Chapter 147: A Winter Without Letters
The dungeon was a symphony of sounds: the rhythmic clink-clink of glass stirring rods against pewter, the occasional hiss of a cold comment from the shadows, but mostly the soft shhh of ingredients sliding into cauldrons and the gentle glug-glug of simmering liquids.
Snape, concealed in the gloom, watched. His prolonged observation had led him to a conclusion: apart from a few specific areas, the boy's talent was indistinguishable from the mediocrity he saw every day.
Amidst the rising steam, Sean struggled to discern the subtle interactions between ingredients, to hear the minute changes in the bubbling sound that signaled critical stages in the brewing process.
In this regard, his only saving grace was his rigor.
Heh—were it not for that precision, he'd be occupying a bed in the hospital wing by now.
[You have brewed an Elixir to Induce Euphoria to the Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
Without the aid of the ritual magic, Sean could only manage an 'Apprentice' level brew. Still, this represented significant progress from a week ago, when even a successful completion was a struggle.
[You have brewed an Elixir to Induce Euphoria to the Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
After several batches, Sean was forced to stop and rest. He was only one proficiency point away from unlocking the Novice level for the Euphoria Elixir, but his magical reserves were depleted. Under Snape's thoughtful gaze, he downed a revitalizing potion.
Warmth spread through his limbs, restoring his weary mind. He set the empty crystal phial aside—apple-flavoured this time.
Three months of flying practice and Snape's potent restorative draughts had finally restored his magical core to... the level of a normal first-year student!
Where once a simple Levitation Charm would leave him exhausted, he could now cast multiple non-verbal spells without fatigue. More importantly, he felt he was on the precipice of a breakthrough. Previously, his body could only generate a trickle of magic, far below average. Crossing this threshold would mean not just physical recovery, but the normalization of his magical development.
He just needed...
A phial materialized in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. He looked up; Snape's face was hidden behind a sheet of parchment.
Sean examined the potion. Another gleaming crystal phial, but the liquid within was a deeper, richer colour. The label bore a single word: Drink.
He didn't hesitate. Let's call it 'Mysterious Potion No. 2'. Its effect was tenfold that of its predecessor. And the flavour... an intense, concentrated apple.
Sean felt a heat radiating from within. He had crossed the threshold. Impulsively, he raised his wand and cast Lumos.
"FOOL! EXTINGUISH THAT LIGHT!" Snape roared, his voice echoing beyond the dungeon walls.
Sean quietly lowered his wand, a small smile playing on his lips.
The good news kept coming.
[You have brewed an Elixir to Induce Euphoria to the Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
Magical power levels clearly had a significant impact on performance across all branches of magic...
[A new Title in the field of Potions has been unlocked. Please view.]
Sean opened the Panel with anticipation:
[Title: Potions Adept]
[Effect: Significantly increases perception of Potions. Significantly improves Potions talent.]
[Wizard: Sean Green]
[Potions Talent: Blue (Rare)]
Boosted by Title: Potions Adept. Original Talent Grade was White. Note: Average wizarding talent is Green (Uncommon).
[Next Tier: Potions Expert (Requires six Expert-level and six Adept-level Potions)]
His talent had improved!
Those days of desperately seeking inspiration, of being paralyzed by caution, of agonizing over heat and stirring... they were receding. He could now be considered... a semi-genius in Potions?
Snape's gaze never left him. He had felt the sudden surge in the boy's magic—the idiot had nearly flooded the dungeon with light, threatening light-sensitive ingredients.
Memories swirled in Snape's mind, coalescing into a moment of stunned realization.
Late November in the dungeon. The cold seeped into the stone. Outside, snow whispered against the castle walls.
Sean expertly lit the cauldron, prepped the ingredients, and began to stir. Guided by a new, sharp intuition, he constantly adjusted his technique, his quill scratching furiously in his notebook.
He finally understood why Snape had been so impatient and angry... Looking back, his previous attempts had been clumsy mimicry, riddled with errors.
[You have brewed an Elixir to Induce Euphoria to the Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
Perhaps it was accumulated experience, perhaps luck, but joy lit up Sean's face. An Adept-level Euphoria Elixir, even at buy-back prices, was worth a staggering twenty Galleons.
This meant he was now capable of brewing advanced potions independently. Compared to his struggles with the Boil-Cure Potion at the start of term, he had improved a hundredfold.
The dungeon was at its coldest. Severus Snape looked away, standing by the window, his gaze sinking into the frozen Black Lake.
In Sean's cauldron, the last flicker of red flame died into ash with a soft sigh.
Snape didn't move. He watched his breath fog in the air and dissipate in the stagnant dungeon atmosphere. As if waiting for something, or having long forgotten what he was waiting for. In this corner shunned even by ghosts, only memories and potion dregs preserved wounds that would never heal in the sub-zero chill.
He had thought it was simply a lack of talent. But the boy's aptitude was revealing itself. A realization dawned on him: Suffering had given him a frail body, destroyed his latent talent, and frozen his magic at a barely passable level...
In contrast to Sean's quiet excitement, Snape's face was expressionless. He asked, in a rare, flat tone:
"Why... do you not hate?"
The snow fell silently on Hogwarts, on the Black Lake, on the Forbidden Forest, on a long winter without a single letter sent home.
The snow fell harder. The fire in the cauldron flared, crackling softly. This winter, the heavy snow seemed to settle on Snape's rusted windpipe and lungs.
His voice was like a train halted on the tracks, a name caught in his throat, stranded in the endless winter.
(End of Chapter)
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