Ravenclaw Dormitory
David looked at his three sons with a doting smile and said slowly, "I'm giving you a chance to make some money. Do you want it?"
It was clear from his unwavering tone that this opportunity was not one David had invented out of a kind heart. Although the potion-making process was not overly complicated, it did require a considerable investment of time. David, however, was unwilling to spend any extra effort himself. He was not like the famed potion master Snape—a greasy, middle-aged wizard whose life revolved around his cauldrons since the tragic passing of Lily.
"A chance to make money?" Terry, the most cautious of the three, stepped back and asked hesitantly.
Though David's eyes were difficult to read, his expression left little doubt about his serious intent. The notion of making money was enough to rouse suspicion in Terry's young, inexperienced mind. At only eleven years old, Terry was still grappling with the challenges of a Muggle-born wizard in an increasingly complex magical world.
"And what about you two?" David asked, his tone shifting as he turned his gaze toward Michael and Gene.
Among the trio, Michael was recognized as the most talented when it came to potions, while Gene and Terry were seen as average.
"Who wouldn't want a chance to earn some extra Galleons?" Gene exclaimed, enthusiastically clapping Michael on the shoulders. Although his family came from a long line of wizards, his own pocket money was always tight. More Galleons meant more opportunities—a thought that excited him greatly.
Michael, ever the active participant, nodded eagerly. Even though 100 Galleons a year might have been enough for most, he understood that success in the wizarding world depended on accumulating as many Galleons as possible.
"Then follow me!" David announced, leading them toward a large, old suitcase.
For the purpose of making simple potions, there was no need to retreat to the Room of Requirement. Instead, the Ravenclaw dormitory was fully equipped with four sets of crucibles and several auxiliary tools. Although the process of brewing potions did not demand much space, it did have the potential to leave behind unpleasant odors and stains. David, however, was undeterred by such minor inconveniences.
"This is a traceless expansion spell," Gene explained with a note of awe as the group studied the mysterious suitcase. "My family owns a similar box and a tent. Although it looks small, the interior contains a surprising amount of space."
David's family background was clearly different, however. David was a Muggle-born wizard, and the fact that he possessed such a magical item was unexpected. Even Gene, who came from a long line of wizards, had never seen anything quite like it.
David continued in his measured tone, "Check if these frogs still have oil. Use them to make potions. I will pay one Galleon for each pot."
This price was anything but low. Even if the boys spent every spare moment of the day and night working, the monthly earnings would outstrip even the head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Prohibition of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, Arthur Weasley's modest salary. However, the ultimate profit would depend on the sales volume, and a single crucible could produce multiple small bottles of potion.
Michael was the first to volunteer, his enthusiasm overcoming any hesitations about his lack of experience. "I'll do it!" he declared boldly. Despite his limited knowledge of potion-making, he was determined to seize this opportunity. Gene and Terry soon followed suit; though they had never attempted anything like this before, the lure of extra Galleons proved irresistible.
David gave them further instructions: "Bring the crucible in here and begin by boiling the potion. Remember—the potion's formula must never be leaked." His tone was as serious as ever, and even though the boys had only the faintest understanding of intellectual property rights, they recognized the gravity of David's words. In the wizarding world, much like in the Muggle world, ideas and secret formulas were fiercely guarded. David was well aware that if he were to file a patent or claim an invention, his application would have been processed quickly by the pure-blood families. However, his own status as a Muggle-born wizard meant that his claims would have been dismissed without a second thought.
"We understand!" the boys chorused, exchanging determined glances. Their relationships were strong enough that even the threat of punishment was enough to keep them on track. They did not yet understand that they were simply pawns in a larger scheme orchestrated by David—a rising talent in the wizarding world whose future success would be unparalleled.
After providing a few more instructions, David set the demonstration in motion. He began by carefully selecting a frog from the oversized fish tank, ensuring that it was still well-supplied with oil. With deliberate precision, he plunged a small knife into the back of the frog's head. As he simultaneously twisted his wrist to guide the knife, the head was neatly severed, allowing him to extract the frog's brain. With steady hands, he transferred the extracted brain into a container placed on the counter.
The sight was admittedly repulsive. For those unacquainted with the demands of potion-making, the entire process might have seemed gruesome. Yet, David's calm manner reminded them that such methods were standard procedure in the art of potion brewing. After all, not all potions were meant to be glamorous. Some required ingredients as exotic—and unappealing—as armadillo bile and crushed scarab beetles for intelligence enhancement, or caterpillars sliced thinly, mouse bile, and leech juice for a potion that induced shrinking. Even yesterday's batch had included slugs, leaving a lingering scent that would be difficult to forget.
David repeated the extraction process until he had collected exactly sixteen portions of frog brains. When he finally set down the knife, he turned his attention to the next phase. He heated a generous amount of oil in a sturdy pan, then carefully placed a crucible over a flickering alcohol lamp. He poured the heated oil into the crucible, stirring it steadily while waiting for the mixture to reach the optimal temperature. When the oil was just right, he added the frog brains to the crucible.
Fortunately, the oil was specially prepared for potion-making—it was neither vegetable oil nor animal fat, for those would have ruined the delicate process and resulted in what could only be described as "fried frog brains." David's expertise was evident in every movement; after more than ten minutes, he removed the crucible from the flame, extinguishing the alcohol lamp, and began to stir the now-green liquid thoroughly.
With the potion complete, David divided it carefully into four small bottles. Standing before his sons, he held up one of the bottles and said, "Would any of you like to try it? This is a freshly brewed potion that is said to enhance brainpower."
Terry, examining the bottle with trepidation, inquired, "David, are you absolutely sure it's safe? What if we're risking our lives by drinking it?"
David, ever confident, replied matter-of-factly, "You will die if you drink it!" Without missing a beat, he downed the potion in one swift gulp. Whether by luck or his own natural resilience, David survived. Convinced of the potion's efficacy, Michael, Gene, and even the timid Terry closed their eyes and drank in unison.
The taste was undeniably peculiar—there was an odd blend of greasiness and a faint, metallic tang. But the risk was worth it when, after a few moments, Michael, Gene, and Terry began to experience a noticeable improvement in both their memory and comprehension. Unfortunately, the heightened mental faculties only lasted for twenty minutes before they reverted to normal.
After much consideration and discussion, the boys decided that they would charge five gold Galleons per bottle. In Diagon Alley, where potion prices were known to be steep, this rate was justifiable. After all, there was little competition for a potion that promised enhanced brainpower—at least for those who could afford it. Moreover, the market for such a product was limited to a niche segment of the wizarding community, primarily composed of pure-blood or half-blood wizards. The number of Muggle-born students at Hogwarts was relatively small, making this venture both exclusive and potentially lucrative.
Over the next few weeks, the dormitory became a hive of activity. Michael, Gene, and Terry, under David's watchful eye, honed their potion-making skills and experimented with variations of the formula. Although their initial production run was successful, they soon discovered that creating a consistently high-quality potion required much more than simply following a recipe. Each batch demanded precision, attention to detail, and an understanding of the subtle properties of the ingredients.
Despite the occasional setback—a potion that turned out too bitter, another that fizzled out prematurely—the boys persevered. David, ever the patient mentor, offered constructive advice and gentle corrections. "Remember," he would say, "it is not only the ingredients but also the passion you bring to the craft that makes all the difference."
As the days turned into weeks, the group began to see the tangible rewards of their efforts. Word of their brain-enhancing potion spread through the halls of Ravenclaw, and soon, requests for the mysterious elixir came not only from fellow students but also from curious professors. The newfound success provided the boys with a taste of financial independence, along with the excitement of running their own small business in the magical world.
Yet, beneath the surface of this promising venture, a subtle tension simmered. The secret formula was a prized asset, and David made it abundantly clear that any leak or betrayal would be met with swift retribution. In a world where even a minor slip-up could have disastrous consequences, the boys were well aware that their loyalty—and their silence—was paramount.
In the end, the potion-making adventure was not merely a means to earn Galleons. It was a formative experience, one that taught Michael, Gene, and Terry about responsibility, innovation, and the intricacies of the magical arts. Under David's guidance, they were learning that success in the wizarding world depended not just on talent, but also on perseverance, secrecy, and the willingness to take risks.
Looking back on those early days in the Ravenclaw dormitory, the memory of that first batch of brain-enhancing potion remained vivid. The strange mixture of oils and frog brains, the initial fear of its potentially deadly taste, and the triumphant rush of mental clarity—all of these experiences had contributed to shaping the young wizards into individuals who would one day leave their mark on the magical world. And though the formula was a closely guarded secret, the lessons learned during that time were shared openly among the three friends, bonding them together in a way that would last a lifetime.
Thus, as the moon rose high above Hogwarts and the dormitory fell quiet once more, the echo of laughter, whispered schemes, and dreams of future success lingered in the air—a reminder that sometimes, even a seemingly simple potion could unlock not only the potential of the mind, but also the future of a generation of young wizards.
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