Roger returned to his seat with a quill and the enormous sheet of parchment, then stared at the questions until even his borrowed wakefulness felt strained. Every now and then, he paused to think, because in his opinion this was far harder than an ordinary fifth-year O.W.L. paper, and a few questions might even have wandered into N.E.W.T. territory.
There was not a single beginner-level Potions question on the entire exam. It began at the intermediate level, climbed straight into advanced potion theory, and even included open-ended questions about developing new potions from scratch.
One question asked what might cause an Intermittent Confusion Draught to suddenly turn dark green after the seventh stir, and how the brewer should correct it. Another demanded that he choose three herbal ingredients for a memory-enhancing potion and explain why each would work.
There were stranger questions too. One asked him to analyse why sensitive plants needed to be collected during thunderstorms, while the final question requested a brief description of his vision for the future development of potion-making.
Roger looked up at the front of the dungeon. Snape was brewing something at the lectern with complete disregard for everyone else, his hands moving with smooth, precise cruelty over the cauldron.
It was obvious what Snape thought. He believed Roger had personally created Blue Moonlight, and this paper was meant to test whether that assumption was true.
Roger looked down at the exam again and silently cursed. Every question was a problem-solving question, and the nastier they became, the more it felt as though Snape had designed the entire thing to beat the truth out of him with ink and parchment.
Of course, Roger could hand in a blank sheet. The problem was that Snape himself was a treasure trove: Potions master, silent casting expert, creator of his own spells, and probably the most useful professor in the castle if one could survive his temper.
That was more than enough to make any young wizard drool with envy. So Roger lowered his head, dipped his quill, and began writing.
He did not finish until eight o'clock in the evening. The memorisation-based answers were manageable, and he was fairly confident he had gotten eighty or ninety percent of those right, but when the questions moved into specific brewing adjustments, he could only answer by leaning on his experience with Blue Moonlight.
The final question was about the future of Potions. Roger glanced at it for a long time and could only wonder why Snape was asking a first-year something potion masters spent their lives debating.
Still, Roger was generous with his opinion. He wrote that most tools used by the magical world were ancient, stubborn things, as if the entire field had frozen itself a thousand years ago. If Muggle medical and scientific research methods, instruments, and testing standards could be introduced carefully, Potions might undergo a true revolution.
"Professor, I'm finished," Roger said, handing in the parchment.
Snape's potion was also nearing completion. He did not immediately take the paper, but instead swirled the golden liquid inside a small vial and looked at Roger with a sharp, assessing expression.
"What are dragonfire vine seeds, Thunderbird feathers, and unicorn horn powder used for?" Snape asked.
Roger's eyes followed the golden potion in Snape's hand. "Dragonfire vine seeds come from volcanic regions in the tropics. The vine bears fruit only once every hundred years, and the seeds can be used to extract fire essence for soul-cleansing potions."
Snape said nothing, so Roger continued. "Thunderbird feathers come from Thunderbirds that live in regions of heavy rain and lightning. They can stimulate spiritual power, and the ash produced after burning them is used in certain spirit-strengthening potions."
"And unicorn horn powder?" Snape asked.
"Unicorn horn powder can enhance clarity of thought," Roger said. "There are legends that potions brewed with it can unlock mysterious regions of the brain, though I haven't seen any reliable proof of that."
Snape picked up Roger's vial of Blue Moonlight and opened the lid. Before Roger could react, Snape tilted the golden potion and let a few drops fall into the silver-blue liquid.
"Professor…" Roger's heart lurched, and fear flashed across his face despite his best attempt to control it.
Mixing finished potions was a master-level technique. Most potion masters only dared blend potions they had brewed themselves, because mixing someone else's completed potion was almost guaranteed to ruin the entire batch, and the worst results could be terrifying.
Snape remained expressionless. His attention was fixed entirely on the change inside the vial, as if Roger's panic was nothing more than background noise.
The original silver-blue potion accepted the strands of gold, and the two colours intertwined inside the glass. They twisted into a slow, spiralling play of light and shadow, like stars being born inside liquid night.
Roger stared at it, forgetting to breathe. He had never seen such a beautiful potion reaction, and for one impossible moment, it felt as if a universe were forming before his eyes.
"This…" Roger muttered, then looked at Snape in disbelief. "This is…"
"Mixing Golden Spirit Draught with Blue Moonlight removes Blue Moonlight's drowsiness side effect," Snape said. He gave the vial a faint nod of satisfaction before handing it back. "You may call it Tranquil Galaxy."
"What about new side effects?" Roger asked at once.
"You will gather a great deal of static electricity," Snape said indifferently. "If you consider that a side effect."
He tossed the vial back to Roger and finally picked up the exam paper to grade it. His red quill moved quickly at first, but after a few lines, he slowed down and looked up at Roger from time to time.
There were plenty of mistakes and omissions in the answers. Even so, Snape could see that Roger had a solid foundation in basic theory and, more importantly, his own understanding of practical application.
"You only know how to brew Blue Moonlight?" Snape asked after finishing the paper, his doubts clearly increasing rather than fading.
Roger nodded. He knew how absurd it sounded, but that was the truth.
Snape's lip curled immediately. "Using a high-level potion for practice. Your stupidity is no different from a troll's."
"Professor, you should know what happened to me," Roger said helplessly. "Because of those rotten things in Azkaban, my magical growth almost stopped. I couldn't buy Blue Moonlight in Diagon Alley, so I had no choice but to make it myself. Without it, I wouldn't even be able to keep up with first-year classes."
"Rotten?" Snape repeated, pausing slightly. "An interesting adjective. I doubt anyone else in the entire wizarding world would describe Dementors that way."
He turned to the bookshelf and pulled down a thick notebook. Its pages were packed with potion recipes, margin notes, corrections, ingredient substitutions, and brewing tips he had collected over the years.
"Read this," Snape said, placing it on the desk.
Roger's eyes sharpened immediately. He could recognise value when it was placed in front of him, and Snape's personal potion notes were worth far more than most textbooks in the castle.
"You will submit one potion every three days, in the order listed in the notes," Snape said without hesitation.
As unpleasant as he was, Snape truly was not stingy with knowledge when he encountered genuine talent. His methods were cruel, his mouth was poisonous, but the notebook in front of Roger proved that he was willing to teach.
"With such a strong scent of moon dew on you, I imagine you have enough money to purchase ingredients," Snape added, rolling up Roger's test paper and placing it in a drawer.
"Huh?" Roger lifted his arm and sniffed his sleeve. "Professor, doesn't moon dew vanish three breaths after it's opened?"
"Use your brain," Snape said sarcastically. "Where does it vanish to?"
"It either breaks down in the air or clings to something nearby," Roger said, nodding slowly. Then curiosity overtook caution again. "But Professor, I can't smell it at all."
Snape offered no explanation. He simply waved him away as if the question was not worth the breath required to answer it.
After Roger left, Snape sat alone in the dungeon and looked again at the final answer on the paper. The idea amused him more than he wanted to admit.
"Change," Snape murmured, and the word tasted unpleasant.
One pure-blood was moving closer to the Muggle world, while a half-blood was trying to imitate the old pure-bloods. Change was a dangerous thing, but it was also very Slytherin.
The spirit of Slytherin had never truly been about blood purity. At its core, it was about honour, ambition, and power, and those who carried it were willing to pay almost any price to reach their final goal, including their own lives.
"Professor!"
Roger's head suddenly appeared outside the dungeon door again, interrupting Snape's thoughts. "Is there anywhere in the school where I can brew potions?"
What Roger truly wanted was the Room of Requirement. He knew it was opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the eighth floor, but Hogwarts was enormous, and knowing the general location did not mean he could find it quickly.
"Opposite the tapestry on the eighth floor of the main building," Snape said after a moment of thought. "Walk past it three times while concentrating on what you need."
Roger's face brightened. He vanished almost immediately, his footsteps fading quickly beyond the dungeon door.
Snape listened until the sound disappeared, then fell into deep thought. Roger Williams showed extraordinary talent in potions and spells, and that was painfully similar to Snape himself at the same age.
What reminded Snape even more of the past, however, was the subtle relationship between Roger and the Gryffindor students. The thought made his expression darken, and after a moment, he shook his head.
That was all in the past. He would not foolishly believe that Roger's talent meant he was reliving his own life through someone else.
The Great Hall was already empty when Roger arrived. He looked at the clean, tidy long tables with no choice but to turn back toward the kitchen, because the side effects of the dragon's blood were still lingering.
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