Time slipped quietly by. November soon passed, and one day, when they woke up, heavy snow had suddenly descended upon Hogwarts.
The castle, the surrounding peaks, the Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest were all covered in several feet of pristine white snow.
The courtyard, usually packed with young wizards, no longer saw anyone visit.
Even the corridors were much emptier. The weather was too cold; the drafts seemed capable of blowing straight into one's bones.
The fireplaces in the common rooms of all four Houses blazed fiercely every day.
Everyone basically huddled there, only sighing as they shifted their heavily bundled bodies when it was time for class.
As a result, Snape's Potions class proudly claimed the title of most unpopular class, without question. The Potions classroom was in the basement, cold and damp, and the esteemed Professor Snape was not even willing to light a brazier for the young wizards.
He told them, "Potion ingredients prefer darkness. You need to learn endurance, learn to draw nourishment and warmth from your greasy fat. I must say, Hogwarts has been feeding you rather too well!"
But in truth, his own office was quite warm.
Ever since winter began, that fireplace had never gone out.
On the afternoon when the snowstorm arrived, Vaughn was sorting materials in Snape's office.
Snape sat beside the fireplace, warming himself as he read the paper Vaughn had submitted.
More accurately, it was Vaughn's project notes for a new potion.
"...During the process of separating properties, I discovered a remarkably fascinating phenomenon. The properties of potion ingredients are not limited to what substances the ingredients themselves are composed of, nor to the kind of magic they possess while alive. The emergence of these properties also involves an indescribable occult aspect—for instance, the influence and definition imposed