Chapter 56

Professor Snape was not always disliked by young witches and wizards; at least, Wizard Sean expected to encounter this Potions professor in the dungeons.

Though he loved to mock, the knowledge he taught would never vanish.

These insights came from years of accumulation by a master of Potions, always precise and profoundly beneficial to Wizard Sean.

In the evening, the corridors of Hogwarts were steeped in a lazy, warm atmosphere.

The slanting sun cast golden light through the tall arched windows, painting long patches of glow upon the cold stone floors.

The edge of the Forbidden Forest blurred ahead, as a thin veil of twilight drifted from between the trees, slowly swallowing the treetops of towering pines.

Wizard Sean carried a small black bag, passing by the playful young witches and wizards.

As he walked past, several Hufflepuffs lifted their heads to look, but said nothing for the moment.

An orphan living at the school had few opportunities to earn money.

Wizard Sean’s ideas for earning Galleons were probably:

Doing homework for others—though the income was low and competition likely existed.

Running errands—requiring knowledge of secret passages; Wizard Sean suspected the Weasley twins had already entered this business.

His more acceptable method was to go to the greenhouses—Professor Sprout was happy to give young witches and wizards seeds, which Wizard Sean could grow and sell.

Earning Galleons was important, but if it consumed time meant for studying magic,

Wizard Sean would consider it a poor trade.

Just like his History of Magic notes, Wizard Sean would not rush to perfect them merely to earn Galleons,

for the history of magic itself was fascinating enough; if one could not craft a sincere work through long, patient effort, but instead produced something purely for profit,

it was hard to call that a good thing.

Thus, Professor Snape’s words came at just the right moment:

“Even mediocre potions will never lack wizards eager to obtain them…”

The last time Professor Snape said this, Wizard Sean’s eyes had brightened noticeably, causing the Potions professor to pause for a second.

The surroundings grew colder and dimmer as Wizard Sean pushed open the dungeon door.

Not seeing the figure of the Potions master, he felt a flicker of disappointment.

Yet it did not hinder him from swiftly retrieving his materials and lighting the cauldron.

Professor Snape’s guidance could certainly accelerate his progress, but without a solid foundation, deep understanding remained impossible.

Soft white steam rose once more, thread by thread, through the dungeon; the scene here had scarcely changed in a millennium,

only the figures before the cauldrons kept changing, the one constant being their focused eyes.

Hmm. Two pairs.

Deep in the dungeon, beside a row of bizarre specimens, a pair of gloomy eyes emerged,

now lingering frequently and at length beside Wizard Sean’s cauldron, silently observing every step.

Progress—great progress—came from nearly clumsy, stubborn effort…

Just as Wizard Sean was about to brew the boil-water potion, a cold voice spoke:

“Is your intelligence so feeble you cannot even recognize a slimeball? On the left shelf, second row—”

Wizard Sean froze, looked up at the high shelf, then carefully levitated down the glass jar with a Floating Charm.

“Your pitiful eyes can only gather inferior ingredients,

next time, if I see you using such trash to desecrate fine potions…

Wizard Sean Green—you’d better get out of my dungeon before I kick you out!”

Wizard Sean naturally ignored Snape’s sarcasm, pausing slightly—

What strange thing was this? Professor Snape had just allowed him to use his own materials?

Well,

Wizard Sean thought,

evidently Hogwarts professors were all hidden millionaires.

As Wizard Sean once again immersed himself in brewing, Professor Snape fell unusually silent.

He could not forget that technique, even if it was only a clumsy imitation of his own,

yet this had never happened before; few wizards were clever enough to memorize every detail of his potion-brewing demonstrations.

Constant imitation, constant correction—this was nearly the universal path to success.

The wizard before him was no Potions prodigy, but he was undeniably a solitary student who shared the same passion for Potions,

Snape had casually observed him,

he cared nothing for social ties, only the cauldron before him; this demeanor made it hard not to see echoes of the boy from Spinner’s End.

Coupled with the idiotic explosions created by those foolish Gryffindors in Potions class,

especially Harry Potter—who failed to even stop his idiot friends!

Clearly an act of provocation!

Thus, the frown that usually tightened on Professor Snape’s brow eased slightly.

Bubbles bubbled from the cauldron, the thick liquid slowly turning ink-green,

Wizard Sean focused intently on the heat control; the technique from Libius Polatch’s manual could elevate potion quality dramatically.

Yet this made Professor Snape’s pupils contract sharply:

“Where did you learn this heat control—I don’t recall teaching it!”

Wizard Sean’s heart tightened.

Damn it,

did Professor Snape not approve of Libius Polatch’s heat control principles?

Wizard Sean remembered that in the original text, Professor Snape had made extensive annotations in his copy of “Advanced Potion-Making,” refining the methods described.

“‘Advanced Potion-Making,’ Professor.”

Wizard Sean admitted.

“Hmph—”

Professor Snape sneered,

“Final step heat too low, stirring direction in step three reversed—start over. Are your eyes just decoration?”

Wizard Sean blinked. Professor Snape knew about this hidden detail too?

He hesitated not, immediately dismantled and restarted.

Two hours later.

【You successfully brewed a dose of Boil-Cure Potion to a skilled standard, proficiency +10】

“Thank you, Professor.”

This was Wizard Sean’s second skilled-grade Boil-Cure Potion, meeting the standard for sale,

Professor Snape reclaimed it under Hogwarts’ fixed potion-recycling regulations,

though Wizard Sean suspected the rule was fabricated on the spot,

the professor had given him a hefty three Galleons.

Without a word, he carefully placed the Galleons in his bag, silently thinking: Potions was truly a high-profit industry in the magical world.

Snape watched the cautious young wizard, his face plainly reading “Hmph—pathetic.”

After the potion was done, he scrutinized the barely acceptable brew again, a cold curve forming on his lips.

His voice, like the faint rustling in the dungeon, was hoarse and steeped in malice:

“Even the most barren soil can occasionally produce something decent by accident.

An acceptable result merely means you’ve barely crawled out of the abyss of incompetence—not stepped onto the Diantang of Potions.

Don’t numb your mind with arrogance. Otherwise, regret will be your only cure—

Wizard Sean Green—mediocrity is a choice, and here, I accept no one who chooses it.”