Chapter 204: Goblet of Potion Prize

The dungeon is always more likely to make wizards pull their robes tighter than anywhere else.

Tila had already curled up inside the bedding in En’s pocket and never surfaced again.

The Tree Guard almost never followed wizards outside; the last time anyone managed it was the Hufflepuff elder.

So until now, En had no idea whether the living environment he provided would make Tila feel secure.

He decided that after returning, he must build a small house for Tila—staying inside his robe all the time wasn’t reasonable.

From the dimming staircase, a cold wind rushed in as En opened the door.

The dungeon held no firelight; the cauldrons that once bubbled had cooled, just like Severus Snape standing by the wall, utterly silent.

“Professor Snape.”

En’s arrival brought a faint spark of life to the place; he efficiently began organizing materials.

Withered figs, daisy roots, caterpillars, wormwood, leeches, rat spleens, hemlock essence…

After organizing the left storage cabinet, En had gathered all materials for the Shrinking Potion.

The Shrinking Potion is a magical brew that reduces living beings or reverts them to a younger state, typically appearing as a bright green acidic liquid.

It can be used against large monsters resistant to magical spells, or to transport livestock—shrinking an entire herd of pigs into a wizard’s pocket.

This potion would help En perfect the Tree Guard’s magical ritual, since a wizard standing only ten centimeters tall is far easier to transfigure than one over a meter tall.

Then, En took up some materials for the Revival Potion, a brew capable of healing dead plants.

Its function is to help plants regenerate cells.

By borrowing the rituals involved in brewing these potions, the intuitively sharp En could discern essential processes related to the Tree Guard’s transfiguration ritual.

Potions and alchemy are precisely linked by the thread of origin.

The cauldron’s flame was the dungeon’s only light; Professor Snape had not lit candles, and the windows held only faint moonlight.

He was already irritable; seeing En fumble through his first attempt at the Shrinking Potion only made him angrier.

“Clumsy!”

As a renowned potion master of the Wizarding World, how could his… be such a clumsy wizard?

For a long time after that incident, he had been unable to accept it.

Even as his talent gradually revealed itself, it was still too slow—still far too slow.

So slow that he feared he would never live to see that day.

“Put down your cauldron… Wizard Sean Green, you’d better watch closely!”

His wide robe surged as he moved, reaching the adjacent cauldron in two seconds—his movements refined and elegant from years of practice; En didn’t blink, not daring to miss a single detail.

“Hmph—next batch, you may use your somewhat decent method.”

Professor Snape watched En mimic him step by step, completing the Shrinking Potion, then gave a barely perceptible nod.

“If your brain were larger than an almond, you’d have perfected the improved ritual before attempting it.”

From boiling to stillness, En’s brewing technique met the apprentice standard.

Next, he should Making Guide his magical energy according to the potion’s nature to enhance its quality.

This was precisely what he had been studying in the library recently.

He succeeded quickly, raising his proficiency in the Shrinking Potion to apprentice level in one go.

Afterward, he took out his notebook and added “Shrinking Potion (Incomplete)” after “Wart-Cure Potion,” “Swelling Potion,” “Deflation Potion,” “Draught of Living Death,” and “Standard Antidote.”

Since inheriting this knowledge from Professor Polatch’s secret note, En had continuously added to the ritual entries.

Unfortunately, it was an extremely lengthy process. A single ritual improvement had countless variants; the most effective way to find the true correct result was likely possessing keen talent.

En had already sensed he had reached the upper limit of his current talent.

Creation is somewhat crude, but improvement is nearly endless.

When En furrowed his brow, his notebook left in the dungeon glided along an arc into his hand.

“With your talent, comparable to a troll…”

Professor Snape let out a cold laugh; the dungeon was left only with the rustling sound of En flipping through his notes.

After a while, En’s mind held only one thought—how high was Professor Snape’s potion talent?

But he quickly discarded the useless question and returned to studying the Revival Potion.

“White… Clumsy! Watch carefully!”

Professor Snape’s roar echoed again through the dungeon.

The cauldrons boiled and then stilled—this was an unceasing rhythm within the dungeon.

When En prepared to leave the dungeon with sufficient insight, Professor Snape’s gaze grew colder:

“Given your foolish performance in potions, don’t you dare reveal me—ever!”

The cold wind rushed down his throat; as he spoke, the dungeon seemed to darken further.

His expression grew even harder to discern in the gloom.

“I understand, Professor.”

En replied.

Professor Snape let out a heavy, icy snort:

En tidied the table and left the dungeon.

Before leaving, he suddenly paused:

“Professor, what level isn’t foolish?”

Professor Snape froze; a complex expression flashed and vanished, replaced by feigned disdain:

“When you win the Goblet of Potion Prize, apart from your somewhat decent work in the Will Domain.”

He named a standard nearly impossible to meet.

The Goblet of Potion Prize?

En had seen this award mentioned in the biography of Professor Polatch in his magical history books.

It was awarded almost exclusively to the most outstanding potion master within a decade.

With his current talent, he couldn’t even reach the edge of the standard.

At the dungeon’s entrance, En nodded calmly.

“I understand, Professor.”

…

Outside the dungeon.

Sir Cadogan held his pony, clearly drunk.

Lady Violet supported the Fat Lady beside him; she had indeed gotten the knight drunk, but she wasn’t faring much better herself.

They were now recounting amusing anecdotes about Minerva McGonagall.

As En passed by, Sir Cadogan had just parted from the ladies, standing alone at the dungeon entrance, muttering rapid, incomprehensible words:

“Yes, Severus Snape. What else can you do? Big cats can act openly… but you must stay as far away as possible… You think it’s protection—ha! Of course, that’s all you’d ever think…”

Hogwarts still snowed.

Severus Snape didn’t need anyone to know what he had buried deep within.