"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 14: The Secret of Potions Master Snape
Wyzett turned toward the spiral staircase—there stood Professor Snape, his black robes billowing about him like a shadow.
In his hands, Snape cradled a steaming cup of potion. The liquid shimmered with a clear, emerald green, and a faint, milky-white glow hovered on the surface, soft as moonlight.
This was Baruffio's Brain Elixir—the very potion Madam Pomfrey had warned Wyzett about countless times, sternly insisting he never drink it without explicit permission. That gentle luminescence was its signature, though it would fade as the potion cooled.
"Professor Snape." Wyzett gave a respectful nod. "Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to come."
"Your hand…" Snape's eyes narrowed, focusing on the palm where Wyzett still sustained his conjured flame. "Using the Patronus Charm to grant it sentience… Was that your own idea?"
"Yes, Professor Snape." Wyzett nodded. "During your dueling lesson, I sensed something different in the flame serpent you conjured."
"That serpent was special. At first, I thought it was just a blend of the Fire-Making Spell and Transfiguration… but something was missing. The flame serpent lacked true vitality."
"I tried approaching it from another angle, hoping to recapture that feeling. The Patronus Charm came to mind—after all, it was your guidance that first led me to explore the soul."
"You told me that through incantation, one could consciously probe the inner self. So, I tried shifting that process outward—using an incantation to consciously imbue something external."
"It's much harder than I imagined. What I can do is still limited. But at least… it feels more alive now."
He lifted his arm. The flame serpent, as if to prove his point, moved with sinuous grace, radiating a gentle heat as it coiled up his wrist.
…
Snape's voice remained as cold as ever, but there was a stiffness to it, as if he'd rather not discuss this subject. "Your general approach is correct."
For a moment, Wyzett sensed a tension beneath Snape's icy exterior—a reluctance, almost a pain, that he couldn't quite name.
He wanted to say more, but Snape pressed on. "Observation… You need to keep observing."
"If you wish to recreate a flame serpent, you must study real snakes. Learn everything you can—their movements, their habits, what makes them what they are."
"Then, using the Patronus Charm, you grant those qualities to your creation. The more you understand, the closer your conjuration will come to the real thing…"
Wyzett swallowed, thinking carefully before he spoke. "Professor Snape, is this a process of turning imagination into reality?"
"Suppose I observe an Ashwinder—from its hatching to its end. As my understanding deepens, and I infuse it with the sentience of a Patronus Charm…"
"Could I truly… conjure a real Ashwinder? One that could even lay eggs, eggs that could be used as potion ingredients?"
…
Snape's eyes widened. He studied Wyzett for a long moment before answering, his voice low and measured. "That is the realm of a true Potions Master. But you are not creating a real Ashwinder."
"What we seek are the properties of the Ashwinder egg. I can't speak for other Potions Masters, but I use the Patronus Charm to imbue those properties into my work."
"Of course, no potioneer has the time to do this for every ingredient. It's only when we're missing something essential, or must change a recipe on the fly, that we resort to such methods."
"I see!" Wyzett exhaled, the realization settling in. "It's about endlessly studying potion ingredients, delving deep into their properties… that's the only way to truly advance as a potioneer!"
A memory surfaced—books he'd found in the library, filed under magical history, but filled with tales so fantastical that even wizards called them legend. One story told of a wizard named Gamp, who could brew any potion with nothing but a cauldron, water, and sugar.
If someone became a true Potions Master, and understood the nature of all things, perhaps such feats were possible—creating any potion with just water, sugar, flame, and will.
…
Yet even with this understanding, Wyzett felt another question nagging at him.
"Professor Snape, we've talked about potions… but could this method—granting sentience through the Patronus Charm—push Transfiguration even further?"
"Still not satisfied? What are you really after?" Snape raised a brow, his gaze growing more complex. "A real Ashwinder is living. It can create more life."
"Life is… an impossibly complex thing," he said, voice tight. "So complex that—" He stopped, then barked, "In any case, don't even think of it! Creating a real Ashwinder is pure fantasy!"
"You only ever see one side of an Ashwinder. How can you be sure there isn't another? Life is vivid, three-dimensional—no one can truly grasp it!"
"Even if you could conjure the Ashwinder from your memory, what would it matter? It would be nothing but a shallow puppet, dancing to your will—utterly meaningless!"
Snape's voice rose with each sentence, until it was nearly a shout. When he finished, his face contorted with pain.
But it lasted only a heartbeat. He drew himself up, icy and impenetrable once more.
Wyzett blinked, dazed—had he really seen that flicker of emotion, or was it just his imagination? "Professor Snape…"
He was about to speak when Snape abruptly cut him off. "This potion—do you know what it is?"
Wyzett answered at once, "Professor Snape, it's Baruffio's Brain Elixir."
The glow on the cup's surface was fading, the steam nearly gone.
"Very good! Ravenclaw, minus one point!" Snape shoved the potion at Wyzett. "Since you're here, deliver it to Dumbledore. Ravenclaw, plus one point!"
…
Losing a point for a correct answer…
Then winning it back for running an errand…
Watching Snape's retreating figure, Wyzett felt thoroughly bewildered.
Maybe this was just the peculiar magic of a hawthorn wand?
He let out a long breath, dismissed the flame serpent from his hand, and glanced at the gently swirling potion. Cradling the cup in both hands, he stepped into the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore must have gone to greet someone—the office door stood wide open.
Wyzett glanced at the perch beside the desk. Fawkes, old and feeble, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a small mound of ashes lay on the floor…
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