The dome of the enchanted ceiling was pressed low beneath a blanket of storm clouds, and rainwater trickled down the translucent patterns in winding streaks.
"Owls are coming!" someone shouted.
A flurry of wings filled the Great Hall as owls swooped through the rain-splattered windows. Water droplets flung from their feathers, sprinkling over students and their breakfasts alike.
The owls soared in circles over the tables, then descended toward their recipients, dropping letters and packages onto laps and tabletops.
Snape instinctively raised an arm to shield himself, only to see a tawny owl diving straight toward him, claws gripping a large, square package.
The parcel looked heavy, the owl nearly lost balance before reaching him.
With a loud thud, the package landed between his jam jar and sugar bowl, making the silver fork bounce against the plate with a clear, sharp clang.
"What did you buy?" Abbott whistled. "Bricks?"
Snape ignored his teasing. The parchment wrapping was damp from rain, but the wax seal remained intact, the emblem of Practical Potions Mastery.
Unwrapping the parcel, he found a thick new issue of the journal. The first line on the cover read: "The Complete Formula and Clinical Application of the Wolfsbane Potion."
Snape's eyes lifted at once, scanning past the noisy hall toward the Gryffindor table.
Midway down the table, Lily had just looked up from her own identically wrapped journal. Her bright green eyes lit up the moment she saw the same magazine in his hands.
Their eyes met across the hall, and they exchanged a small smile.
Not far from her, James Potter's hand tightened around his fork, trembling slightly. Sirius followed his gaze and gave a short snort. "Let it go, James."
"Shut up, Sirius." James's voice was low and dark, with a shadow in his eyes that Sirius had never seen before.
Unaware of the hostility from across the hall, Snape looked back down and eagerly flipped open the journal.
He skimmed through the contents page. This issue was nearly twice as thick as usual, and when he turned to the section on the Wolfsbane Potion, he understood why.
The opening paper was a lengthy introduction. The author, Damocles, had written in a tone bordering on intimidation:
"...Readers must be warned that the Wolfsbane Potion is by no means suitable for amateurs. Its core ingredient, Aconitum, or as I prefer to call it, Wolfsbane Aconite, a far more fitting term, is extremely toxic...
"Any error in temperature control or the addition of common additives such as sugars will result in complete failure and tremendous waste... I strongly advise that patients in need contact me directly to purchase the finished potion. This is far more practical and economical than attempting to brew it oneself..."
Snape couldn't help but curl his lip. From what he knew, most werewolves lived at the bottom of society, they couldn't possibly afford finished potions.
He flipped quickly to page 67, where the note "continued from previous page" indicated the full formula and brewing process. Half of the journal was dedicated to details of the Wolfsbane Potion.
"Look at step three," he said, pointing at the page for Pandora to read. "After 'add three drops of dragon blood,' what does it say?"
"'It is recommended to use blood from the Australian Opaleye,'" Pandora squinted, pulling the book closer, "'other dragon breeds may reduce the efficacy of the potion...' That's not cheap."
"Exactly," Snape said, mentally tallying ingredient costs. "This is way beyond what an average household can afford."
After skimming the entire article, he was convinced, the Wolfsbane Potion was not something easily made. The process was not only expensive but maddeningly complex.
Aconite, a substance long believed to have no healing properties, was dangerously poisonous and required meticulous purification to remove all toxic traits.
The auxiliary ingredients included dragon blood, powdered moonstone, Occamy eggs, and mandrake juice, each costly and rare, with additional quality specifications.
Worse, the instructions were riddled with vague measurements: "two slices," "three drops," "medium heat," and so on.
"No wonder Damocles dared to publish the complete recipe," Snape said dryly to his friends. "Even with it, how many wizards could actually brew this potion? It's like a Muggle recipe that calls for frying oil at 'forty percent heat,' a pinch of salt, some sugar to taste, and 'a dash' of vinegar."
If anyone tried to replicate it through endless experimentation, the cost alone would bankrupt them. And the market for it was limited, making it commercially useless. Unless, Snape thought, he could standardize the process, or find substitute materials...
After breakfast, Potions class was about to begin. Snape tucked the journal into his bag and headed for the dungeons.
The air in the underground classroom was thick with the mingling scents of countless potions. He deftly pressed a sopophorous bean with the flat of his silver knife, but his ears caught fragments of a conversation from the far end, Lily and Mary were talking.
"The toxicity of Wolfsbane Aconite is too unstable..." Lily's voice carried faintly. "According to Golpalott's Fourth Law, the added ingredient should, "
The bell rang, ending the lesson. Snape packed up faster than usual.
He pulled Practical Potions Mastery from his bag and whispered to Abbott and Pandora, "You two go on ahead. I've got some questions about the Wolfsbane Potion to ask Professor Slughorn."
Pandora and Abbott exchanged a knowing look, nodded, and left.
Snape walked toward the podium. From the opposite direction, Lily was approaching as well, the same journal in her hand.
Their eyes met again; Lily winked at him.
Slughorn was busy locking several valuable samples in a cabinet. When he turned and saw Snape, a flicker of alarm crossed his face.
"What do you want, Severus?" he asked, clutching his chest slightly.
"Professor, about the Wolfsbane Potion in Practical Potions Mastery," Snape said, pretending not to notice the man's unease.
"Oh, that!" Slughorn visibly relaxed, dabbing nonexistent sweat from his forehead. "I thought you'd made another one of your terrifying discoveries..."
Lily stepped forward eagerly, opening her journal and pointing at a page. "Professor, look here. Adding dragon blood as an auxiliary ingredient theoretically enhances potency, but doesn't that contradict the principle that additives must not conflict with the main reagent?"
"Miss Evans," Slughorn exclaimed, astonished, "you've studied Golpalott's Fifth Law already?"
The three quickly fell into an intense discussion. Snape noted the challenges of temperature control, Lily questioned the ratio of certain reagents, and Slughorn shared adjustment methods for rare materials.
As other students trickled out, James paused at the doorway, watching the scene darkly. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, emotions flickering in his eyes.
"Come on, James," Sirius said, tugging at his arm. Lupin placed a hand on his back, and together they led him away.
"...So the key lies in accumulated experience at every step," Snape concluded, his finger tracing a dense paragraph of notes. "Drying, grinding, simmering, the precise quantities and timing must all be exact."
Lily bit her lip in thought. "But it's so hard to be perfectly precise..."
"Muggle lab equipment," Snape said suddenly. Both turned to him in surprise. "Measuring cups, pipettes, mechanical scales, electronic ones don't work here, but old mechanical devices would. Also thermometers and timers."
"Severus, that's brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?" Lily's eyes lit up. She slapped the book with a soft thud. "I used those things in primary school!"
"Just the obvious solution," Snape shrugged. Wizarding students entered Hogwarts at eleven, missing most of their science education, even Muggle-borns did. But he, a product of nine years of Muggle schooling, was a model of compulsory education.
"My dear children," Slughorn said, half skeptical and half amused, "Potion-making is an art of magic. How much help could Muggle... toys really offer?"
"Precision, Professor," Lily replied at once. "If it's as difficult as Damocles claims, eyeballing bubble patterns in a cauldron isn't going to cut it."
"But," Slughorn continued, "the Ministry forbids the use of Muggle artifacts."
Lily froze, clearly having overlooked that point.
"Professor," Snape said calmly, "I've discussed this with Mr. Arthur Weasley from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. The Ministry only bans enchanted Muggle items. Using unaltered Muggle tools isn't illegal."
"Well," Slughorn rubbed his round belly, looking more relaxed, "that might work, then..."
"We might need to borrow your lab, Professor," Lily said. "And the materials."
"If Dumbledore approves, you can use the lab," Slughorn said, looking troubled. "But ingredients, well, I'm just a teacher. Aconite's up to twenty galleons an ounce now, not to mention dragon blood, moonstone powder, Occamy eggs..."
"I can talk to Professor Dumbledore," Lily said immediately. "I think he'll be interested."
"I'll come too," Snape added. "I'll need to go off-campus to buy the Muggle equipment anyway."
When they reached the gargoyle at the Headmaster's office, Lily suddenly stopped. "Oh no, I don't know the password."
Snape was already chatting with the stone creature.
"Is the Headmaster in?" he asked, his tone casual, almost familiar.
"I suppose Albus is napping," the gargoyle replied, its eyes rotating. "You really should consider moving in here, you know."
"No need," Snape said. "As a young, handsome man, living with an old man would hardly be ideal."
"What a dreadful prejudice," the gargoyle muttered. "Though frankly, living here wouldn't be much different for you... Say the password. Rules are rules."
"Toffee Fingers," Snape said.
The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase.
"How do you know the password?" Lily asked, wide-eyed.
"Professor Dumbledore often comes to me with questions," Snape said. "Come on, let's go in."
The staircase carried them up to a wooden door. Before Lily could knock, it swung open by itself, Dumbledore sat behind his desk, wearing a nightcap embroidered with stars and moons, clearly just awakened from a nap.
Hearing their footsteps, he looked up with a gentle smile. "Ah, Severus, Lily, what brings you here?"
"Wolfsbane Potion," Lily said. "Professor, we'd like to request your support."
For the next ten minutes, they took turns explaining their plan and what they needed.
Dumbledore listened intently, his long fingers steepled together.
"A remarkably forward-thinking idea," he said when Snape mentioned the Muggle instruments. "The merging of magic and non-magic can sometimes yield unexpected results." He turned to Lily.
"As for funding, I can provide a little personal support, just be frugal."
"If we can simplify the process or stabilize production," Lily nodded, "we could help many werewolves live more normal lives..."
"Lily," Snape interrupted softly, "even if we succeed, we can't make the results public. Werewolves being able to control themselves isn't necessarily a good thing for us."
"You mean..." Lily frowned, thinking for a moment before her eyes widened. "They could become enemies..."
Dumbledore smiled approvingly.
"To prevent misuse," he said, "your results must remain confidential. I'll also have a word with Horace."
At the end, Dumbledore handed Snape a peculiar spell. "Knock once on the chain lock at the school gates, it will open for you..."
Meanwhile, on the shores of the Black Lake, the Marauders' mood was darker than the water's reflection.
James hurled stones into the lake with mechanical force, each one thrown as hard as he could manage.
"Pick another girl, James," Sirius said, catching his wrist after the tenth stone. His grey eyes flickered with something unreadable. "You don't need to stay hung up on one tree-"
"No." James shook him off, throwing another stone hard, his voice tight with anger. "No one's like her."
"I think Sirius has a point," Lupin said. His worn robe flapped in the wind, his face even paler than usual. "It's no shame to give up on what's impossible."
James spun around sharply, the stone in his hand cracking under his grip. "All I know is, only I deserve to be with her. What's that greasy git compared to me?"
Peter hunched his shoulders, his eyes darting nervously between them.
The lake grew still again, reflecting the four silent figures on its surface.