A light, drizzling rain fell over Scotland, and Hogwarts castle echoed with the soft patter of raindrops.
On the stained glass windows, droplets gathered slowly before trickling down into the fertile soil that had been nourished since the tenth century.
Madam Pince, the librarian, would not allow Sean to take more books than the permitted number, despite his excellent return record, unless he returned Modern Magical History and other books, signing the crumpled record sheet.
So Sean had no choice but to read Master Libatius Polatch's two works in the library.
Even without taking them out, he immediately noticed a slip of paper pinned to the first page by Madam Pince:
[Warning: If you tear, fold, dirty, damage, throw, drop, or in any way defile or mistreat this book, I will ensure you face the most terrible consequences within my power. Hogwarts Librarian, Madam Pince]
Sean had no doubt about the irritable librarian's determination. He had seen Madam Pince pounce on students with swift punishment, seemingly possessing a special skill to instantly find and reprimand those who damaged books.
In the study area, the always-angry librarian passed by Sean. Her stern expression softened slightly as she gave a subtle nod before leaving.
[That old wizard Miranda Gorshak (crossed out) once mentioned in Book of Spells: When a wizard has a need, a spell will arise. If none exists, it is only because the spell has not yet been discovered. Now I assert: when a wizard has a need, a potion will arise. If none exists, it is only because the potion formula has yet to be discovered.]
Sean had just read this quote in Throw Your Own Bottle Festival! and immediately sensed its unusual nature and grandeur.
As he pondered the passage, a sticky note suddenly fell. Sean, caught off guard, quietly took out his notebook and quill to record its words.
"Excellent. If you can read this, it proves that not all wizards in this world are fools. I must tell you something, or else people will only remember my achievements in formulas and craft, forgetting my greatest and most misunderstood contributions to the profound field of potion-making."
Greatest and most misunderstood contributions?
Like the automatic-heat cauldron control?
Perfect! Master Libatius Polatch still had more to reveal.
Curious, Sean read on:
[When only carefully brewed potions can achieve proper effects—after this cautious phrase appeared, I saw all potion researchers forget to study its true meaning. What kind of researchers are they! They are like Miranda's sticky, foul-smelling apple pie! I am convinced that spells and potions should be connected by a fundamental line. If Magical Theory claims advanced spells require a wizard's own mental power, then why do they neglect potions? The only reason is this: they are all ￥&% (illegible)…]
Sean skipped a long string of less-friendly remarks, and the following notes made his breath quicken.
[I have completed some necessary tasks—The improved spells and rituals will place greater emphasis on the wizard's mental power and require more focus, but for any potion master who has mastered technique and skill, this opens a broad, entirely new path. I must warn you: you must have sufficient will and use it carefully. While it possesses astonishing effects, it also becomes more unstable. It can certainly be improved, but my time is short. I have seen great truths and lament having to pass them on secretly. Please perfect them. And allow me to correct the epitaphs carved by foolish wizards, revealing the true version—Libatius Polatch died in 1961. He spent most of his life engaged in this great work. Now, it is your turn to study the most profound magic in the field of potions.]
Me?
With my white talent?
Sean silently nodded, suddenly feeling a sense of responsibility.
He imprinted every word into his mind.
He never expected to encounter such knowledge.
Master Libatius Polatch had dared to intervene in the ancient spells and rituals of potion-making, and Sean recalled reading in History of Magic that most potion spells and rituals had been passed down for over three hundred years.
They were as reliable and fixed as spell pronunciations.
It was a tremendous surprise—Sean felt like he had discovered ancient gold coins.
He quickly copied all the improvements into his notebook. There weren't many, only a few, but by coincidence or fate, scab potion was among them.
This made Sean's smile impossible to suppress.
The magical crystal lamps illuminated his focused face.
Soon, he rose from the oak table.
Hogwarts' bells rang in sync with the owls' hoots.
It was lunchtime.
Having satisfied his appetite for knowledge, Sean needed to care for his body.
He quickly returned the books to Madam Pince. The corridors were now filled with young wizards heading to the Great Hall.
Passing by the warm fireplace, Sean noticed that the Gryffindors were unusually quiet today.
'He must hate me…' A black-haired boy said, confused,
'powdered root of asphodel, Wormwood… why didn't he ask Hermione?'
'Harry, don't be angry,' the red-haired boy beside him whispered,
'I heard Snape is always like this—especially unreasonable.'
Sean quietly watched Harry and Ron sit not far from him.
He had some understanding of the matter. In a previous life, some believed that Professor Snape, this warrior of pure love, likely had problems as profound as his actions.
The asphodel's flower language symbolized regret brought to the grave, and Wormwood symbolized bitter sorrow.
So the hidden meaning of this question was: I am in endless grief over your mother's death.
As Sean prepared to continue dipping beans, Justin sat down beside him, blushing, followed by a somber-looking Hermione.
'Even Professor Snape can't be this unreasonable!'
Justin was clearly angry, his gaze at his companions full of sorrow.
'If a student raises their hand and answers incorrectly, then the professor who asked the question must also be a fool!'
Sean stared up, stunned.
They had just finished potion class—were they really criticizing… Snape?
Even Harry, it seemed, had never scolded Professor Snape like this.
'Sean, oh, I wanted to tell you before…'
Justin's anger dissipated as he looked at Sean, replaced by sorrow. He explained the scene:
When Snape questioned Harry, he ignored Hermione's repeated hand-raises and shouted at her:
"Sit down!"
'No one in the class thought this unreasonable. Those Gryffindors, they're so timid!' As Justin spoke, his face flushed red again, his voice tinged with guilt.
He ground his teeth,
'I saw it from behind the door, but I couldn't help… As a friend, I was completely useless.'
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