章 51: Potions Master
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In Snape's dimly lit office, Dyroth was greeted by the sharp smell of various strange ingredients. The room was cast in shadows, with the occasional flicker from the bubbling cauldron on Snape's desk, emitting faint gurgles.
Without glancing up, Snape spoke in his usual cold tone. "Do you know how to properly handle the slough of an African tree snake?"
"Yes, Professor," Dyroth replied, reciting the process from memory, having studied it in his Potions classes.
Snape's response was as curt as ever. "Barely tolerable."
For someone who rarely praised anyone, this was high praise coming from him. Dyroth, ignoring the sarcasm, moved swiftly to the potion cabinet as directed.
"Bottom shelf, third cabinet," Snape said.
Dyroth retrieved the snake slough, noticing that the cabinet lacked any protective spells. He couldn't help but recall how easily Hermione had stolen ingredients in the original timeline. The contents were neatly arranged but clearly unguarded.
As Dyroth carefully prepared the slough, Snape's sharp voice interrupted his concentration.
"Mr. Grindelwald, you should consider the financial state of your poor dean. Not everyone can open dozens of shops in Diagon Alley with a flick of a wand."
"According to your technique, you're wasting more than half of the material," Snape sneered.
Dyroth, in a good mood, decided not to argue. Instead, he humbly asked for guidance. "I'm sorry, Professor. This is my first time working with this material directly. Please correct me if I've erred."
Snape, taken aback by Dyroth's mild response, continued his brewing but couldn't resist correcting him. "Start from the tail. Make a small incision and discard the excess, keeping the rest intact."
Following Snape's instructions, Dyroth adjusted his method. However, it wasn't long before another critique followed.
"Mr. Grindelwald, this is delicate work, not dueling trolls. Try to use a little more finesse," Snape chastised.
"Yes, Professor."
"I suppose, given your lineage, you're better suited for handling slugs—less need for precision," Snape added, his words dripping with disdain.
Despite the constant stream of insults, Dyroth maintained his composure, refining his technique. He knew that beneath the biting sarcasm, Snape was imparting valuable lessons not found in textbooks. This was instruction from one of the greatest Potion Masters in the wizarding world.
As the hours passed, Snape's criticisms grew fewer. Dyroth's handling of the snake slough improved with every attempt. By the time the session ended, even Snape appeared grudgingly satisfied, though he would never openly admit it.
The sun had long set by the time Dyroth finished preparing the last slough. His back ached from standing, and he stretched before handing the completed work to Snape.
Without looking up from his cauldron, Snape gave the slough a cursory glance. "It's usable," he muttered. "Be early tomorrow."
"Understood, Professor," Dyroth replied, preparing to leave. As he turned to go, something caught his eye—an unusual sight in Snape's otherwise grim office: a single white lily, in full bloom, sitting delicately on the professor's desk.
Before Dyroth could comment, Snape's cold voice cut through the air. "Mr. Grindelwald, if you value your eyes, I suggest you stop gawking and get out."
Dyroth quickly exited the room, but a small smile played on his lips. Despite Snape's harsh demeanor, the professor had provided him with invaluable knowledge.
By the time Dyroth left the office, curfew had already passed. However, he wasn't concerned. Filch would likely overlook him, and as long as he avoided Professor McGonagall, he'd be fine.
Feeling a pang of hunger, Dyroth made his way to the Hogwarts kitchen. The house-elves greeted him warmly, serving him a hearty meal.
Grateful for Snape's guidance, Dyroth even requested an extra portion to be sent to the Potions Master, though he doubted Snape would appreciate the gesture.
...
Later, back in the Slytherin dormitory, Dyroth settled into his bed, ready for a well-deserved rest. Elsewhere, Dumbledore was busy dealing with his own troubles.
Dyroth's sudden launch of dozens of shops in Diagon Alley had caused quite the stir. Several old, pure-blood families found their profits slashed by nearly a third in just a single day, and the financial future wasn't looking any better.
All night, furious pure-blood wizards flooded Dumbledore with complaints. He spent hours handling their grievances, barely finding time to rest.
As he reflected on the situation, Dumbledore considered negotiating with the aggrieved families. But what could he offer?
Could I really just ask them to back off and give me face?
He knew it wasn't that simple. No matter how influential he was, Dumbledore couldn't wave his hand and resolve deals worth tens of thousands of galleons with just a few words.
In the end, all he could do was wait. Eventually, the other side would calm down and send someone to the negotiating table. Until then, he had to ride out the storm.
.
.
.
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