Orli's heart lurched. Damocles Belby—the very inventor of Wolfsbane Potion. Prince's provocative intent couldn't have been clearer if he'd brandished it like a weapon.
"Extracting Snakeweed pods within one minute is indeed... challenging," Snape said, stepping forward with measured calm.
"The pods are extraordinarily slender. Traditional methodology requires splitting them completely, extracting every seed individually, then grinding the remnants before obtaining usable essence. I suspect this very difficulty explains why Snakeweed wasn't incorporated into the original Wolfsbane formula."
At that precise moment, Damocles Belby materialized through the crowd. Someone leaned close to whisper urgently in his ear, and his expression shifted to one of unmistakable hostility as his gaze fixed on Snape.
"If you understand the impossibility, why publish such nonsense and invite ridicule?" Prince's smile turned predatory.
A low buzz of speculation rippled through the gathering crowd.
"However," Snape continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade, "your limitations don't define universal possibility."
He surveyed their surroundings, noting how spectators had materialized as if drawn by some invisible summons, and allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Apleino, I require fresh Snakeweed pods, your sharpest paring knife, the finest mesh strainer available, and a collection bowl."
Snape's tone carried absolute confidence.
Orli watched Apleino Galande nod and hurry away, confusion clouding her thoughts. The Professor rarely indulged in theatrical displays—surely he wasn't planning a public demonstration?
Within minutes, the requested materials appeared. The brief interval had drawn virtually every conference attendee into an ever-tightening circle. They pressed closer with expressions ranging from concerned sympathy to gleeful anticipation of disaster, but Snape showed no intention of performing personally.
"Waters," he called suddenly.
"Step forward. Demonstrate the technique."
Orli's world tilted sideways.
She approached on unsteady legs, staring at the innocent-looking implements that had suddenly become instruments of potential humiliation. Ironically, she'd developed this very method herself, but performing under such scrutiny—with a rigid time constraint—made her stomach churn with terror. Failure wasn't merely personal; she represented the Waters legacy and, more immediately, Snape's professional reputation.
Drawing a shuddering breath, she lifted the knife and met Prince's expectant gaze.
"Mr. Prince, would you do the honors of starting the count? It seems only fair." Her voice carried deceptive sweetness. "Oh—forgive me, I should ask first: you do own a functioning timepiece, don't you?"
Scattered chuckles emerged from the crowd. Prince's jaw tightened as he produced an ornate pocket watch, his glare promising retribution.
"Naturally. Prepare yourself."
His skeptical stare dissected her hands, clearly anticipating spectacular failure. Half the assembled scholars had produced their own chronometers, while others cast timing charms or recording spells with practiced efficiency.
"Three... two..."
Orli forced her racing pulse to steady.
"One!"
The instant Prince's voice cracked like a whip, her hands exploded into motion. Despite the terror coursing through her veins, some deeper instinct took control—her movements became fluid, precise, almost supernatural in their certainty.
Rather than following traditional methodology, she sliced each elongated pod into four perfect strips, arranged them across the mesh strainer, then pressed the knife's flat edge firmly across the perforated surface. Precious essence streamed through the mesh while seeds collected cleanly on the blade's back—a revolutionary technique that eliminated every inefficient step.
Her hands moved like hummingbird wings, processing pod after pod with mechanical precision. When the final Snakeweed had surrendered its essence, she set down the knife and glanced toward a floating timing charm.
Forty-eight seconds.
The silence stretched taut as a bowstring before someone released a low whistle of amazement.
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