Chapter 35: Heretical Knowledge
Sean's secret potion-brewing plan went even more smoothly than he had dared to hope, thanks to an unforeseen accident in the Friday morning Potions class. Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to drench himself in his own improperly brewed potion, resulting in an immediate and severe outbreak of painful red boils all over his arms and legs. Consequently, Professor Snape had been forced to escort him to the hospital wing.
According to Justin's hurried report, delivered with breathless urgency: Professor Snape would be detained with Madam Pomfrey for some time. Sean had at least three clear hours.
The dungeon was as cold and unwelcoming as ever, but Sean's enthusiasm was burning bright. He swiftly unpacked his ingredients and books, lit the flame under his cauldron, and got to work. With Justin standing guard near the hospital wing, ready to send word if Snape returned early, Sean was determined to grind out as much proficiency as possible.
If I can master this basic potion, Sean thought, and demonstrate my progress in the next class, perhaps Professor Snape will grant me permission to practice here, like he does with the older students? He was a Ravenclaw, after all, not a Gryffindor. Surely, as long as his request was reasonable and didn't violate any school rules, Snape wouldn't deliberately hinder a student's learning.
Unless, of course, that student's name was Potter.
Light the cauldron, prepare the ingredients…
He moved with practiced efficiency. The only remaining variables were the heat control and the stirring technique.
The previous night, he had scoured Advanced Potion-Making from cover to cover, until he had stumbled upon a passage by the renowned Potioneer, Libatius Borage.
Different potions require different methods of preparation. Indeed, from ancient times to the present day, physical phenomena lacking metaphysical insight are as unsatisfying as metaphysics lacking physical manifestation.
And then, tucked away behind that dense, philosophical text, seemingly scribbled on a loose scrap of parchment inserted between the pages, was a paragraph that felt revolutionary in the often imprecise, experience-based world of potion-making:
Every Potion Master knows that precise heat control is critical. If one could simply use a Flame-Creating Charm, anyone could brew a perfect potion. But as I wrote in 'Have Yourself a Fiesta in a Flask!', without the intuitive connection provided by the spell, the cauldron feels like inert metal, utterly unresponsive…
Sean quickly flipped the scrap over. The crucial part was on the back.
Though this section has often been derided as necessary only for 'dunderheads,' and is certainly not sanctioned by traditionalists, I say: Blast them all! If you are reading this, I shall reveal to you how even a self-heating cauldron can achieve perfect temperature control.
Reading those words felt like Harry discovering the Half-Blood Prince's notes, like Hermione finding the Time-Turner, like Tom Riddle uncovering Secrets of the Darkest Art.
I lack… nothing!
Sean focused intently, stewing the slugs, preparing the ingredients. His stirring was no longer hesitant but followed the subtle corrections Snape himself had inadvertently provided. His heat control was no longer based on vague instructions but guided by the precise, albeit unorthodox, methods of Libatius Borage.
The dim dungeon light illuminated the small wizard's focused form. Steam curled from the cauldron like soft, elegant silk. Amidst the gentle bubbling and the sound of Sean's quiet breathing, the potion turned the familiar pale blue-green. He knew the critical moment was approaching. Following the exact same procedure as his previous success, he added the slugs back and began the final stirs.
In the cold silence, surrounded by jars of distorted roots, animal eyes, and strangely shimmering scales, a single drop of icy water seeped through a crack in the moss-covered ceiling and landed squarely on the back of Sean's neck. He didn't even flinch. His mind and body were completely immersed in the process, flowing with the incantation and the magic itself into the swirling steam.
[You have successfully brewed a Boil-Cure Potion to the Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
The Panel's notification pulled Sean back from his deep concentration. His eyes fixed on the dark green, jelly-like potion, blazing with triumph. He knew the hardest part was over. Now, all he had to do was maintain this standard, solidify his technique, and finally, permanently alter his abysmal base talent.
His heart soared, but his clean-up was ruthlessly efficient. Ingredients vanished back into his bag. The finished potion was carefully decanted into a crystal phial. With a final flick of his wand – "S—cour—g—ify!" – the cauldron was spotless. He carefully packed Advanced Potion-Making and Magical Drafts and Potions away. He now understood the vast difference between an eight-Galleon masterpiece and a two-Galleon textbook.
He gave the dungeon one last, thorough check, ensuring no trace remained.
As the air grew warmer, Justin's anxious face appeared in the sunlit corridor outside. He visibly relaxed upon seeing Sean emerge unscathed.
"Brilliant, Sean! Did it go well?" he panted.
"Yes," Sean nodded.
Just then, from around the corner, a sallow-faced man with lank, greasy hair swept past, his black robes billowing. The few students in the corridor flattened themselves against the walls as he passed.
Sean and Justin watched Snape disappear into the dungeon, both feeling like successful thieves.
"My mother says," Justin said with a grin, breaking the tense silence, "that friendships forged in mischief are always stronger than those made doing good deeds." He paused, considering. "Well, this wasn't exactly mischief, but the principle holds."
Sean gave him a bewildered look. Is there anything Mrs. Finch-Fletchley doesn't teach her son?
In the wizarding world, words like 'science' were often met with skepticism. Even in a discipline like Potions, which demanded scientific rigor and precision, overly analytical or theoretical approaches were generally dismissed.
This, at least, was the opinion of Libatius Borage, author of Advanced Potion-Making, Asiatic Anti-Venoms, and Have Yourself a Fiesta in a Flask! Borage's insights on heat control had been invaluable, so before lunch, Sean decided to head to the library to seek out his other works. Perhaps they contained more hidden scraps of 'heretical' knowledge.
The Hogwarts library on a Friday afternoon had a peculiar atmosphere, a mix of frantic energy and weary anticipation for the weekend. The oak tables were nearly full, suggesting that many students had finally realized the impossibility of completing their assignments without significant research. The air hummed with the scratching of quills. Fifth and seventh-years sat buried behind mountains of books, their faces etched with OWL and NEWT anxiety. Even the first-years looked stressed, their hushed complaints about the "foot-long History of Magic essay" occasionally earning them a swift, airborne ejection courtesy of Madam Pince.