He looked towards the lightning flashing across the sky, and his previously confused thoughts suddenly became clear. "I don't know if the existence in the temple on Delos has prepared some means to deal with my stealing of power. I can't guess what they'll prepare. Guessing is not very meaningful. After all, with my limited experience and knowledge of magic, how could I possibly be so cunning as to try to get the upper hand on an old entity who has existed in the magic world for so long? Their magical methods are probably beyond my imagination. So, let's get to the heart of it."
He wrote and drew on the ground, organizing his thoughts. "What advantage do I have in confronting such an ancient being? Without a doubt, it's my extraordinary vitality and resilience. As long as you don't kill me at once, I can recover. Even every hardship will make my legendary life shine even brighter. On the contrary, the being in the temple on Delos is definitely in a bad state. Otherwise, it wouldn't be hiding there, relying on the Quintaped tribe to survive. Last time I stole some of your power, you were so anxious. Even if they make some arrangements this time, how much effort can they put into it? Therefore, I can't just play small tricks with them. Instead, I have to put on a life-or-death posture and make big moves so that they can't afford to gamble. Also, lightning is a key factor. Even if they have a thousand tricks up their sleeve, it was proven last time that the ancient weather magic driven by the will of nature has a restraining effect on their magic power. And it's not just ordinary restraint."
He took a deep breath. In this way, perhaps he had seen a turning point. It was thunderstorm season in the northern Scottish Highlands. The time was on his side. But even though he had made up his mind, facing thunder and lightning, he did not dare to be careless at all. Even though he had acquired a diamond-level limb regeneration ability and his recovery speed was no longer comparable to before, lightning was a great force born from nature. Even with a legendary life after sublimation, he did not dare to say that he could definitely withstand it. He wanted to make a bigger scene, fight violence with violence, and crush all the arrangements in the temple on Delos with absolute force. But this did not mean that he really had to take the risk of his life. Before taking action, some necessary preparations and auxiliary means were required. All of these needed to be prepared.
Thoughts flashed through his mind. Only then did he return to Hogwarts amid the crackling rain. At this time, in the deserted castle, only the sound of rain could be heard. He saw a familiar figure, sitting quietly in the rain, exuding an unprecedented gloomy and heavy feeling. He was stunned for a moment and said softly, "Professor Snape?"
His eyes revealed confusion and bewilderment. To ensure the safety of the students returning home, Dumbledore and the professors had all gone out in full force, and this year they wanted to ensure that every young wizard was safely delivered to their families. Snape was the Head of Slytherin. Most of the little snakes came from the magical world, and nearly half of them had house-elves. It was extremely convenient to pick them up and drop them off. It wasn't surprising that Snape could return to Hogwarts early when the other professors were still busy. But why was he sitting alone in the rain? Char had never seen him like this before. It seemed to reveal a kind of deep fear.
At this time, it seemed to be because the sound of rain was too loud and he looked dazed. Snape didn't hear his call. He looked at the rain with a blank look in his eyes. In his mind, the scene of the Forbidden Forest incident kept replaying. Beneath Quirrell's robes, that familiar, terrifying face had appeared, a face he hadn't seen for eleven years. He had even prayed that Voldemort would really disappear from the wizarding world forever. But this moment had finally come. He had also had a glimmer of luck. He had hoped that Voldemort, who was in a hurry to seize the Philosopher's Stone, would not notice him. But when those cold and ruthless eyes swept over him, he had felt like an insect stuck in a spider web, feeling powerless in the face of fate.
A cold voice had sounded in his mind, with a hint of admiration and sarcasm. "Very good, very good, Snape. You're already the Head of Slytherin. I imagine you must have put in a lot of effort to gain Dumbledore's trust. You've really put a lot of thought into protecting the Philosopher's Stone. Look at you, how many sleepless nights have you spent? So do you remember which side you're on? Snape, continue to lie low. I will give you instructions when the time is right. Wait until the Dark Mark becomes hot again."
Even if several days had passed, the voice still echoed clearly in his mind. Even though his attainments in the art of Occlumency were unrivaled in the entire wizarding world, enabling him to resist all kinds of bewitching magic that came with it, the fear from within was still spreading. There was no chance of luck. In the end, he had still taken this path. Dumbledore had to gain Voldemort's trust and pass on information. Voldemort had also hoped to lurk beside Dumbledore, waiting for his return to play a key role. Caught between the two top lords in the magic world, no one party could be fully relied upon. It was like walking on a tightrope that was hanging high in the sky with no end in sight. It was only a matter of time before he fell down and was smashed to pieces. Even though he had told himself long ago that this was fate, that it was his atonement for Lily, when the gears of fate really started turning, every minute and every second, he was getting closer to the end of being shattered to pieces. Even Snape would feel pain, fear, and despair. After all, he was also human.
Right at this moment, a sudden cry penetrated the rain and reached his ears. He suddenly jumped up, like a spring stretched to the extreme. At the tip of his wand, there was even an invisible sharp blade in the nitrogen box. The rain curtain ahead had been torn apart by this magical power. But when he saw the face that came into view, he frowned. The overly intense reaction subsided, and he returned to almost his usual self. "Char Sprout. Hasn't anyone taught you not to speak to others suddenly? I don't remember you being such a rude person. Or, because you've achieved some small success, you feel that you don't need to observe these social etiquettes anymore?"
Familiar sarcasm and venom reached his ears. Char shook his head. He looked at Snape with some worry. "Professor, I've called you several times before. You look... very bad."
The sneer on Snape's face suddenly froze. It was like his disguise had been exposed. Irritability, anger, all kinds of expressions flashed across his face. An increasingly vicious venom was already brewing in his heart, ready to be spoken at any time. It was only when he saw the concern and worry in Char's eyes that the venom eventually turned into a long, powerless sigh. He calmed down and didn't say much, just waved. "Come with me."
Char didn't ask any more questions. Two figures, one in front and one behind, penetrated the rain curtain, walking into Hogwarts Castle, wet. They walked towards the potions classroom on the basement floor. It was a long time ago, the room where he had first worked as Snape's assistant in Potions, dealing with Flobberworms. Seeing this place, a flicker of nostalgia appeared in his eyes.
Snape took out the crucible, step by step tidying up the desk in an orderly manner. The most basic potion materials, such as Flobberworms, were neatly arranged. A strange look appeared on Char's face. Such preparations... he was so familiar with them that he couldn't be more familiar. Was it the steps for preparing the boil-curing potion in the first Potions class? Had Snape brought him here just to prepare that? Immediately following, he discovered something. All the basic materials needed were here, but the only thing missing was the most crucial porcupine quills. Snape—what exactly do you want to do?
And Snape had no intention of keeping anyone in suspense. "Remember the Severus Potions Transfiguration I taught you? Starting today, during the summer vacation, if you have time, I can guide you a few more times. This skill is difficult. Just try to learn as much as you can. Now, watch my moves."
Then, he moved with fluid movements, putting various potion ingredients into the crucible. Char watched the process silently. Compared to before, at this moment, his magical perception was no longer the same as it had been. He could even sense magical particles at the microscopic level. But the more he improved, the more he looked at it, the more he could feel how wonderful every treatment by a master potion maker like Snape was. He even felt that what was bubbling in the crucible was not a potion emitting a pungent smell, but a piece of music being played. Every particle of magic seemed like a musical note, emitting a joyful pulse. But it was obvious that this piece of music was still missing a most crucial melody. After all, porcupine quills were the most crucial part of making the potion. Its magic was indispensable.
At this time, Snape reminded him again. "Watch carefully. Try to feel it, and learn as much as you can." He tapped his wand lightly on the cauldron. A trace of magic was injected into the potion. Then, it was like a chemical reaction had occurred. The potion, which had not had porcupine quills put into it, was subjected to the collision and changes of countless magic particles. The magical power that only porcupine quills contained appeared out of thin air. Immediately, a perfect boil-curing potion appeared before him.
Even though he had seen Snape use this Severus potion transfiguration spell before, seeing this scene again, he couldn't help but be amazed. To be able to create this skill, Snape had indeed reached an extremely high level in potions and magic. If only he hadn't died young as in the original novel, his achievements might have been much higher.
Just as he was amazed, Snape left the classroom to him. "These materials are enough for the next three days... If you have any questions after today, come see me in the office." Finished, he left in a hurry. On the way out, the emotions that had been weighing on his heart calmed down a lot. Perhaps fate was indeed inescapable. But at least, he had tried his best to leave something behind. That little one... it was a good deal for him. Oh. But a smile still quietly appeared at the corner of Snape's mouth.
At the same time, in the classroom, looking at Snape's figure that had already left, Char also sighed softly. He seemed to understand why Snape was in such a bad mood. The whole person exuded a sense of dejection. It even seemed like there was fear buried deep in his heart. "Fate—" Just like in the original book, Harry's fate had been determined long ago, and he had to die like last time. Snape's fate had been determined even earlier. It was just that in the original work, all we could see was his unwavering determination to die. So much so that Char had forgotten that Snape was also human. In the solitude where no one saw, he would also be afraid and lament. He had previously taught him the Transfiguration Potion, and now he had to urge him to continue working hard to practice this skill. Snape seemed to have accepted the fate that had been laid upon him. He just wanted to leave something for himself. Thinking of this, Char's mood was also complicated. His attitude towards Snape, from the beginning of the school year, had been disdainful and disgusted. After all, in the original book, Snape during this period was indeed very annoying. Terrible teaching methods and venom spewing at any time, an undisguised bias towards Slytherin, and greasy hair that seemed to never be washed... he really couldn't find anything to like about him. But before he knew it, "it seems like I owe Snape so many favors that I can't even count them all."
He breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at the cauldron in front of him, and his eyes gradually became determined. Tried to teach me the Severus Transfiguration Potion. Professor Snape, are you ready to accept your fate? But I haven't agreed yet. Perhaps the fate of the original work is already determined. But this time, I came by myself. Some things... it's time to change. And to prove it to Snape, let's start with this skill.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. The magic power within the many potion ingredients on the operating table immediately emerged in his perception in bits and pieces. He put various materials into the crucible according to their categories, stirred, and reconciled. Each kind of magic tried to be in harmony with other magics as much as possible. If the other students had seen his potion practice at this moment, they would have probably been dumbfounded, because compared with the standard process in the textbook, this was completely different. And this was the essence of Potions that he had learned from Snape. The essence did not lie in those tedious processes, but in letting the magic of each material show through with precision, elegance, and harmony. Now, his magical attainments and his performance had become somewhat decent. You could even vaguely see Snape's shadow. But he knew that these were just appetizers. It was just the preliminary operation for the potion. The real difficulty was to create something out of nothing by changing the nature of magic and using the Severus potion transfiguration spell in the absence of porcupine quills. Such an operation, even he today was unsure. The requirements for magical perception and transformation skills were too high. And on his system panel, the words of the potion transfiguration, although clear, had not been completely covered by the black iron luster. There was still a little distance to the Black Iron level.
"Let's give it a try." His attention was more focused than ever. He had entered a flow state. Immediately, his wand struck the surface of the boiling cauldron. A trace of magic power was carefully injected into it. He couldn't be as nonchalant and relaxed as Snape. Even if it was just the most basic potion, there were already a lot of magical properties contained in it, and it was constantly changing every moment. To master these, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. At the same time, the nature of the magic had to be subdivided, and the magic in the porcupine quills had to be subdivided by utilizing the collision between the magic particles. To him, the lines in front of his eyes were almost blurred. Every minute and every second, his spirit was under tremendous pressure. A moment later, he seized that fleeting opportunity. The wand flicked again. A slight sound was heard immediately afterwards. All that caught his eye was the sheen of the boil-curing potion. Instead, it was a pool of unknown liquid that was as black as charcoal. Obviously, this attempt had failed. But there was no fluctuation in his expression. He just silently chewed on the experience after the failure. Immediately, he cleaned the crucible, avoiding any magic particles remaining in it and interfering with his subsequent potion making. Then, he waved his wand again, throwing himself into this difficult potion ritual.
The amount of materials lying around was constantly decreasing, but he was far from successful. There always seemed to be a sadly thick barrier between them. He tried again and again. What awaited him was failure, failure, and more failure. The properties of the magic power changed in an instant when the potion boiled, which was really hard to grasp. His temple began to throb. Such elaborate rituals had been carried out all the time, and the mental burden was too great. His head was already throbbing. But his gaze had no slackness at all. He just took a quick look at the system panel. So many failures... it wasn't without gain. At least, the handwriting on the Severus potion spell had become clearer and clearer. That touch of black iron luster also spread over the writing, getting closer and closer to the Black Iron level. Then, his gaze returned to the crucible. Maybe on something else, he could take his time. There was no need to rush into anything. But today, he had reasons for having to do it. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. He waited until the throbbing headache eased a little, then waved his wand again. Go ahead. Continue—
Snape had left him potion materials that were estimated to last for three days. Before he knew it, it had hit bottom. When he reached to the side in a trance, he found that only the last portion was left. Taking a deep breath, he waved his wand. The bubble-head curse was activated. His magical perception, strength, etc., all reached their peak. Even his spirit was almost reaching its limit. They were all excited. His gaze fell towards the system panel again. The black iron sheen on the Severus Transfiguration Potion... just one last bit. His gaze focused. The idea was stronger than ever before. "This time, it must happen."
In the classroom, Snape drew his attention away from his own subject and glanced at the time. He frowned slightly. "Well, he should have been over long ago." The practice of the Potions Subformation was extremely mentally taxing. After all, he had to control so much magical power at every moment. Snape, who had created the spell, knew this very well. In the process of creating it, he had once gone too far and fainted several times from exhaustion. It could be said that to master this skill required more than just outstanding talent. It also required effort and perseverance far beyond that of ordinary people. And until now, Char had not yet come to see him. If it were someone else, he probably would have felt that they could not bear the hardship and frustration of constant failure, so they had chosen to give up. But if it was Char, the image of him working day and night in the past would appear in his mind.
Snape stood up and hurried towards the potion room. "This idiot. I just didn't have much talent to begin with. Still trying so hard. Does he expect to learn it in one day?!" While angrily cursing him for overestimating his own abilities, his pace became faster and faster until he reached the door of the potion room. He pushed the door open and went in. What came into view was Char, panting and slumped on the ground. "You idiot! You should be thankful that you are still young and didn't have a cerebral hemorrhage!" Harsh and sarcastic words came out of his mouth. But what he didn't expect was that Char smiled brightly, pointing in the direction of the crucible.
Snape's heart suddenly began to beat faster. An impossible guess flashed through his mind like lightning. "Impossible. How is that possible?" But there, on the stage, in the crucible, what appeared in his eyes was a liquid of extremely poor quality, but it was definitely a boil-curing potion.
For a while, he just stood there. Char smiled brightly. "Professor, look. How did that saying go? Magic is a subjective thing. As long as you believe it firmly enough... a miracle, isn't it coming?"