The First Task
The next morning, the lab was alive with the usual hum of energy and expectation. A soft light filtered through the high, narrow windows, casting dappled patches of sunlight onto the stone floor. The air was cool, yet the excitement of the day’s challenge was enough to stir even the stillest corners of the room. Hermione stood by the workbench, her brow furrowed in concentration as she arranged the ingredients for the first task in Seamus’s so-called “Lucky Charm Challenge.”
She had spent the morning organizing everything to the finest detail. The base for the day’s potion was deceptively simple—an essential healing draught that required precision, timing, and, most importantly, a delicate balance of ingredients. It was a task that, if performed correctly, would yield a perfectly smooth, vibrant potion capable of accelerating tissue regeneration. If done incorrectly, however, the results could range from a harmless but unpleasant colour shift to a more dangerous, volatile reaction.
Hermione had no doubts about her own ability to get it right, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping up on her as she glanced over at the instructions she’d painstakingly written out for Seamus. The steps were clear and methodical, each one carefully chosen to ensure success. She had reminded him more than once—carefully, patiently—to follow the recipe exactly. No shortcuts. No creative alterations. Potions weren’t like charms or hexes, where a little improvisation might yield surprising results. Potions demanded precision, and Seamus, for all his talents, had yet to master the art of restraint when it came to handling cauldrons.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching, their rhythm eager and purposeful. She sighed inwardly, but there was little surprise when Seamus entered the lab with his usual bounce. His presence was like a gust of wind, stirring up everything in its path.
“So, Hermione,” Seamus said, rubbing his hands together with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “what’s the first test? Something easy, I hope? You know, just to warm up the whole lucky charm theory.” His voice was light, playful, though there was a hint of anticipation behind it.
Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though she tried to hide her smile. Leave it to Seamus to turn everything into a game, she thought. “You’ll be the judge of that,” she said dryly, tapping a long piece of parchment with her quill, the sound of it marking the rhythm of her growing irritation. She looked at the sheet before her—carefully laid out instructions for the first task. This is the first of seven. I need to make sure everything goes smoothly, she reminded herself.
“We’re working on a potion today—a healing draught,” she continued, keeping her tone measured. “It’s relatively simple, but it requires precision. Follow the instructions exactly, and we’ll have a successful result.” She hoped her words would make it clear that this wasn’t something to take lightly. Healing draughts were not just about magical prowess—they required control, focus, and above all, patience.
Seamus, however, was already eyeing the ingredients in front of him with something like glee. His eyes gleamed as he poked and prodded at the various components, his usual energetic exuberance evident in every movement. “Potion-making, eh? This’ll be a piece of cake. You know, my luck has always been with me when it comes to brewing potions. Remember that time in Hogwarts when I brewed that fire-breathing brew?” He paused dramatically, a grin spreading across his face. “The whole tower smelled like burnt toast for a week.”
Hermione couldn’t suppress the sigh that escaped her lips, the exasperation creeping into her voice despite her best efforts. “That was an accident, Seamus,” she said flatly, her fingers tightening around the quill she still held. The memory of that particular disaster still made her cringe. They’d barely gotten the flames under control before Professor Snape had entered the room, looking as though he might combust himself.
“A happy accident,” Seamus grinned, giving her an exaggerated wink as though he had no clue that accident and happy were two words that did not belong in the same sentence when it came to potions. “Right, so where do we start?”
Hermione took a deep breath, forcing her focus back onto the task at hand. This is the first test, she reminded herself. Stay calm, stay patient. “First,” she began, “take the dragon’s blood and carefully dilute it with the root extract. We need the right proportion—don’t go off instinct, Seamus. Precision is key.” She handed him the vial of dragon’s blood, her fingers brushing his ever so briefly as she passed it to him. The contact was fleeting, but she felt the familiar warmth of it, a reminder that Seamus wasn’t just a colleague or a lab partner—he was a friend. Even if he had an annoying habit of throwing caution to the wind at the worst possible times.
“Got it. Precision,” Seamus said, giving a mock salute, clearly trying to sound as if he were taking things seriously. He didn’t even wait for her to finish her instructions before he began to pour the dragon’s blood into the cauldron.
Hermione’s eyes widened in horror as he started moving with far too much haste, the liquid splashing wildly from the vial. She could see, in slow motion, the way the potion splattered out of the cauldron and onto the counter in chaotic, splashing arcs. The thick, crimson liquid hit the stone surface, bubbling and emitting faint trails of acrid smoke that rose in twisted columns, stinging the air with a sharp, burnt scent. Her stomach turned at the sight.
“Seamus!” she barked, her voice rising in panic as she reached for her wand, her mind already racing ahead to the quickest way to contain the mess. “Slow down! You need to—”
But it was too late. The vial slipped from his grasp as his hand jerked in an attempt to correct his mistake. The dragon’s blood splashed out in a final, messy cascade, drenching the counter in a thick layer of the potion’s volatile essence. Hermione watched, helpless, as the liquid continued to bubble and hiss, sending up a faint plume of smoke that curled around the edges of the room like a bad omen. She could already hear the faint, eerie hiss of the potion reacting to the spilled liquid—a warning that this had gone far beyond an acceptable mistake.
Hermione stepped back quickly, her eyes narrowing as she watched the counter for signs of further reaction. “I said precision, Seamus!” she exclaimed, exasperated, her hands moving expertly with her wand to contain the fumes and neutralize the splattered potion before any irreversible damage could occur.
Seamus, for his part, looked sheepish, scratching the back of his head as he surveyed the mess he’d made. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, his grin faltering just a bit. “I got a little excited. Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen, yeah?”
Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to keep her temper in check. “Fine,” she said, exhaling sharply as she flicked her wand once again to clean up the residue. “Let’s clean up and start again. Carefully this time. No more rushing.” The words were out before she could stop them, but she hoped the directness of her tone would get the point across. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time on this experiment. The potion required too much attention to detail to be treated so flippantly.
Seamus grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he took a step back, giving Hermione more room to work. His earlier excitement had been tempered by the earlier mishap, but there was still a gleam in his eyes, as though he were waiting for some grand revelation. Hermione, ever the perfectionist, had immediately taken charge of the situation after the dragon’s blood fiasco, guiding him with a firm hand through the remaining steps. They both knew that this first task would set the tone for the rest of their experiment—failure was not an option.
With Hermione’s steady guidance, Seamus was far more careful this time. He measured the dragon’s blood with precision, ensuring the right amount flowed into the cauldron without splashing, and then added the root extract with careful deliberation. Hermione stood at his side, offering quiet encouragement and constantly reminding him to pay attention to the small details—things he often overlooked when caught up in the thrill of the brewing process. She told him to keep the temperature steady, not too high, and to stir counterclockwise—slow, deliberate strokes. The process was slow and methodical, but there was something satisfying about the rhythm they had found. The cauldron seemed to hum with energy as the potion took shape, each movement purposeful.
Despite his initial eagerness, Seamus was determined to follow her instructions. He even seemed to be taking more care, pausing before each step and double-checking the ingredients. Of course, there was still a mishap when he knocked over a jar of powdered unicorn horn, sending it spilling onto the floor in a cloud of sparkling dust. Hermione winced, but they quickly cleaned it up, carefully measuring out the remaining powder. The occasional spill was part of the process, especially when Seamus was involved. But it didn’t stop them from moving forward, and soon enough, the potion was simmering away in the cauldron, glowing a soft golden hue as it began to take on a life of its own.
Hermione watched the potion carefully, her eyes scanning the bubbling liquid. It was working. It’s going well, she thought. The golden glow was a good sign. It was the colour they’d been aiming for, indicating the potion was on track. She felt a brief wave of satisfaction at how much smoother the process had gone after the initial chaos. Despite Seamus’s reckless enthusiasm, they had managed to bring the potion to this point. It was a subtle triumph—nothing like the wild success Seamus might have claimed, but it was a victory nonetheless.
Seamus, standing a few steps behind her, watched her with a look of growing admiration, his hands still moving restlessly by his sides. “Well, I’ll be honest,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, his voice laced with genuine surprise. “I thought this was going to be a disaster. But… looks like you might be onto something.”
Hermione furrowed her brow as she focused on the cauldron, making sure the potion stayed on track. “It’s not luck, Seamus,” she said, her voice steady and firm. “It’s skill. And careful attention to detail. If you’d listened from the start, this would have gone more smoothly.”
Seamus chuckled, the sound light and infectious. “Sure, sure. Skill,” he replied, grinning. “But you’ve got to admit, Hermione, there’s something about you that makes things work out. Maybe you are my lucky charm after all.”
Hermione didn’t even look up, her hands continuing to adjust the potion’s temperature. She was determined not to indulge him. “That’s not how this works, Seamus,” she said, her voice slightly sharper now. I’m not letting this nonsense go any further, she thought firmly. This wasn’t about luck. This was about them working together, about him learning to listen, to pay attention to the details—things he had neglected in the past. But there was no way she was going to let him convince himself that it was all down to some imaginary charm.
But Seamus wasn’t listening. He had already shifted his focus, his gaze now fixed on the potion. As the golden glow grew more pronounced and the brew began to settle, he leaned in closer, practically vibrating with excitement. “You’re amazing, Hermione,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “I think I’m starting to see it now. Every time we do something like this, it’s like you’re the one who holds everything together.”
Hermione glanced up at him, her brow furrowed in concentration, though she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something at his words. She was about to respond when he interrupted her with an exuberant whoop, his arms flying up in the air in sheer triumph.
“See? I told you!” Seamus cried out, his grin wide and uncontainable. “You’re my lucky charm! You helped me get it right, and now we’ve got this perfect brew. Lucky charm, lucky charm!” He started chanting it like a victory cry, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the laughter in his voice echoing around the lab.
Hermione’s patience, which had already been thin, began to wear even thinner. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “No, Seamus, I didn’t help you get it right,” she said, her voice clipped now. “You followed the instructions this time, which was the difference. You’ve got the potion because you finally listened to me. Finally.”
But Seamus wasn’t hearing her. He was too caught up in the moment, the euphoria of what he saw as his victory. He was holding the finished potion aloft like a trophy, and there was a spark of triumph in his eyes as if he’d just uncovered some great secret of the universe.
“This is it, Hermione!” Seamus exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve cracked it! You’re my lucky charm! I knew it all along!” He continued dancing around the lab, holding the vial high above his head, practically glowing with the thrill of what he considered a personal triumph.
Hermione felt her lips twitch despite herself. She couldn’t help it—a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Seamus was impossible, but his unwavering belief in his “lucky charm” was strangely endearing. It was as though nothing, not even the most illogical ideas, could ever dampen his spirit.
“All right, Seamus,” she said, trying to mask her amusement as she turned back to the counter, her tone still stern. “But remember: this isn’t over. One task down, six more to go. And luck has nothing to do with it.” She couldn’t help the slight, almost imperceptible sigh that escaped her as she focused on the now-perfectly brewed healing draught. The glow had settled, the potion was complete, and despite everything, they had done it.
Seamus, still grinning like a Cheshire cat, didn’t seem to catch the underlying frustration in Hermione’s voice. His celebratory mood was infectious, and even Hermione couldn’t entirely suppress the flicker of amusement in her chest as she watched him. He poured a small portion of the now-perfect potion into a vial, holding it up like a prize and offering it to her with a flourish. The vial gleamed in the soft light, the liquid inside swirling gently, a testament to their hard work despite the chaotic process that had led them here.
“Fine, fine,” Seamus said with a wink, completely undeterred by her attempts to redirect the conversation. “But you’ve got to admit it, Hermione. You’re definitely my lucky charm.”
Hermione took the vial, her fingers brushing the smooth glass as she examined the potion within. It was perfect—clear, luminous, with the golden hue they’d been aiming for. Her meticulous attention to detail had brought it to this point, not some inexplicable twist of fate or “lucky charm” theory. Yet, as she looked back up at Seamus, bouncing around the lab in an almost manic state of celebration, a thought nagged at her, one she quickly shoved away. What if…?
She shook her head firmly, willing the thought to dissipate. No. There was no way that Seamus's constant optimism and unwavering faith in his own good fortune could have anything to do with the success they’d just achieved. It was simply a matter of applying themselves properly, following the instructions, and staying focused. It wasn’t luck. It was just the kind of methodical approach she had always championed. The same approach that, she suspected, would work for the rest of their challenges as well.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” she said, her tone dry but still holding a hint of a smile. She was doing her best to maintain her usual level of scepticism, but there was something about Seamus’s joy that was, despite everything, oddly infectious. “We’ll see about that, Seamus.”
She walked over to the workbench, setting the vial down carefully and taking a moment to adjust her thoughts. The feeling of accomplishment—the satisfaction of having crafted the potion with precise, deliberate steps—was hers, and yet Seamus’s unshakable belief that he was the reason it had succeeded lingered in the air like a cloud. He was still practically hopping around the room, his infectious energy filling the space with light, and for a brief second, Hermione found herself considering the possibility that maybe—just maybe—there was something to his theory.
But no. No, she couldn’t give in to that. She refused to entertain it. The idea that she had some mystical, inexplicable power to influence outcomes in this way was absurd, even though there was a small, quiet part of her that couldn’t quite explain why Seamus's successes seemed to follow her guidance so consistently. It’s just coincidence, she told herself, forcing the idea out of her mind as quickly as it had appeared. He was lucky, yes, but that luck had always been about his attitude, his willingness to charge forward with blind optimism. It wasn’t some supernatural force at play.
Still, as Seamus continued to bounce around the lab, he caught her eye and flashed a grin so bright that it almost made her want to laugh in spite of herself. There was an infectious quality to his joy, a persistence in his belief that made her wonder—albeit for just a second—whether there might be more to his “lucky charm” theory than she was willing to admit. Maybe it wasn’t about some magical influence she had over him. Maybe it was simply the way Seamus approached life. Maybe it was his own belief in her that made the difference. Maybe— No, she reminded herself again. Stop thinking like that.
It was definitely just a coincidence.