Chapter 107: Childhood

In the cellar, the cold wind sliced through, rattling the glass with a clanging sound as Heen exhaled a puff of white breath.

He picked up the notebook in mild surprise—during the time he’d been focused on brewing the potion, Professor Snape had impatiently scribbled annotations on it.

Though every note read like “foolish handling,” “idiotic choice,” or “only Merlin’s mercy saved you at that moment,” the underlying insight revealed a master potioneer’s profound understanding.

Since the notes of Master Libath Poraichi had appeared, Heen had sadly realized one fact: the *Advanced Potion-Making* textbook did not contain the three potions Heen had learned.

A fitting analogy was this—Master Libath Poraichi had given Heen a key to a golden treasure chest, but Heen held only a battered wooden box.

The two did not match.

Thus, Professor Snape’s annotations arrived just in time.

With the improved ritual, the guiding method, and Professor Snape’s meticulous notes, Heen successfully brewed a [Expert]-level Swelling Potion.

[You brewed a Swelling Potion at Expert level. Skill +50.]

[A new potion title has been unlocked. Please check.]

Heen felt a faint thrill, and as the cold wind brushed past, he involuntarily shivered—causing the Swelling Potion to spill onto the dried stinging nettles on the table.

The Swelling Potion Professor Snape had made him learn earlier now proved invaluable—he poured it over the swollen area, and the swelling receded.

“Hmph—”

Watching Heen handle it without panic, Professor Snape let out a cold snort.

After cleaning up, Heen silently opened his panel:

[Title: Potion Beginner]

[Greatly increases perception of potions; slightly enhances potion talent.]

Indeed, a great increase—

Heen, filled with anticipation, continued reading:

[Wizard Heen, Potion Talent: Green (boosted by Potion Beginner title; original talent: White). Note: Average wizards are Green.]

It seemed the next title upgrade would have to be for his talent…

Heen thought silently.

Over the past two months, besides reaching the entry threshold in herbology, Heen had achieved tangible progress in multiple areas.

Compared to his former one-purple, three-white talents, it was a complete transformation.

After swiftly checking his panel, Heen picked up the notebook and recorded thoughts still lingering in his mind.

The guiding method was incomplete—it currently applied only to Swelling Potion and Anti-Swelling Potion, and even for the latter, many aspects still needed improvement.

Compared to Master Libath Poraichi’s original method, the guiding method added one more step: the creation of a ritual scene. Like the initial improved ritual, it ran throughout the entire brewing process—a thousand tiny preparations and subtle cues culminating in the final transformation.

As Heen’s research deepened, the required details multiplied, making him realize that refining potion rituals was inevitably a long, drawn-out process.

No wonder Master Libath Poraichi had only perfected a few potions in his lifetime.

Heen knew his time was limited—he had to choose his potions carefully.

Some potions—like the Swelling Potion—he would not bother refining the ritual for.

In the corner of the cellar.

After reminding Heen to review the notes, Professor Snape’s anger had begun to subside.

He now paid more attention to the faint cold wind and the slight, poorly concealed tremor from the fool.

He fell silent, watching with cold eyes as Heen tidied the table and prepared to leave the cellar.

“Stop, Heen Green.”

His voice sounded as if squeezed from his throat.

Heen halted without a word.

The parchment clutched in Professor Snape’s hand was slapped… then gently placed on the table.

He had started to slam it down, then softened the motion—suddenly roaring as if enraged:

“If you keep believing those delusional nonsense and develop a false understanding of noble potioncraft, I swear, Heen Green, I will make you pack your things and leave this cellar!”

At least Professor Snape was letting him take his things, Heen thought oddly.

He silently gathered the parchment—the dense annotations on the back made his eyes widen.

As he studied it closely, Professor Snape’s sharp gaze caught the thin, ill-fitting collar of his single-layer robe.

He froze slightly.

Amid the mocking voices, the slight trembling of the young wizard, the worn, pilled fabric of his robe—

Memories surged like ripples on a Black Lake, reflecting the black-haired figure who had entered Hogwarts decades ago.

He walked beneath spiderwebbed eaves in his mother’s maternity gown, the fabric soaked through with decades of grime, steeped in the sour decay of a pure-blood family’s fall.

The mocked “Snotface”… those greasy strands were less a sign of neglect than a silent protest against filthy sinks and cracked tile walls.

The Hogwarts robe became his first truly clean garment. When the silver-threaded house crest pressed against his chest, a strange shiver crawled up his spine.

“Go…”

He heard his own voice grow hoarse.

Heen didn’t notice—he merely bowed slightly with the parchment, then left the cellar with light steps.

Only Professor Snape remained, silently watching it all.

In the corridor.

Sir Cadogan appeared again at the corridor’s end, alone this time, clad in tattered armor—surely after another duel—struggling to pull his sword from the ground.

No one knew how he’d jammed it in, but the blade was sunk deep into the grass; no matter how hard he pulled, he couldn’t budge it.

Finally, he collapsed onto the grass, pushed up his visor, and wiped sweat from his face.

“A strong heart is needed—the hardest part is still ahead!”

Sir Cadogan bellowed.

Watching the knight drenched in sweat, Heen silently placed a painting of a round stool and a campfire beside him.

The knight’s eyes lit up and praised:

“Clearly another expedition, dear Green—we must find our goal and die bravely in the charge!”

He could never mount his horse or even pull his sword free, yet he always roared with unyielding force.

Heen nodded silently—he knew knights truly could do such things.

“Oh, not necessarily…”

As Heen turned to leave, the knight added:

“Little Green, remember—singing loudly through suffering and hardship is hard, but silence through suffering carries equal weight. You’ll learn not all lives roar.

Some courage… is silent.”

The wind howled around the castle; the only thing shared by the corridor and the cellar were two pairs of eyes, always calm.