Chapter 518

Walking through the Borderlands was a strange experience; Snape saw the mist floating like clouds.

The clouds rolled and unfolded, revealing a bright, pure white.

The black cat lay atop a clump of mist, and Snape could clearly see his own desires within the bizarre, shifting mist.

He saw those ordinary days still chasing him, the mist clumps drifting from his body, still twisted with grim faces.

He knew he could not stay long, even as the black cat subtly nudged the mist clumps with its tail.

As he walked, watching the black cat struggle carefully against the mist clumps, Snape suddenly smiled awkwardly.

In this haze and illusion, he caught a glimpse of something real.

Like that black cat, which had accidentally wandered into his unremarkable life, since that day his life had begun to change.

“Stop wasting your effort.”

Snape said suddenly.

The black cat pretended nothing had happened, hiding a mist clump that hissed ominously behind its back.

“Ha—”

Snape surveyed the vast, white expanse.

He surveyed the dreams, thoughts, and forgotten luck it had given him.

Before leaving the Borderlands, he suddenly understood everything.

Some things hidden in daylight, unspeakable words, were laid bare and honest here.

Because here, souls stood close; in the Borderlands, what separated wizards was only the distance between hearts.

Snape saw his own threads of mist, faintly connected to the black cat’s fur; he saw those threads were thick, wider than the span of a finger, far surpassing the gossamer threads.

“Foolish.”

The words formed on his lips but made no sound.

So he simply let the mist rise, swallowing his form.

Snape woke up.

The first rays of morning sunlight slipped through the window crack and fell upon his face, still unaccustomed to reality.

He squinted, not yet adjusted to returning to the waking world.

Before last night, he had believed all dreams were failures.

Like spring flowers were winter’s dreams—distant, hazy, bearing fantasies and a desperate longing to tear apart reality.

So the winter wizard reached out, and could only grasp the pain of uncertainty.

But today, the dream showed him truth.

And so, this skeptical man, for the first time, felt certainty.

…

Wizard Sean still couldn’t find Rita; she was always one to seek adventure, and in his dream, Professor Newt had smiled, saying it was common not to find her.

Just like him—he had lost her for decades.

Wizard Sean felt no disappointment; in truth, even if he met Alanna, it would do little good.

He could not yet summon his soul guest, nor bring the old wizard to see her.

So Wizard Sean lowered the priority of this matter.

Now, before him lay the task of raising his proficiency in the Fiendfyre Curse from [Proficient] to [Expert].

He was only one-tenth away; with enough effort, Wizard Sean might achieve the rank of Dark Arts Master before summer break.

Thus Wizard Sean’s life sank once more into the vast realm of magic.

Each morning, he awoke in Ravenclaw Tower, ate quickly, and began practicing Fiendfyre in the dungeons.

Then he devoted every waking moment—excluding meals and sleep—to studying Dark Arts.

“Studying day and night” barely described Wizard Sean; even Snape frowned.

He had no doubt of the boy’s passion for magic, but wizards were still flesh and blood; constantly draining one’s mental energy and relying on potions to recover was no wise strategy.

“The Potions Competition is coming soon…”

Snape, watching the exhausted wizard, interrupted his next attempt to practice,

“Before then, you’d better learn enough potions. If a wizard cannot brew sufficiently excellent potions, he should at least learn enough of them.”

Snape said coldly.

Resting in his chair, Wizard Sean silently opened his panel; under Snape’s nearly vengeful teaching, Wizard Sean had already mastered all Potions from first to fifth year at Hogwarts—

Yes, it was revenge.

Wizard Sean had never brewed a Master-level potion, and Snape had developed a strong suspicion.

He began to suspect that the potions themselves might have some flaw, preventing the wizard who wrote his own book, *The Will of Potions*, from reaching the realm described within it.

That is, he had theorized the optimal effects of the Will of Potions theory based solely on guesswork, yet could not achieve it himself.

Yet his guess was correct—he had tested it himself.

So he had built a towering skyscraper on ground with no foundation.

This reality was far from ideal for his plans; *The Will of Potions* was meant to be the most outstanding potion achievement in a century, to be displayed by the young wizard at the Potions Competition.

“Next, you must brew a qualified shrinking potion. Remember your position: Potions teaching assistant.”

Snape said sharply.

He had one final sentence he did not speak.

That is, remember your position—not only as Potions teaching assistant, but also as the only…

“I understand, Professor.”

Wizard Sean sighed.

In Potions, he had only a negligible talent; his panel’s Potion talent had remained unchanged for a long time:

【Title: Potion Familiarity】

【Greatly increases perception of potions, greatly enhances Potion talent】

【Wizard Wizard Sean, Potion talent: Blue (Potion Familiarity title active; original talent: White). Note: Average wizard is Green.】

【Advancement: Six Expert-level potions brewed, six Proficient-level potions brewed, unlock Expert-level Potion title】

Six Expert-level potions…

Wizard Sean silently considered, identifying the final two missing types as Shrinking Potion and Soothing Potion.

Soothing Potion was in demand at the school infirmary, giving Wizard Sean many chances to practice; Shrinking Potion was required for third-year wizards.

The only problem now was insufficient time.

But Wizard Sean happened to know some alchemical devices that extended time.

Days slipped away in the sunlight of the underground classroom.

Wizard Sean spent every day dealing with daisy roots, fig skins, rat spleens, and leech juice.

Occasionally, Wizard Sean considered burning all the green Shrinking Potion with Fiendfyre—if it still failed to become a uniform liquid.

At such moments, Wizard Sean would suddenly pause, and treat his Dark Arts study with even greater caution.

If he instinctively reached for the destructive power of Fiendfyre, then once he learned the Imperius Curse, he would likely be corrupted by it.

Wizard Sean clearly grasped a simple truth: possessing a sharp blade naturally breeds the will to kill.

To rid himself of this influence, Wizard Sean must reshape the 【Order】 of Dark Arts within the wizard’s heart.