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In the quiet office, Snape frowned deeply as he stared at the aged notebook in front of him. Inked words materialized on the yellowed parchment, only to fade moments later, yet their meaning seemed seared into his mind.
They were impossible to ignore.
[Such magic defies the laws of the natural world, demanding the sanction of ancient powers.]
If the potion's effects were anything to go by, a brew capable of granting magical power to those without it, then indeed, it was a transgression of magic that ought never to exist.
Snape begrudgingly agreed with the notebook's ominous assertion.
But what unsettled him most was the mention of "ancient powers."
"Does one truly require the sanction of these so-called powers to create the fabled Apocalypse Potion? But the key to this Apocalypse Potion lies in Ian Prince's Unlimited Power Draught."
Snape was neither devout nor dismissive. Like most wizards, he believed in what could be seen, touched, and tested. It was perhaps this unwavering logic that sharpened his unease.
"This notebook, ancient beyond reckoning, not only knows of my potions but even names them. It identified the Unlimited Power Draught without hesitation."
That was what unsettled him most. If the Apocalypse Potion's formula had truly existed long before his time, it would shake the very foundations of magical understanding.
Few dared to question whether beings of immense power truly watched over the world.
But to confront truths that defied reason was to invite consequences, as severe as the wrath of ancient magic itself.
Had he not been the one to brew the potion with his own hands, Snape might have joined the ranks of those who would hunt down any wizard bold enough to unearth such a forbidden truth.
He knew too well the weight of dark knowledge, and that there were far worse people than himself lurking in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds.
This fear was why Snape, after learning of the Revival Draught from the notebook, sought safer ingredients, adjusted the formula, and completed his own version, yet never dared to unveil it.
The Squib Revival Draught.
A potion designed to stir dormant magical blood within Squibs. Its effects were temporary, lasting only three to five months. Even so, Snape, ever aware of the shadows that crept through the wizarding world, refrained from sharing his creation.
Not even a whisper escaped his lips.
It was only upon realizing Ian's Unlimited Power Draught might have other applications that Snape's lingering obsession resurfaced. But he never expected this forbidden creation to be inscribed within the pages of a tome older than memory, with the potion bearing the very name, "Unlimited Power Draught."
"I always assumed the boy invented that name himself," Snape muttered, his frown deepening. "But that explanation no longer holds... If the recipe he found could name the draught so precisely, why would its author bother concealing it within a love potion?"
"Historical accounts suggest that Morgan the Witch was no stranger to cunning, but concealing apocalyptic magic in a simple amorous brew? That's hardly her style. Perhaps it was a matter of caution."
Snape could only speculate.
Truthfully, if he set aside the question of how Ian knew the Apocalypse Potion's precursor was the Unlimited Power Draught, Snape could almost understand Morgan's rationale.
Innovators who tampered with the natural order would always find themselves marked as enemies of the world.
At least from the perspective of wizards, this was indeed the case… It would shake not only the delicate relationship between Muggles and wizards but also the unsettling truth that such a potion could unravel the very origins of wizardkind.
When the sacred lineage of wizards was no longer sacred, Snape could scarcely fathom the chaos that would follow. Not even a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber might withstand the repercussions of such knowledge.
Even a legendary witch would face the same fate.
This was far more terrifying than anything Dumbledore's enigmatic old friend, Gellert Grindelwald, still imprisoned within Nurmengard, had once attempted.
No wizard would permit the creation of such a potion. If Ian's discovery truly stemmed from Morgan le Fay, Snape could see how it all aligned.
The ancient witch may have unearthed the truth of wizardkind's origins or perhaps conjured an alternative history. Fearing the implications, she might have divided the forbidden knowledge into two parts: one recorded in her own notebook, the other concealed within Hogwarts' library centuries later.
It was a plausible theory.
In Snape's mind, the legendary witch who unearthed the potion's secrets must have felt the same dread that plagued him now. That was why she chose to split and hide the recipe, a decision born of fear, but also of reluctant preservation.
Sealing it away to prevent calamity. Preserving it to honor the burden of knowledge.
Snape's thoughts mirrored hers in a disturbingly familiar way.
Of course,
There were also differences.
"This notion of requiring the approval of ancient powers could be an echo of the old magics," Snape mused, as though glimpsing a sliver of the ancient wizards' lost wisdom.
He pressed his hand to his temple, his brow furrowing deeply.
It wasn't that he dismissed the possibility of higher powers.
After all, Hogwarts still harbored descendants of the ancient priestesses, and wizards had long whispered tales of the Deathly Hallows and the Peverell brothers. Yet Snape doubted that, even if these powers did exist, their favor would be so easily bestowed.
And yet, Ian had managed to brew the precursor potion. That alone raised troubling questions. What kind of force would favor that insufferable little brat, Ian?
"Perhaps the so-called divine approval is merely a euphemism for an ancient ritual," Snape reasoned. He couldn't accept the thought that an accomplished Potions Master like himself would be denied such recognition, while Ian's roguish charm earned divine acknowledgment. Surely no mystical force concerned itself with appearances… or hair volume.
"It's possible that Morgan, in her wisdom, crafted a protective enchantment around the recipe. The first to access it may have received her intended blessing, a touch of ceremonial magic, exaggerated into myth."
The notion soothed Snape's pride, though it brought a bitter pang of regret. If he hadn't instructed Ian to destroy the original recipe, perhaps he too could have claimed the ancient blessing.
After all, who could say whether this so-called "approval" was limited to a single wizard?
"Perhaps I should retrieve a Time-Turner and intercept that meddling brat before he laid hands on it," Snape thought fleetingly, before shaking his head.
His pride would never permit it.
To grovel for a second chance in front of his own nephew?
The notion was preposterous.
Besides, Ian's absence in the library that day was proof enough that no meddling could alter what had already transpired. Any competent wizard understood the perils of manipulating time. Bending the past for personal gain was a recklessness few would dare entertain.
It, too, was a forbidden act.
Challenging one taboo for the sake of a potion that couldn't be revealed in the light was clearly not a wise choice. Everyone knew that those who played with time would eventually be played by time.
People can only witness history.
They cannot change history.
For many years,
This has been an unchallengeable truth.
No one can shake it.
...
After leaving Snape's office, Ian immediately rushed back to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, fortunately, Ian managed to catch the end of the class, but the regret was that he only caught the tail end, watching as a group of young wizards walked out of the classroom, both fearful and excited.
"Oh! Professor Gilderoy Lockhart is simply amazing! His class is terrifying, but you really learn a lot! He actually showed us how to deal with the Imperius Curse!"
"Did you see the Boggart trying to escape and then being magically frozen in place? It turned into a monstrous centaur and tried to curse us, but Professor Lockhart made its mouth disappear!"
"Do you think that Boggart is gone for good? It didn't even move when someone poked it with their wand!"
"It got what it deserved! I just wish my wand was longer!"
"Exactly, exactly! Didn't you see the little professor's roommate get flung into the wall by it? As Gilderoy Lockhart said, these magical creatures are unpredictable."
...
(To Be Continued…)