Before the conference officially began, Orli's stomach was a tangle of nerves. Though she bore the Waters name, she knew precisely one person in the entire potions community—Severus Snape.
Worse still, she was the last of her line, powerless and underage, with whispers from the gossip rags still clinging to her reputation like smoke. She'd steeled herself for the worst possible reception, but to her genuine surprise, the conference proved far less torturous than anticipated.
For potion scholars, meetings bore no resemblance to the mind-numbing affairs of sitting rigidly in uncomfortable chairs, fighting sleep while some pompous speaker droned from a podium.
Quite the opposite—there were no tedious lectures or dry reports. Instead, attendees formed organic clusters based on shared research passions, voices rising and falling in animated discussion. When inspiration struck, cauldrons would appear as if by magic, steam curling upward as impromptu brewing sessions drew fascinated crowds.
In these electric moments of intellectual collision and creative ferment, breakthrough discoveries and revolutionary ideas were born.
The conferences also served as vital networking opportunities. Colleagues renewed old friendships and forged new alliances with equal enthusiasm. Even Snape had abandoned his trademark scowl—the perpetual expression that made Hogwarts students scatter like startled mice. Orli watched with growing amazement as he proved not merely competent at socializing, but genuinely skilled at it.
Within mere weeks, he'd introduced her to over half the assembled scholars, then privately demanded she commit their names, specialties, research focuses, and personal quirks to perfect memory. Orli felt her sanity fraying under Snape's relentless requirements. The tongue-twisting German and French surnames were challenging enough, but some of these academic monstrosities stretched forty or fifty letters long—making advanced spell incantations seem simple by comparison.
She longed to cry out: "Professor, surely familiarity comes with time! If I stumble this round, there's always the next conference!" But she didn't dare voice such protests. Instead, she gritted her teeth, wrestling those impossible names into submission while forcing bright smiles during endless introductions.
Fortunately, most scholars proved genuinely pleasant company. A few displayed eccentric temperaments, but all possessed undeniable expertise. Whether offering patient explanations or engaging in passionate debates, they consistently provided valuable insights. No matter how thoroughly Snape had wrung out her brain cells the previous evening, Orli still approached each new day with eager anticipation.
However, not every moment sparkled with intellectual camaraderie.
That insufferable Prince hadn't abandoned his campaign of harassment. He'd assembled a small faction to publicly challenge the improved Wolfsbane Potion paper that Snape and Orli had published the previous year.
"Snape," Prince drawled, his tone dripping with disdain as he brandished a copy of Potions Today. His finger traced the offending passage as he read with theatrical precision:
"'Within one minute of adding belladonna, pour the freshly extracted Snakeweed pod essence into the cauldron.'" He paused for maximum effect. "You demonstrate a breathtaking lack of fundamental knowledge. Even the most expertly trained house-elves require at least three minutes for proper Snakeweed extraction—that's the current Prince family record. If you cannot replicate your own published methodology, then your entire research foundation crumbles to dust."
He set the journal aside with deliberate ceremony, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper:
"You—an arrogant young half-blood—actually possess the unmitigated gall to believe you can improve upon Wolfsbane Potion? How... fortuitous. Damocles graces us with his presence today. Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate this miraculous process before our assembled colleagues?"
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