Crush the daisy roots into a liquid, filter it, and heat it over an alcohol lamp.
Wait exactly thirty seconds, then add one hundred caterpillar spines.
Remove the thin membrane from the shrivellfig along its veins, drop it into the cauldron, squeeze in three drops of leech juice, and stir thoroughly to mix.
***
This was the standard procedure for brewing a Blood-Replenishing Potion, usually taught toward the end of the first year at Hogwarts.
Most first-years could barely manage it, and if asked to drink their own concoction, they'd likely hesitate out of fear for their lives.
Yet in Severus's hands, the tweezers plucking the caterpillar spines moved with a steadiness far beyond that of a nine-year-old child.
His eyes were deep, like the sea.
His pale hand gripped the tweezers firmly, pinning the struggling caterpillar with ruthless precision as he plucked the required spines one by one, lining them up neatly on the side.
From the moment he began, Severus's young face radiated intense focus.
His eyes saw only the ingredients. His mind calculated the length and quality of every spine. His breathing slowed until it was nearly silent.
Technically, the length of the spines didn't matter for a Blood-Replenishing Potion.
But guided by the sharp intuition of *Artisan's Insight*, Severus instinctively chose spines exactly 1.5 centimeters long—experience had proven this yielded the best results.
It took five caterpillars to gather enough spines.
Crushing the daisy roots was simple enough, merely a test of patience.
*Fwoosh.*
Severus lit the alcohol lamp, placed the collected daisy juice over the flame, and at the precise second, tipped in exactly one hundred caterpillar spines.
Peeling the shrivellfig membrane was the trickiest part of the process.
One slip could slice a finger, and removing the membrane intact was notoriously difficult.
But Severus was confident.
He took the shrivellfig from the jar and submerged it in a bowl of prepared hot water for over ten seconds.
When he pulled it out again, he didn't use a knife. Instead, he used his fingernail to gently tease the edge—and peeled off a perfect, flawless membrane in one smooth motion!
He dropped it into the boiling daisy juice and squeezed in three drops of leech juice.
Steam rose from the cauldron.
The pale yellow liquid darkened as he stirred, releasing the faint, fresh scent of daisies.
Five minutes later, the dark yellow potion thickened slightly.
Severus extinguished the lamp, gripped the hot cauldron with iron tongs, and poured the freshly brewed potion into five identical glass vials.
The amount was perfect—not a drop wasted.
The daisy roots and shrivellfigs were near-expired stock from Felinnon's shop—free.
The caterpillars and leech juice cost about 12 Sickles in total.
Normally, a bottle of this potion would sell for 1 Galleon at *Slug & Jiggers Apothecary*.
But Severus had no brand name and no reputation. He couldn't charge that much.
His only advantage was price.
He planned to sell them at the rock-bottom price of 10 Sickles per bottle to break into the market.
With a batch of five bottles:
Selling one would nearly cover his costs.
Selling two would net him a profit of 8 Sickles.
Selling three would earn him 1 Galleon and 1 Sickle—more than several days of wages at the shop!
This high margin was only possible due to his talent; without his secret regarding the caterpillar spines, costs would have been higher.
Regardless, the Blood-Replenishing Potion was like a household bandage—essential and always in demand. As long as the quality held up, finding buyers wouldn't be an issue.
Though not as miraculous as Essence of Dittany (which cost over ten Galleons a bottle), it was perfect for small cuts and far more affordable for the average wizard.
Severus intended to stop there for the night.
However, perhaps due to days of continuous brewing and study, a breakthrough was imminent.
As his eyes landed on the leftover, unused materials on the table, countless ideas collided in the depths of his mind.
They screamed at him, urging him to seize the fleeting inspiration before it vanished.
Without hesitation, Severus shoved the other items aside. Guided by the subtle pull of *Artisan's Insight*, he quickly grabbed several different magical ingredients.
He boiled mandrake leaves in clear water, added three spoonfuls of powdered snake fangs, and poured in a small vial of slug slime.
A foul stench filled the room.
But Severus's eyes shone like stars. A strange certainty told him he could not fail.
After fifteen minutes of constant stirring, he decisively added chopped ginger roots.
The foul smell instantly transformed into a mouth-watering sweetness.
The long simmering began.
Milky white steam rose into the air, shrouding Severus in a dreamlike haze.
Valuable ingredients were consumed one by one, yet Severus showed no hesitation or regret.
Finally, the liquid began to sizzle.
Severus dropped in lavender flowers. The potion's flashy aroma faded, and the mixture thickened into a humble, pitch-black paste.
*Did it fail?*
The thought rose unbidden, but his instincts screamed *no*.
Suppressing his anxiety, Severus waited for the temperature to drop, then scraped the residue from the cauldron and rolled it into three small, finger-sized sticks of salve.
They looked unremarkable. Only when held close to the nose could one detect the restrained, fresh fragrance locked inside.
Severus studied them thoughtfully.
The properties of every ingredient he had used flashed through his mind, leading him to the most likely effect.
He picked up a piece of the salve and gently rubbed it over a small, faint scar on the side of his hand—a minor injury from moving flowerpots for Mr. Felinnon two weeks ago.
As he applied the plain-looking paste, the scar vanished instantly, erased like pencil marks under an eraser.
He stared at his hand for a long time, and then a delighted smile broke across his face.
By sheer chance and intuition, he had created a salve that didn't exist before—and he knew it would sell like wildfire.
"I'll call you *Scar-Be-Gone*," he whispered. "A name every woman will remember."
Everything became clear.
The process for brewing the salve was no longer a mystery.
At the same time, the skill bar in his system quietly updated:
**Potions Lv.3!!**