Chapter 182: Potions Masters Really Earn a Lot, The First Heir
Ethan and the others' last class of the week, which was also the final class of the school year, was Snape's Potions masterclass that had been mentioned just that morning.
As the other Slytherins and Gryffindors were leaving one after another, Ethan walked against the flow of people to the front of the podium.
"Professor, when do you plan to brew the Mandrake Restorative Draught? Tonight?"
Snape didn't answer. After packing his things, he walked slowly toward the door.
This shouldn't be right, Ethan thought. He just ruthlessly mocked Harry and made him look bad. Snape should be in a great mood right now. Why is his reaction a bit off?
Ethan followed closely behind Snape, wondering if something had gone wrong and whether he should ask again.
Just as Ethan was about to ask again, Snape spoke. "Seven o'clock tonight. In this classroom. You will observe alongside the sixth and seventh years."
"Alright." Hearing a faint, nearly imperceptible hint of joy in Snape's tone, Ethan finally felt that everything was normal.
Before half-past six that evening, Ethan arrived at the classroom early. He chose a seat near the front row and read his History of Magic textbook—his weakest subject—while waiting for the upper-year students to arrive.
After him, the older male and female students entered the classroom one after another.
These students were actually not unfamiliar with Ethan.
The current seventh-years naturally recognized him, having suffered severe criticism because of him the previous year.
As for the sixth-years, Snape would occasionally mock them during class by saying they weren't even as good as a second-year student. Unconvinced, they had naturally looked into Ethan's identity.
So, although Ethan didn't remember most of them, almost all the students taking advanced Potions knew Ethan as Snape's apprentice.
"This is the apprentice the Professor keeps talking about, right? I think this is my first time seeing him in person."
"That's him, Ethan Jones, one of the founders of Wizarding Cards. On the day the shop opened, his photo was published in the Daily Prophet. He's a member of the Shafiq family."
"My family doesn't subscribe to the paper, but I heard about the shop opening."
"It's just a bit strange. Why is his surname Jones?"
Ethan heard their whispers but didn't pay attention.
Soon, everyone had arrived. Several Slytherins sat beside Ethan.
He greeted them briefly, then continued reading, quietly waiting for Snape.
A few minutes before seven, Snape entered the classroom carrying a freshly harvested Mandrake, looking as though he had just returned from the greenhouses.
"We start now." Walking to the podium, Snape glanced at the students. Without checking if everyone had arrived, he unfolded his potion station, set up the cauldron, and began taking out his ingredients.
Everyone gathered around. Ethan stood at the very front, watching Snape's movements without blinking.
"Five hundred milliliters of morning dew. Simmer over low heat until it reaches a slight boil, then turn off the heat.
"Add unicorn blood and salamander blood in that order, five drops each. Stir continuously while adding the drops, and simultaneously chant the dedicated spell."
Snape used a dropper to slowly add the silver unicorn blood, drop by drop.
As he did, he held his wand and chanted the spell, directing the liquid in the cauldron to rotate constantly.
Then, into the pale silver liquid, he dripped the salamander blood. The steps were exactly the same as before.
"Next is powdered unicorn horn and bezoar powder. We need one gram of each."
With a wave of Snape's wand, the weighed powders sprinkled evenly across the surface of the liquid, which had just stopped rotating.
"This step must be done evenly; you cannot let these powders clump. Otherwise, they will not fuse fully later, and the potion will be ruined."
"Continue stirring so the powders neither sink to the bottom nor float on the surface, but distribute evenly throughout the potion. Then, turn on low heat and simmer for five minutes until it turns into a pale pink liquid."
"Just like this."
Ethan watched the potion in the cauldron turn from pale red to pale pink, and the two solid powders completely disappeared.
"Finally, cut a piece from the Mandrake and squeeze out the juice. You don't need much, because a single cauldron only requires three drops. If you add too much, not only will the potion fail to restore the patient, but it might actually cause a coma."
Snape worked proficiently. After adding the Mandrake juice, he stirred three times clockwise and once counterclockwise. The potion shifted from pale pink to a clear, pale green liquid.
"Alright, turn off the heat. The Mandrake Restorative Draught is complete." Looking at the perfect potion, Snape nodded with satisfaction.
"An essay per person. Hand it in to me after exams, before the holidays," Snape told everyone as he divided the potion into several small vials before leaving the classroom.
"Do we have to write one too, Professor?" a seventh-year Slytherin gathered his courage and asked.
"What do you think, Mr. Ellington?"
"I understand. I will hand it to you before graduation," the dark-haired wizard said, lowering his head.
The others left after the potion was finished. Only Ethan, eager to watch the drama unfold and resolve his own doubts, followed Snape all the way to the hospital wing.
Ethan had expected Snape to ask why he was following him, but the professor didn't say a single word during the walk from the dungeons to the hospital wing.
The hospital wing was very lively. The modest ward was already crowded with people.
They kept looking toward the door, clearly waiting for Snape and the Restorative Draught.
"He's here, he's here!" Ethan heard several excited voices call out from inside as they approached the door.
After walking in, Ethan immediately spotted several heads of red hair.
Besides Percy, Ginny, and the twins, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had also arrived to witness their youngest son's recovery.
Among the rest of the crowd, aside from Filch who had come for his cat, were the three Heads of House and Headmaster Dumbledore.
Naturally, Madam Pomfrey was also present.
The matron immediately took the palm-sized potion vial from Snape's hand.
Wow, he brewed a massive cauldron of this stuff, only handed over a tiny vial, and pocketed almost an entire Mandrake in the process. Being the Potions professor really does pay well, Ethan thought, his mouth twitching.
Madam Pomfrey held the potion up to the light and nodded with satisfaction. "Absolutely perfect. Truly the work of a Potions Master."
Snape smiled slightly, took a few steps back, and watched Madam Pomfrey work.
Ethan stepped forward, trying to secure a good vantage point. As he did, he unexpectedly spotted Harry and Hermione, who had been blocked from view by Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore.
The two of them were standing right beside the twins and Ginny; Ethan simply hadn't noticed them earlier.
"You guys are here too?" Ethan whispered to them.
"Yeah, you're here too," Harry replied.
"I want to know exactly who attacked Ron. After all, I was the first one to find him petrified," Ethan explained.
"Us too. We want to see if Ron recovers, and find out who attacked him," Hermione whispered.
Mindful of the professors nearby, they kept their voices very low.
"We'll tell you some things later." Just as their conversation ended, Fred tugged on Ethan's sleeve, glancing meaningfully toward his parents.
"Okay." Seeing Fred and George winking at him, Ethan figured Mr. and Mrs. Weasley might want to speak with him.
Is it about Ron? Ethan wondered. His only connection to them would likely be about this matter.
Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey was already preparing to treat Ron.
Ethan pushed the thought aside. He was the one who had found Ron, and he had nothing to feel guilty about, so there was no need to overthink it. He focused his attention on the matron.
The witch carefully unstoppered the vial, drew up some of the clear, pale green potion with a dropper, and slowly let it fall, drop by drop, into Ron's slightly parted lips.
The hospital wing was frighteningly quiet. Everyone watched with bated breath, terrified of missing the slightest movement from Ron.
After every single drop, Madam Pomfrey waited a dozen seconds, closely observing Ron's eyes and fingertips for any sign of change.
More than two minutes passed like this. After administering a dozen drops, Ron finally reacted. Tears began to well up in his eyes.
"He's reacting!" exclaimed Molly Weasley, who had been staring at Ron the entire time.
She instantly covered her mouth, afraid of disturbing the treatment, as tears streamed down her face.
Mr. Weasley held her in his arms, comforting her softly, his own eyes shining with tears.
The Weasley siblings perked up as well. Exchanging hopeful glances, they kept entirely silent and continued to watch.
"His reaction is good. A few more drops, and he should wake up," Madam Pomfrey murmured.
Sure enough, the witch's assessment was perfectly accurate. Three drops later, Ron's body—which had been rigid for half a year—suddenly went slack against the mattress.
Having been locked in the same posture for so long, he let out an agonizing groan. He blinked hard, tears spilling from eyes that had been frozen wide open for six months.
Weeping with joy, Arthur and Molly immediately rushed forward to hug their poor son, but Madam Pomfrey stopped them.
"Stop!
"Although he is awake, being petrified for half a year has caused severe strain.
"He is groaning because his internal organs and muscles were damaged during petrification. Do not touch him yet; you will only aggravate his pain.
"Previously, his body was completely incapable of absorbing potions. Now that he is restored, I must administer therapeutic draughts to heal the damage.
"Contain yourselves for a moment longer."
With that, the matron picked up a flask of red potion she had prepared in advance. Using the dropper, she carefully administered it to Ron, who was still too weak to sit up.
Once the first vial was empty, she moved on to a second.
After swallowing three large doses of restorative potions, Ron's groaning finally subsided.
After a series of diagnostic spells, Madam Pomfrey confirmed that Ron had fully recovered and merely needed a few days of quiet rest to return to normal. She turned to the anxious family.
"Alright. Resting through the weekend should be sufficient to discharge him.
"You have ten minutes, at most. He needs absolute rest right now."
Everyone nodded obediently, strictly following her orders.
Her work with Ron finished, the matron bustled over to a bed slightly further away to treat Mrs. Norris, where Filch was waiting alone.
"Arthur, Molly, you can stay in Hogsmeade tonight. You may return to visit Ron over the next two days. Would you allow me just a few moments to ask him about the attack?" Dumbledore requested.
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," Arthur agreed immediately.
After fussing over their son for a few minutes, the parents reluctantly stepped back, yielding the floor to Dumbledore and the other professors.
"Ron," Dumbledore began, leaning in slightly to look the boy in the eye, "do you know who attacked you?"
"I don't know." A look of deep struggle crossed Ron's face. Dumbledore sensed there was more to the story, so he waited quietly for the boy to continue.
"I was the one who attacked Mrs. Norris," Ron finally whispered after a long silence.
Despite his soft voice, the words rang out clearly in the dead-quiet ward.
Ethan showed an "I knew it" expression, eagerly anticipating Ron's explanation.
"It was you?!" Harry gasped in shock.
"I knew it was you!" Hermione exclaimed.
Ever since Mrs. Norris was attacked, Hermione had been conducting her own investigation to find the culprit.
She had strongly suspected Ron at one point. After all, he was one of the few people unaccounted for during the Halloween feast.
Moreover, Ron had hastily left Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party right after running into Moaning Myrtle.
And the Basilisk had appeared right outside Myrtle's bathroom.
Piecing these clues together, Hermione had naturally suspected Ron. But when he was suddenly petrified, she assumed she had made a mistake and shifted her focus to other suspects.
The Weasley family stared in disbelief. How could their own son and brother—the victim—actually be the perpetrator?
The commotion drew Filch's attention. The caretaker stomped over, his face purple with rage, muttering a constant stream of curses.
Finally, after a barrage of frantic apologies from the Weasleys and a firm word from Dumbledore, Filch gave a cold snort and retreated to Mrs. Norris's bedside to wait for his beloved cat to wake up.
"Tell us exactly what happened, Ron. If you were acting as the 'Heir,' why were you attacked yourself?"
After pacifying Filch, Dumbledore returned to Ron's bedside to continue his questioning.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, Ron opened his mouth to explain—when a loud voice boomed from the hospital doors. "Everyone is here! Why didn't anyone fetch me?"
Why is he here?! Ethan and the others exchanged helpless glances.
Yes, the owner of that voice was none other than the widely despised Gilderoy Lockhart.
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