Over the next few weeks, Kevin felt as if he were working in some shady, underground factory. Other than attending classes, he was rarely seen.
Sometimes, he didn't even show up to class at all.
He didn't return to the dormitory at night, skipped most meals in the Great Hall, and sat through lessons with dark circles under his eyes.
Hermione, of course, was worried. When she confronted him, Kevin simply said he'd been busy brewing potions and told her not to fuss.
That only made Hermione glare even harder at Professor Snape during Potions, her eyes practically promising to hex him. Snape, in return, gave her a single look of disdain and carried on as though she didn't exist.
Kevin now spent most of his time on the floor of Snape's private workshop, brewing potions with the precision of a seasoned master.
He watched the bubbling contents of the cauldron intently, adding ingredients at exactly the right moment. His movements were so practiced that even Snape couldn't find fault.
When the potion was finished, Kevin bottled it without any hint of celebration and immediately began working on the next.
But it wasn't going smoothly.
The ingredient stockpiles were uneven — plenty of some items, very little of others — which made brewing in bulk nearly impossible.
If he wanted to make one potion, there was always one key ingredient missing. Once certain items ran out, the rest couldn't be combined into anything useful.
It became a game of resource management, and Kevin was losing.
From the first batch of materials, he used less than half, and the leftovers weren't enough for any complete recipe. He owed Snape 3,985 Galleons.
The next batch was bought on credit — another 7,155 Galleons in debt.
The numbers climbed with alarming speed.
8,910 Galleons.
11,015 Galleons.
12,530 Galleons.
The record? 13,105 Galleons.
Only then did Kevin's income start balancing the books.
One or two thousand Galleons per batch, until finally—
Debt-free.
"Hah! Old bat, I don't owe you a single Knut!" Kevin declared, throwing his arms up in triumph after bottling his last batch.
From somewhere behind him came Snape's silky voice:
"Given your arrogance, Mr. Kevin, I've decided to raise the rent for this workshop to 2,000 Galleons."
Kevin froze.
"After deducting this batch, you now owe me 1,315 Galleons."
The triumph drained from Kevin's face as quickly as the colour.
When December arrived, Kevin finally eased up on his relentless brewing schedule. He had time again — to study in the library with Hermione, to tutor Harry and Ron in potion-making (with Hermione joining in, naturally).
Snape, of course, sold Kevin's potions under Kevin's own name, and word of a young "disciple of Severus Snape" producing exceptionally high-quality brews began to spread.
Not that Snape was losing out — he charged Kevin inflated prices for ingredients, bought his potions cheaply, and then sold them for a handsome profit.
Life wasn't exactly easy.
One snowy afternoon, on the way to the library, Kevin spotted the first flakes falling.
"Hermione, look — it's snowing."
She glanced up, smiling. "Hogwarts will be completely white soon."
They stood for a moment, watching the snow drift down. This year's first snowfall seemed unusually magical.
"Hermione," Kevin said, "Christmas is coming. Did you get me a present?"
"Idiot, you're not supposed to ask!" she scolded, giving him a light kick.
"Alright, alright," he grinned. "I've got something for you too."
She pinched his arm, smiling despite herself.
Then, after a pause, she asked, "Are you staying at Hogwarts for Christmas?"
"I was thinking of visiting my orphanage head, but I also want to stay and study," Kevin admitted. "I'm not sure yet."
Hermione hesitated, her cheeks turning pink.
"Well… if you don't have any plans, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?"
Kevin blinked in surprise.
"Don't get the wrong idea! I told my parents about you — they felt sorry you grew up in an orphanage, so they suggested I invite you."
Kevin's smile widened. "Since Miss Granger has personally invited me, how could I refuse? Even if the Hogwarts Express stopped running, Snape stole the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort came back, and Dumbledore died, I'd still be there."
She laughed and gave him another playful kick.
They walked on, shoulders touching just a little more than before.
In the Great Hall, Harry and Ron were playing wizard chess when Kevin approached with a small bag over his shoulder.
"Aren't you two going home?" he asked.
Ron shrugged. "Mum and Dad are off to Romania to visit Charlie. Something about dragons."
"And you?" Kevin asked Harry.
"I'd rather stay here than go back to my aunt and uncle's," Harry said simply.
Kevin patted his shoulder. "Sorry to hear that, mate. Still, don't forget my Christmas present."
Harry just stared at him.
"And yours too, Ron," Kevin added.
Both groaned. This was the fifth time Kevin had reminded them.
Just then, Hermione appeared, pulling her suitcase. "Kevin, haven't you packed yet?"
He grinned. "Everything's in here." He patted the small bag at his waist, then took her heavy suitcase — and shrank it down into the bag with a single Undetectable Extension Charm.
Harry and Ron's jaws dropped. Hermione, of course, recognised the spell immediately.
Snape had taught him, granting permission with only a few biting remarks. Harry and Ron exchanged looks that said, can we still trust him?
Kevin, reading their faces, smirked. "If you hadn't got me presents, I might have sold you out already."
Hermione smacked him. "Don't imitate Snape — it's bad luck."