched his stiff lower back.
Under Snape's guidance, handling the snake skins hadn't actually been difficult. It was simply exhausting. Every movement required concentration and careful control, consuming both physical energy and mental focus.
Lucien packed the cleaned and processed snake skins neatly into a small storage box before carrying it over to Snape's desk.
The professor barely looked at him.
Instead, Snape's full attention remained fixed on the potion simmering inside the cauldron before him. The bubbling liquid occasionally released strange colored smoke as Snape stirred it with slow, deliberate motions.
After several moments, Snape finally glanced sideways at Lucien.
"Your work is still usable."
That was apparently his final evaluation.
Then he added coldly, "Be here early tomorrow."
"Understood, Professor."
Lucien nodded and turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, his gaze accidentally landed on the corner of Snape's desk.
A single white lily bud rested there quietly in a small glass container. Its pure color stood in sharp contrast to the gloomy atmosphere of the office.
The temperature in the room instantly dropped.
"Mr. Grindelwald," Snape said softly, his voice colder than ice, "if you no longer require your eyes, I would be more than happy to remove them for you."
Lucien immediately looked away.
"Get out."
Only after being shoved out of the office by Snape's magic did Lucien fully realize what had happened.
Looks like I spent far too long processing those ingredients.
Dinner had already ended, and curfew had begun.
Still, curfew meant very little to Lucien. Filch would never dare arrest him, and among the professors, only Professor McGonagall might seriously punish him if she caught him wandering around after hours.
Lucien headed directly toward the Hogwarts kitchens and enjoyed a late dinner prepared by the house-elves. Since Snape had genuinely taught him quite a lot that afternoon, Lucien thoughtfully asked one of the house-elves to deliver a portion to the Potions professor as well.
Afterward, he returned to his dormitory and slept peacefully through the night.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore could not say the same.
Lucien's dozens of newly opened shops in Diagon Alley had practically slashed into the profits of several pure-blood families like a knife. In only a single day, some businesses had already lost nearly one-third of their usual revenue.
And that was before Lucien's stores had even fully established their reputation.
Once the broader wizarding public discovered those shops, the old families would be lucky if they managed to keep even half their previous earnings.
To many pure-bloods, stealing profits was no different from trying to murder them.
Driven half-mad by the losses, several groups immediately decided to retaliate against Lucien.
As a result, Dumbledore spent the entire night secretly dealing with troublemakers attempting to sabotage the shops. By dawn, he had already handled more than a dozen separate incidents.
The poor centenarian barely slept at all.
He had considered negotiating with the pure-blood families, but how exactly was he supposed to do that? Was he expected to ask them politely to surrender tens of thousands of Galleons in profits simply because he said so?
None of them were idiots.
With no better solution available, Dumbledore could only endure the situation for now. Once tempers cooled, the families would naturally send representatives to negotiate matters properly.
....
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