Sometimes, potion-brewing looked so mundane that it was easy to believe a Muggle could do it too—
just follow the instructions, step by step, and you'd get a cauldron full of magic.
Reality was the exact opposite.
Even with every ingredient prepared perfectly, even if a Muggle followed the recipe word-for-word, they would still fail.
Because brewing potions required magic—subtle guidance, intent, and sometimes the focused aid of a wand.
For a Boil-Cure Potion, the magic came in at the very end,
when the brewer needed to make a particular wand movement and silently recite a very particular incantation.
Its meaning, roughly, was:
"May this potion be endowed with the power to cure boils."
But before he got there, Sean still had to deal with everything that came first.
In the dungeon, thin beams of light spilled across the upper stone walls.
A low flame licked the bottom of the cauldron, sending up pale steam and a faint, sharp herbal scent.
The empty classroom had only two sounds:
the gentle blub-blub of bubbling potion,
and the soft rustle as Sean turned the pages of Magical Drafts and Potions.
Snape had made the most important rule very clear in the first lesson:
Precision. And absolute strictness.
Sean flipped to the correct page.
He'd already memorised the entire recipe, but he still laid the book open beside him—
in case nerves made his mind slip.
Basic Potion-Making: This book is all you need.
declared the first page, beneath a drawing of a cauldron rimmed with steam.
Sean ignored the boast and started.
"First step: weigh the ingredients. Simmer the horned slugs…"
While the cauldron was still preheating, he quickly weighed out all four ingredients with meticulous care,
then immediately began simmering the jar of horned slugs.
As the slugs cooked, he used every second to crush the poisonous snake fangs,
and finely chop the pre-soaked dried nettles.
Here, everything he'd learned in the greenhouses paid off.
He sorted and prepared the materials with almost effortless ease,
each piece brought to the "qualified" standard,
and still ended up with spare time.
He did not waste it.
He jotted everything down—
weights, textures, state of each ingredient,
even notes on the quality of the flame.
The cauldrons here lit themselves with a tap, but Sean knew that one day,
he'd need to control fire with his wand alone.
And Sean always preferred to prepare early.
"Second step: remove the slugs, then add nettles and fangs…"
With time on his side, he reread the section in Magical Drafts and Potions to make sure no detail would slip past him in the crucial moment.
The dark brown book, with its cauldron-and-steam design on the cover, lay open beside him like a silent overseer.
"Third step: stir twice counterclockwise, then three times clockwise, with moderate force…"
Sean stirred with the exact strength he'd reasoned out—
just enough to break the bubbles that rose to the surface—
his grip steady, his movements fixed and measured.
In truth, he was anxious.
Snape could appear at any time.
This attempt might fail anyway.
People always feared the unknown.
Sean was no exception.
So he compensated with focus.
"Almost there… add the slugs back in, then remove the cauldron from the flame and add the porcupine quills."
The brew had entered its most critical stage.
The horned slugs melted as soon as they hit the potion,
turning the liquid a pale bluish colour.
Sean began counting silently in his head:
Twenty-five… twenty-four… twenty-three…
He didn't idle while he counted.
He wrote down everything—
timings, colour, thickness, the state of the ingredients, the behaviour of the flame.
Then came the moment of truth.
He stirred the potion, lifted his arm, and traced the final motion, silently forming the incantation in his mind.
The cauldron bubbled for a few moments—
And turned into…
A thick, wobbly, blue-green jelly.
"…Huh?"
Why blue-green?
The panel remained silent. No notification appeared in his mind.
Sean knew with absolute certainty:
He had failed.
But looking at the final result, he also knew—
He hadn't failed by much.
He frowned. If the ingredients and their preparation were correct,
then the mistake had to be in the brewing stage itself.
So which part had gone wrong?
Stirring?
Heat control?
The final enchantment?
Or… all of the above?
He suddenly recalled a line from Magical Theory:
"Even after you have mastered a spell,
to draw out its full power
requires sufficient mental strength."
The book had said:
"a spell."
But… did potions count as well?
Were they also bound to this rule?
Sean knew his natural talent for Potions was… limited.
Like Charms, he might need a hundred-odd attempts before he instinctively grasped things.
But he didn't have that kind of time.
Nor that many ingredients.
So he needed a shortcut.
He carefully pulled out Advanced Potion-Making,
skimming over the dense, convoluted paragraphs.
Soon, a particular line made his eyes gleam.
"The Ministry of Magic has classified the Polyjuice Potion as a high-risk magical substance,
due to the way its effects are heavily influenced by the brewer's emotional fluctuations,
and therefore strictly regulated."
He didn't yet fully understand what emotion potions required,
but he was certain of one thing:
Nervousness and mechanical indifference would never work.
When the cauldron lit again and steam began to rise,
Sean's stiff shoulders slowly loosened.
He told himself:
If Snape walks in on me, I'm doomed anyway—
whether I fail or succeed.
In that case…
If he was going to be caught,
better be caught after succeeding.
His emerald eyes grew calm and deep.
Even his stirring motion took on a flowing, almost musical rhythm.
Sean had always been good at managing his emotions.
Any child who couldn't do that would have suffered terribly in Hollyset Orphanage.
The nettles melted like crystalline sugar in the brew,
the fangs hissed softly as they dissolved.
Sean kept the exact same heat as before,
but this time—
He felt as though he really were crafting a piece of art.
The art of potions.
White mist coiled from the cauldron,
time slipping by in the quiet clink of the spoon touching iron.
When he added the porcupine quills at last,
the cooled potion seemed to swallow them whole.
Sean focused every thought he had into the final gesture and silent incantation.
This time, the cauldron did not lazily shift colour.
It responded.
As though obeying his will,
the potion surged, thickened, and churned.
In mere moments, the liquid set into a jelly-like mass,
its colour darkening until it was almost pure ink-green.
[You have successfully brewed a cauldron of Boil-Cure Potion to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
Sean's eyes shone.
He gazed at the wobbling, ink-green potion and couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips.
Not wasting a second, he grabbed his quill and recorded every detail, line after line:
ingredient quality,
timing,
flame behaviour,
texture changes,
the rhythm of his stirring,
and, in large, precise script:
"Potions are a delicate craft.
A wizard's focus and inner calm are the true keystones."
He was still immersed in analysis and reflection when—
From the stairway leading down to the dungeon, the torch flames suddenly flickered.
On the cold stone steps above,
a sweep of black robes slid into view.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
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