Watching the liquid swirl inside the vials, Snape finally believed Ian. No matter how talented a young wizard might be, there was simply no way he could have devised something this complex mere weeks into the school year.
"I found the formula in the Restricted Section, I just memorized it." Ian certainly wasn't about to hand over the scraps of Morgan's enchanted robes as proof. At most, he'd share the formula with Snape for joint research.
A good uncle has no children.
What achievements could he possibly forget about me?
"Do you even understand what you're analyzing?" Snape's voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it, something almost unreadable. He had realized that the formula wasn't Ian's own work, but that didn't diminish his astonishment at the boy's raw talent.
Most wizards, even seasoned Potioneers, lacked the instinctive ability to isolate specific properties within a complex potion. Such skill was as rare as a Niffler that could sniff out treasure in an empty vault.
The Prince family shouldn't have fallen into obscurity like this, Snape thought. A strange mix of pride and something far more complicated settled in his chest.
"I believe this is a vitality potion, one that can keep our magic at peak performance for an extended period." Ian's voice carried the certainty of discovery, then faltered as he added, "Maybe we should call it the Infinite Firepower Potion."
His naming skills were clearly not on par with his potioneering abilities.
Still, the thought of holding the exclusive rights to such a potion filled Ian with excitement.
"We should patent this," He declared. "Sell it to the Aurors, there have to be loads of them who'd want it. It'll sell better than, than shampoo or anything else!"
Ian's voice practically sparkled with enthusiasm.
Technically, this was Professor Morgan's discovery, her achievement, her legacy. But he was the last person alive to carry on her work. He was her only apprentice.
And how could he let such brilliance be lost to time?
Ian had just about convinced himself that he was a wizard of great responsibility when,
"Go to the Restricted Section. Find that formula, and then..."
Snape's voice had dropped into something low and unreadable. Ian assumed he was about to demand a copy of the formula.
But then,
"Destroy it."
The words cut through the air like a hex.
"Use Fiendfyre. Or whatever other magic you must."
Ian stiffened. This was not the reaction he had expected as it made no sense.
But Snape's expression was deadly serious. Even more severe than when he'd suspected Ian of brewing an illicit love potion.
"…Is this for a monopoly?" Ian ventured, trying to make sense of Snape's urgency.
"Bury that formula so deep even you forget it exists."
Snape cast a sweeping glance over the cauldrons, then, with a flick of his wand, he obliterated the remaining potion and every trace of the unfinished ingredients.
"If I find out you've shared this formula with anyone, anyone, don't blame me for ensuring your friends forget it by force."
Snape's voice was lower than a whisper, but it carried the weight of something cold and final.
"Prince, I don't want to die. And I think you don't, either."
Then, without another word, Snape seized the completed potion and swept out of the Room of Requirement, his black robes billowing behind him.
Ian stood there, staring at the empty space where Snape had been.
The classroom was silent.
His mind wasn't.
Something very strange was going on.
Deep in the dungeons, in the shadows of his office, Severus Snape locked the door behind him.
The Potions Master turned the doorknob with a deliberate slowness, stepping into his office before shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the dimly lit room as he secured it again, his movements uncharacteristically tense.
With Ian's potion in hand, Snape crossed the room and settled behind his desk.
He sat there.
Staring at the deep blue liquid resting on the polished wood, his dark eyes reflected something rare, fear, anxiety, and a weighty apprehension that seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.
'I know I shouldn't be doing this. It's dangerous.'
The thought was suffocating, but when his emotions threatened to consume him, he finally moved toward the far wall.
Muttering an incantation under his breath, he watched as the bricks shifted and twisted, revealing a concealed compartment hidden deep within the stone. Inside sat a bottle no larger than a shoebox, its contents shimmering like liquid starlight.
Water of Revival
The label was scrawled in his own unmistakable handwriting. The crystal vial, its craftsmanship exquisite, was clearly the work of a Potions Master at the height of his abilities, one of his greatest achievements.
Snape stood there, motionless, his gaze locked onto the potion. He hesitated. Then, pacing back and forth, he wrestled with something unseen, something heavy.
Outside, the sky deepened to twilight.
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
"But I don't want to die without knowing the truth."
Resolve hardened in his expression. Snape reached into the compartment, took the potion with careful precision, and moved swiftly to his cauldron. He poured in the shimmering liquid before adding several rare ingredients, muttering incantations as he worked.
The process was methodical. Precise. Dangerous.
Minutes later, he retrieved the now-boiling potion and carefully poured it into Ian's blue concoction.
The moment the two liquids met, the potion's color shifted. A brilliant, star-like glow pulsed within, as though the very essence of the night sky had been captured in a bottle.
It was radiant and mesmerizing.
"…It worked."
Snape's breath was shallow. The potion was finished.
Yet there was no triumph in his face, only a ghostly pallor, his hands trembling so visibly that the vial nearly slipped from his grasp.
"How could it actually work?!"
His composure cracked. Nearly knocking over his chair in his haste, he stumbled toward his cabinet, his hands moving frantically through its contents.
He snatched up a glass dropper.
Drawing a single droplet from the vial, he turned sharply, his gaze landing on a toad trapped within a glass enclosure. Without hesitation, he let the droplet fall onto the creature's slick skin.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Snape didn't breathe.
Then,
"Prince… I almost wish you were just trying to dose us all with love potions."
His voice was barely above a whisper, yet thick with something between disbelief and horror. His complexion had gone deathly pale.
He lifted a small, transparent stone, an ancient detection tool infused with delicate strands of magic, its core flickering with a faint blue glow.
The light within it twisted and pulsed.
It was reacting.
To what?
Magic.
Raw, unfathomable magic.
It was a force so potent, so volatile, that even he wasn't certain how to control it. Snape's grip tightened around the stone as dread settled deep in his bones.
"Why must it always be a disaster?" Somewhere in the castle, oblivious to the storm brewing in the depths of the dungeons, Ian was likely dreaming of glory.
He had no idea what he had uncovered.
And Snape wasn't sure if anyone could stop it now.
(End of Chapter)
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