Remarkably, when you're buried in work, time doesn't so much fly by unnoticed — it simply vanishes, as if someone snapped their fingers. Did the week drag on, the one during which Daphne and I spent every free moment studying the book Snape had so strongly recommended? Not in the slightest. It disappeared in a flash. I was genuinely surprised by that myself.
One day — a Wednesday, or perhaps a Thursday, I couldn't say with any certainty — Pansy caught Daphne and me at our usual table in the library, the last one, by the window. Only by then we weren't simply reading through the finer points of brewing Felix Felicis that the author had so diligently described — we were practising. How? Oh, it was simple enough: we were pretending to brew the potion. Without anything at all, naturally. To that end, we'd torn off small scraps of parchment — roughly the size of ordinary sticky notes — and written on them the names of both the required ingredients and the supplementary ones that might be needed to avert various mishaps.
The arrangement was this: one of us would stand over the table and, using nothing but imagination, "brew" a non-existent potion in a non-existent cauldron, tossing in non-existent ingredients and performing all manner of other manipulations with non-existent objects, while the other would invent problems that might arise at any given stage — and those problems came thick and fast. Naturally, it looked at least peculiar from the outside, and I wouldn't have been at all surprised if any students who noticed us had concluded we'd finally, definitively lost our minds under the strain of the upcoming exams, for instance.
That was, in fact, precisely what Pansy told us, interrupting the "simulation."
"Congratulations," she said with a broad smile, approaching our table and stepping beneath the privacy charm. "You've finally put your mental disorders on full display. The Janus Thickey Ward at Mungo's is waiting for you with open arms."
"Right," I nodded, while Daphne exhaled and let the "simulation" lapse. "Only they don't treat mental disorders there — for that you'd need to go to a Muggle hospital. Although… those aren't much better, to be honest."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Get to the point," Daphne said, attempting to lower herself onto her chair with some degree of composure, though in the end she simply dropped onto the unfortunate piece of furniture. Elegantly, however.
"I was just passing by, returning a book," said Pansy, who was indeed holding one, and she placed it on the shelf of the bookcase standing almost flush against our table.
"Wait a moment…" Daphne allowed herself a smirk. "Were you taking out romance novels from the library again?"
It took me a moment to place it, but I recalled almost at once that the front rows of those shelves held fiction — both from the Muggle world and from the wizarding one. Presumably this was done so that students searching for it — literature and English being compulsory subjects through fourth year — wouldn't have to wander the entire library and disturb those studying "proper books." Madam Pince respected all books, naturally, but as a witch she reserved her true esteem for books of substance — books about magic.
"One has to find some entertainment somehow, between studying and all the rest of it," Pansy said, doing her very best to look utterly indifferent to everything, and almost succeeding.
"I'd have thought you'd fob that off onto Millie."
"There are limits to everything. And I see you two are still going mad?"
"In a manner of speaking," I couldn't help but agree with that characterisation of our mental rehearsals. "We're going to be brewing Felix Felicis, and that, as you can imagine—"
"Actually, I can't," said Pansy with a smirk, folding her arms. "Care to explain?"
"You could simply watch us simulate the process," Daphne offered, gesturing to the chair beside her. "And have a look at the list of possible situations during the brewing."
"I'll do that, then."
Daphne and I returned to our imaginary brewing, while Pansy leafed through the notebook where we'd written brief summaries of the problems one might encounter when preparing Felix Felicis.
"You're both mad," she delivered her verdict half an hour later. "Though I never doubted it for a moment. I do hope I won't have to collect you in pieces."
"Much obliged."
"Any time, Granger."
And so the days went by, much the same as that. Sometimes I would work on the Hammer project, jotting down quick notes and calculations, while Daphne spent the remainder of her free time with her sister. Not in my company, of course — but the little spiders kept me informed of what I needed to know. She'd never neglected Astoria, not really, but now, with so much studying, they both treasured that time together, and the younger girl took offence whenever she felt she wasn't receiving enough attention. All very ordinary, in short.
Then on Saturday, after a not particularly enlightening but still necessary Defence Against the Dark Arts practical — during which I worked mostly alongside Daphne, who was growing increasingly absorbed in various charms and spells simply on account of how well she performed them — we made our way to Snape's office. Not directly, mind; first came dinner in the Great Hall, and only then Snape — but that's beside the point, a trivial detail, since dinner, like any other meal in the Great Hall, was not merely a couple of plates of good, filling food but also a source of rumour and news from the outside world. On this occasion, as on many others, no one had anything of real use to share.
In any case, Daphne and I arrived at Snape's classroom to find an enormous quantity of small dishes arranged on one table — each containing a different prepared ingredient, many in extremely limited amounts, evidently for correcting the various problems that might arise during the brewing. The cauldron was new, its surface polished almost to a mirror sheen. Everything, in short, had been prepared for the work — but arranged for a single person.
Snape himself was seated at his desk, and upon seeing us in the doorway he gave an immediate nod — a silent "come in, then" — and set aside the student papers he'd been marking.
"So then—" he began quietly, only for both Daphne and me, out of sheer habit, to greet him and interrupt.
"Good evening, Professor."
Snape's brow twitched.
"Whether it is or not remains to be seen. Miss Greengrass."
"Yes, Professor?"
"You will begin the brewing of Felix Felicis first."
Daphne nodded and walked to the table, pulling her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck as she went. Once at her station, she drew on the specialist gloves for handling particularly volatile potions and fastened her robes at the sleeves with special ties, so that they couldn't interfere with or affect the process even in theory.
"Mr Granger," Snape turned to me. "Your task is to stand at a safe distance, hold your wand at the ready, and watch the process closely. Should any danger arise — you pull Miss Greengrass clear of the potential blast zone by magic."
Snape drew his own wand, and we took up positions on opposite sides of the table, several metres back.
"And yourself, Professor?" I asked, while Daphne arranged the ingredient dishes in whatever sequence suited her.
"I will shield the cauldron, if required. And don't hold back when you cast — no half-measures. A few bruises from too sharp a jerk are a perfectly reasonable price for keeping one's limbs."
Daphne began to brew, and I focused, watching the process closely, doing my best to supplement the visual with something more — listening to the feel of the magic itself. Experience allowed me to read those sensations, to understand what processes were running inside the cauldron, and to move instantly should the need arise.
Stage by stage, ingredient by ingredient. Precisely measured quantities, exactly calibrated temperatures. Seventeen times Daphne needed to make corrections — six of them purely magical: tapping her wand against the side of the cauldron, then the rim, then drawing it across the surface. According to the book, this was an excellent result — far more difficulties might have arisen. And then the final ingredient dropped into the cauldron, three seconds over the flame, the fire extinguished immediately, and she could step back. Nothing left to do but wait for it to cool.
"It appears you have managed it," Snape said, relaxing fractionally. "My congratulations."
"Thank you, Professor," Daphne said, with a nod to Snape and a smile to me.
I smiled back, naturally.
"Once the cauldron has cooled, you may fill the phials. You have three doses — a respectable result," Snape continued. "I trust you are aware of the precautions for storage and use, and that you will not waste the potion on trifles."
"Of course, Professor," Daphne said, nodding again.
"Mr Granger. Prepare yourself."
The potion cooled quickly — the cauldron had very little thermal mass and shed heat rapidly in all directions, taking the potion's temperature with it. Daphne decanted it into phials before long and cleared the workspace. The Professor replaced the dishes with fresh ones, cleaned the cauldron personally by magic and checked it for any changes, then gave a satisfied nod and gestured for me to take my place.
I drew on my gloves, fastened my sleeves, arranged the dishes in order, glanced at Snape and at Daphne — both ready to step in at a moment's notice should I make a mess of things — and only then set to work. Precise, measured work, in which errors were not permissible. Stage by stage, ingredient by ingredient: stirring, temperature checks, passes of the wand. The capricious potion threatened at every stage to produce some error or explosion, but I cut off each attempted mutiny exactly when it needed cutting off. My hands seemed to move on their own, scattering or pouring fractions of grams of one ingredient or another — entirely by feel. All of it by feel.
At some point I became aware that the brewing was complete, the cauldron had been lifted from the flame, and there was nothing left to do but wait for it to cool. I was genuinely surprised at how deeply I'd sunk into monitoring the process. So deeply that I'd lost all awareness of the room around me. Two more corrections than Daphne had needed — but I'd handled each one a fraction faster, though that was simply the advantage of a quick-thinking mind. The extra errors had an explanation, too: I was wearing any number of artefacts, and the potion during brewing was absurdly sensitive to all magic in the vicinity, particularly any movement of it. To put it plainly — a witch or wizard walking past the classroom was enough to send the process veering out of control.
"Not bad, Mr Granger," Snape said, with the spare praise of a man who rarely gave any — which made it mean something. "You may likewise collect the potion once it has cooled."
Snape returned to his desk, and Daphne and I exchanged a glance, both smiling.
"Well then," said Snape, looking at us from behind his desk. "Allow me to congratulate you both on attaining the rank of Potions Apprentice. I shall forward the relevant documentation to the appropriate offices. Expect a letter of confirmation within the month."
"Apprentice?"
We asked it at the same moment.
"Precisely. I have been considering for some time which potion might best serve to examine your skills. You provided the answer yourselves, and rather conveniently. On another matter, Mr Granger—"
"Yes, Professor?"
"You haven't asked me anything for quite some time — about the various… demanding branches of magic you've been studying independently in pursuit of your goal. Have you truly run out of questions?"
"To be honest, there are no questions of genuine weight at the moment, and the minor ones—" I paused to find the right way to put it, since I truly hadn't encountered anything in the Restricted Section recently that had given me real cause to think hard. "—tend to resolve themselves in fairly short order."
"Nevertheless, I would recommend sharing your conclusions with more experienced wizards. Even thoughts that appear correct at first glance may prove fundamentally mistaken in practice."
"I'll bear that in mind, Professor. In that case, I'll try to compile a list of my personal conclusions on various topics before the end of term. We can discuss them then."
"Excellent. I hope you will apply yourself to that seriously and not let it drag on too long. It is extraordinarily difficult to rid oneself of ingrained personal assumptions — even wrong ones."
The conversation had taken just the right amount of time for the potion to cool, and I began decanting it. Three phials, as with Daphne's batch — three doses of Felix Felicis, which was genuinely gratifying, since a potion like this could be considered a universal solution to any number of problems one might face. Provided, of course, that those problems were ones you could at least theoretically resolve even with the smallest conceivable chance of success. The crucial thing was for that tiny chance to exist at all — and then Felix Felicis would simply steer you in the right direction. A remarkable potion.
Despite how quickly the brewing itself had gone, the whole business had taken a great deal out of both Daphne and me, and Snape simply waved us off and sent us on our way. I walked Daphne back as usual — she was tired but visibly pleased, clearly eager to show off the achievement to her housemates, and probably to Astoria as well — and then headed for our common room.
Saturday evenings in the Hufflepuff common room almost invariably meant quiet, easy gatherings — large groups, tea and sweets. Or whatever else people preferred: a few of the older students, no doubt imitating their parents, would sip something alcoholic, though they never actually got drunk. In any case, I settled into my usual armchair at our table, where the others were already deep into discussing the day or the latest goings-on at school.
"You're early," Justin said, surprised to see me at this hour. "Haven't been this early in… a very long time."
"Yes, actually," Hannah immediately picked up the thought. "Has something happened?"
"In a manner of speaking," I said, with a slight smile. "Daphne and I brewed Felix Felicis under Professor Snape's supervision."
"Wow!" came the reaction from Ernie and Susan — the most invested in Potions among our group, myself aside. "That's incredible!"
"What's so special about it?" Justin immediately asked, unwilling to remain ignorant of anything.
"That's a master-level potion, for your information," Ernie said, wagging a finger with mock authority. "Extraordinarily difficult to brew and extraordinarily dangerous. Sounds like you two aren't wasting your time, Hector."
"What surprises me more," Susan said, lifting her teacup, "is that Professor Snape allowed anyone near that potion in the first place."
"To be fair," I said, adding a small correction, "he prepared the workspace and every conceivable ingredient himself. And as it happens — for successfully brewing Felix Felicis, Professor Snape has awarded Daphne and me the rank of Potions Apprentice."
"Wow! That's brilliant…"
The others immediately began to congratulate us — clapping me on the shoulder, smiling with genuine warmth — and it was a pleasant thing.
"What's all the celebration?" Herbert and Tamsyn appeared. "Has someone got a birthday?"
"Hector's become a Potions Apprentice!" Zacharias, who had been silent until now — the pastries weren't going to eat themselves — gave me up without a second thought.
"Brilliant! Look at you, sharp as a tack," said Herbert, clapping me on the shoulder as well. "Keep it up, and by the time you leave Hogwarts you might be a Potions Master. All it takes is inventing a new potion, or making a meaningful improvement to an existing one — something that noticeably enhances its quality or reduces its difficulty."
"Or both at once," Tamsyn added.
"Well, that seems unlikely," I said, brushing it off, though I couldn't help smiling. "Potions is a demanding discipline, after all. Speaking of which, Tamsyn—"
"Yes?"
"I need to play another position in a match. Contract business — over two academic years I have to play at least one game in every position."
"No problem," she nodded, understanding immediately. "I'll sort it out at training… Actually, why don't you come to the morning session tomorrow and tell us yourself?"
"Put him at Beater," Herbert immediately offered his own spot, with considerable enthusiasm. "I'll sub in at the rings for one game — before I forget how to play Keeper altogether. Only… you'd have to come to training then."
"Obviously," I said, with mild resignation — I was already stretched thin enough as it was. "At a minimum I'd need to work on coordination with the other Beater, and run through the tactics at least a dozen times to be sure they've stuck."
"Exactly. So — training tomorrow…"
It seemed Herbert was less interested in revisiting his time as Keeper than in simply getting me to practice under a perfectly logical and reasonable pretext. Our captain was equally happy to see the full team at practice sessions. Or perhaps she was simply curious to see how I'd manage as a Beater.
"The paperwork will need to be submitted in advance," I reminded Tamsyn of that particular bureaucratic requirement.
"Oh, Merlin!" she implored the heavens, which, as was only proper, offered her no response. "How I treasure this paperwork!"
I spent about an hour with the others, talking, then went up to my room, tucked myself behind the screen, and set to work on calculations for various artefacts. The Hammer business could wait for now — better to focus on the ideas the twins had put forward. My interest there was fairly simple and obvious. Beyond the fact that artefacts I could produce quickly and in volume would bring in solid coin, certain problems could also be resolved through other people's hands. It was plain enough to me, for instance, that the Dark Lord would eventually stage some kind of power play — a forcible seizure of control over the Ministry of Magic.
But even if the takeover were to proceed more or less bloodlessly, there would still be no shortage of the discontented — the law enforcement elements, for one. The Aurors, who were, worth noting, an international organisation. Even if the Dark Lord were to "govern" England, the Aurors would fall outside his direct jurisdiction. If the International Confederation were to recognise the legitimacy of a new government in England, then yes — but even then only on paper. In short: by supplying artefacts at modest cost to the law enforcement bodies and to anyone else unwilling to submit to a reign of terror, if such a thing were to come, I could put weight behind the existing government.
As for the twins' ideas — quite wild in terms of spectacle, as always, but genuinely comprehensible to the local wizarding mindset. I would simply need to reduce the degree of madness, to make the artefacts the kind of thing that law enforcement ought to be using. But all of that required time, and tomorrow was training, and after that… Difficult, in short. The last months of this academic year were going to be difficult.
---------------
Give me Powerstones if you like the story.
If you want to read 60+ advanced chapters, you can do so on my Patreon.
Patreon(.)com/TheRedSpell