This was Harry's first ti entering Snape's office.
Located underground, it was dim, gloomy, and filled with the pungent scent of herbs. Rows upon rows of cabinets housed countless glass jars packed with mysterious specins.
But the room bore no signs of personal life—not even a single photograph. Even Professor Binns' office felt more alive than this one.
"Stop ogling everything with those filthy eyes!" Snape barked, pointing his wand at Harry. "Potter, I feel it's necessary to remind you."
"Once you leave here, don't even think about finding Evans—oh, I an Mrs. Dursley—or digging into my past!"
Harry chuckled. "The professor seems quite invested in Aunt Petunia's life. You even know who she married."
"I always thought the wizarding and Muggle worlds were completely separate."
Snape pressed the tip of his wand against Harry's forehead. "Rember my words."
Harry shrugged nonchalantly.
"Now, let's begin the test." Snape glanced at the clock on his desk. "There are three hours until dinner. Brew this potion, and you'll pass."
He flicked his wand.
A piece of parchnt and a quill flew over, scribbling furiously before landing in Harry's hand.
"Healing Potion."
Snape had ntioned it in class—it was one of the most important potions in the third-year curriculum. Anyone aspiring to work at St. Mungo's had to master it.
"Evening primrose, bitter wormwood…"
So were common herbs known for their healing properties, but there were also two key magical ingredients:
"Horklump, unicorn horn."
The potion wasn't particularly difficult for Harry—if only the precise quantities had been provided.
"Professor, it seems like the instructions are missing…" Harry frowned and started to ask.
Snape sneered. "Only the most foolish potion-makers blindly follow textbook recipes. Every person's magic is unique, and every potion will be, too."
"I believe I've repeated this in class countless tis."
"Are your ears just funnels that only let things flow out?"
"You have three hours—or rather, two hours and fifty minutes now. The ingredients are in that cabinet. You may use my cauldron."
Harry nodded and got to work.
Brewing potions was about using magic to blend and transform the properties of ingredients. Textbook recipes provided standard, fail-safe thods, but they weren't always optimal.
Each person's magical signature required subtle adjustnts to ingredient quantities.
As Snape had said in the very first lesson—this was a "delicate art."
The first hurdle was selecting the right materials.
Snape had deliberately mixed in similar-looking herbs. For instance, among the evening primrose, there were also evening stock plants. They looked nearly identical, the main difference being that primrose petals had a single layer, while evening stock had two.
What Harry found disappointing, however, was that Snape hadn't mixed unicorn horns with Graphorn horns.
Don't they look so similar?
Many wizards couldn't tell them apart.
Unicorns, as sacred creatures, had horns that symbolized purity. But while they had "cleansing" properties, they lacked true "healing" abilities.
Horklumps, on the other hand, were almost harmless magical creatures.
But they were notoriously difficult to kill.
Considered pests akin to garden gnos by housewives, Horklumps were often used in healing potions but could also be a component in herbicides.
Their blood—or sap—was toxic, which was why unicorn horns were used to neutralize that toxicity.
As Harry pondered these nuances, a clear brewing thod ford in his mind. He set to work.
Three hours was a tight deadline. Harry painstakingly adjusted ingredient ratios and monitored reactions until, finally, at the last mont, a cauldron of vibrant red potion was complete.
Pouring the liquid into a round-bottod vial, he placed it on Snape's desk.
"Cutting it close. Should I feel relieved that you finished on ti, or grateful you didn't blow up my cauldron?" Snape sneered as he picked up the vial and took a cautious sniff.
"That much evening primrose? Trying to make your patients bleed out faster?"
"The Horklump sap and unicorn horn ratio is barely adequate. At least it won't kill anyone if they drink it."
"Passable. Slightly better than a troll."
Harry nodded. "Thanks. Maybe you should try being a bit more straightforward, Professor."
"Are you giving advice?" Snape narrowed his eyes.
Harry shook his head. "Just a sincere suggestion."
Snape said nothing. Instead, he quickly opened the bottom drawer of his desk. In a flash, he pulled out a notebook and slamd it shut again.
But Harry had already caught a glimpse.
An old but well-preserved photo was tucked inside.
A red-haired, green-eyed girl, around fourteen or fifteen years old, smiled sweetly. She stood frozen in the photo, while only the wind and clouds moved in the background.
Though he'd never seen a woman quite like her, and she bore no resemblance to Aunt Petunia, Harry instantly recognized her.
It was his mother.
"Take it!" For the first ti, Snape's voice was soft—gentle, even.
He placed the notebook on the desk, carefully, as though handling a fragile treasure.
"This was your mother's first notebook. Study it thoroughly over the sumr."
"Lily Evans was a brilliant witch, exceptionally gifted in Potions."
"Don't disgrace it!"
Snape's hand lingered on the notebook, slowly retreating, fingertip by fingertip, before he finally pulled away, brushing the cover one last ti.
Harry hesitated.
After a mont, he spoke cautiously: "Professor, if you feel like crying, I can borrow a wig from an upperclassman and lend you those sunglasses you gave —"
Snape didn't hesitate. His wand was out in an instant.
Without a word, magic surged.
Harry dodged nimbly, the silent spell brushing his hair before smashing into a glass jar on the shelf behind him.
Crash!
The jar shattered, its lid clattering to the ground in pieces. Inside was a dull, greenish heart, lifeless but still intact. It rolled out, spilling pungent liquid everywhere.
"Take the notebook and get out!" Snape growled through clenched teeth, slamming the desk. "Or I'll make you test that potion on yourself!"
Harry grabbed the notebook and stashed the healing potion into his hat. Without delay, he turned and left.
At the doorway, he paused, sticking his head back in with a serious expression. "Professor, I really ant—"
Another spell shot toward him, embedding itself deep into the door with a resounding thud.
Harry fled.
n. Why can't they just be honest with themselves?
Gryffindor Common Room.
Ron and Hermione were pacing anxiously, unable to sit still. Even the Weasley twins refrained from teasing them.
Each ti soone entered, they'd look over, only to sigh heavily when it wasn't Harry, then resu pacing.
One person. Two. Three…
Finally, as the sky darkened, Harry returned.
"Harry, you're back!" Hermione exhaled in relief. "You have no idea how worried I was!"
"Professor McGonagall said soone was sent to the infirmary, and I thought it was you…"
"Were you hurt?"
Harry waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Have you eaten yet?"
"No," Ron admitted. He was too anxious to think about food.
Harry pulled so muffins and cake from his hat. "Brought these from the Great Hall—was planning to have them as a midnight snack."
"You… stopped to eat before coming back?" Hermione gawked, her tone laced with indignation.
Did you know how long we've been worried sick?!
Ron, munching on a muffin, mumbled, "You didn't even invite for dinner!"
That's your concern?
Hermione shot Ron a death glare, but he was too engrossed in his muffin to notice, wishing it had more honey.
"Snape pulled aside for an exam," Harry explained innocently. "I just happened to arrive at the Great Hall when dinner started, so I ate first."
Hermione huffed but nodded, resigning herself to the explanation.
As exams ended, the students entered their most relaxed period of the term.
Harry, too, found so respite.
By day, he pored over his mother's potion notes with Hermione. Her approach to potions was as brilliant as Snape claid.
At night, he donned his Invisibility Cloak to explore the Forbidden Forest or visit Hagrid, always on the lookout for materials.
Despite his efforts, he still hadn't captured the elusive Graphorn by term's end. But the activity range he mapped out was narrowing. By next term, he hoped he'd have what he needed.
If only there was a way to get it during the sumr…
The last day of term.
The air was thick with excitent as students prepared for the holidays.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: /michaeltranslates
Reviews
All reviews (0)