The sunlight finally reached the grass, slanting across the path to the Quidditch pitch and bathing the Fountain of Beauty in warm gold.
Cho glanced at the light and jolted.
Oh no—how long have I been standing here?!
Quidditch practice!
She quickly said goodbye to Lucien, took a running start, kicked off, and shot into the air. Her ponytail whipped behind her in a perfect arc. She waved back at him once, then accelerated toward the pitch.
"Tsk tsk."
Ryman shook his head, eyes lingering on the magnificent fountain.
"The girls at Hogwarts are going to worship you, mate. Handing out actual beauty? You're basically an angel."
Angel?
Lucien's mouth curved. The word gave him an idea.
For Valentine's Day he could whip up some little alchemical cherubs or Cupid figures to deliver love letters.
Lockhart's dwarf-Cupids in the books had been… a lot. Poor Harry had probably wanted to dig a second Hogwarts with his toes from sheer embarrassment.
But the core idea was solid. Take the good, ditch the ridiculous.
As they chatted, Ryman suddenly switched topics.
"By the way, Lucien—you're pretty good with potions too, right?"
He remembered the twin Weasleys selling some of Lucien's potions alongside the alchemy items. Fewer varieties than the gadgets, but each one had its own clever twist.
Lucien nodded, guessing the senior was probably thinking of a beauty potion to match the fountain—maybe something to give his fiancée for Valentine's.
Ryman gave a sheepish little laugh, expression turning awkward.
"So… uh… got anything that, cough, helps with… hair growth?"
Hair growth?
Lucien paused.
There were potions that made hair grow—five minutes after drinking one you could go from buzz-cut to waist-length. Strictly speaking, they just massively sped up the growth cycle.
But that probably wasn't what Ryman meant.
Sure enough, Ryman started complaining:
"Studying Alchemy is brutal. I stay up late all the time and… well, my hairline's taken a beating."
He ran a hand over his forehead and sighed.
"Too much punishment."
Lucien stayed quiet and sneaked a quick look.
Yeah… the senior's hairline was definitely on the "mature" side. Not bald, but definitely retreating.
Balding—the undying curse of British men.
Genetics played a part, sure, but the water here was the real villain.
Too hard. Loaded with minerals. Long-term use wrecked scalp and follicles.
Lucien gave him the quick science:
"The minerals in hard water build up on your scalp, clog the follicles. Some people wash their hair every day trying to stay clean and end up stripping the protective layer—vicious cycle. Eventually the hair just stops growing back…"
Ryman listened, eyes widening in sudden understanding.
"So washing it more actually makes it worse?" He touched his own hair thoughtfully. "In that case—"
"So that's why Professor Snape's hair is so thick?"
The words left his mouth and Ryman froze.
He whipped his head around, scanning the grounds in pure panic—like Snape might Apparate behind him any second.
It had happened before. The Potions Master moved like a shadow. One quiet word from the darkness and half the class nearly had heart attacks.
Luckily, the slope was empty. Just the two of them and the gentle morning breeze.
Ryman let out a huge sigh of relief.
Lucien's mouth twitched.
Gotta admit… Snape's hair was impressively thick. Greasy as hell, sure, but that black, oil-slick mane hanging over his shoulders had serious presence—even in the dim dungeons.
When it came to volume, the man could outdo most middle-aged British blokes without even trying.
Turns out not washing your hair has its perks.