"When processing horned slugs, you need to pay attention to the distribution of their mucus. Try to choose ones that are secreting more. If you see them extend their horns to touch the table, don't hesitate—this is the best time to boil them... A small reminder: when you see tiny bubbles appearing in the cauldron, you can stop boiling... Very good!
Mr. Dickinson, perfectly processed. Oh! Mr. Green, perhaps you boiled it a bit too long. Remember? You can stop when the cauldron produces small bubbles..."
In the greenhouse, twelve cauldrons bubbled with gurgling sounds, steam rising and making those pumpkin-shaped plants sway slightly. Professor Sprout had just praised Bruce when she hurried to Shawn's side, helping him put the escaped slug back on the table. She smiled warmly and said, "Mr. Green, don't let the slugs escape next time."
Shawn was indeed somewhat flustered. He was processing two cauldrons at once. Bruce, on the other hand, appeared much more relaxed. As for Professor Sprout, she could boil seven cauldrons simultaneously and still have plenty of time to guide Shawn.
"Observe the mucus, wait for bubbles to appear..." Shawn silently recited the techniques while working carefully. As time passed, his brewing gradually became more skilled, though he still couldn't avoid being somewhat frazzled.
The cauldron liquid gradually turned dark green. Professor Sprout stepped forward. Shawn gripped the ladle tightly, waiting for her evaluation. He was anxious—partly because of his poor talent, partly because he felt bad about wasting materials.
Horned slugs weren't cheap. The purchase price in Diagon Alley was one Galleon per jar. Magical materials were always terrifyingly expensive. This made Shawn realize one thing: potions must be highly profitable, or wizards couldn't afford the materials at all.
Soon, Professor Sprout gave her evaluation. "Mr. Green, acceptable processing." Shawn breathed a small sigh of relief. Although Professor Sprout let them use materials freely, he couldn't keep wasting them.
After getting on track, Shawn soon finished processing the horned slugs. The three placed the boiled liquid in glass bottles and selected slugs with sufficient mucus, putting them in a large jar.
Professor Sprout said this selection could help young wizards increase their success rate in brewing the Cure for Boils. As for the boiled slugs, they would serve as demonstration examples and help Professor Snape with preliminary work.
When selecting porcupine quills, Professor Sprout revealed news Shawn found surprising. "Yes, children, herbs and potions are always interdependent. Every harvest season, Severus always comes to the greenhouse." Shawn imagined Professor Snape holding a hoe, then continued selecting porcupine quills.
"Porcupine quills are about three inches long, with a thickness about the size of two slug horns..." Leaving the greenhouse, Shawn reviewed the processing key points and recorded them all on his parchment.
So far, for the four ingredients for the Cure for Boils—dried nettles, porcupine quills, venomous snake fangs, and horned slugs—Shawn had gained deep understanding of them all.
This meant the first step of his plan was complete. Thinking of this, Shawn's eyes brightened.
"I say, Shawn, we've already left the greenhouse. There's no need to keep writing, right?" Bruce crossed his arms and somewhat helplessly pulled Shawn away, preventing him from crashing into a suit of armor.
On the armor stand, a lady in a ceremonial gown covered her mouth and laughed, stunning the knight across from her.
The clock pointed to six. The breeze was gentle. Along the path with slanting warm sunlight, Shawn heard Hogwarts' bells ring. Bruce stopped.
In the corridor beside the greenhouse, Leon held a book, his blonde hair glowing in the warm sun. Pist held a potted plant, tender leaves swaying in the wind. Both looked toward Bruce.
Bruce grinned. "These two guys..." He turned to say goodbye to Shawn. Before he could speak, a piece of candied pineapple was placed in his hand. "Exchanging snacks—Hufflepuff tradition, Bruce." He was stunned for a moment. Shawn had already walked away briskly.
"He's really not Hufflepuff?" Leon closed his book. "Probably the Sorting Hat made a mistake." Bruce carefully put away the preserved fruit. Suddenly he made a "hey" sound and, using both arms, pulled Leon and Pist over.
His arms powerfully circled their necks, like a headlock, firmly locking three heads together. "Gotcha!" He laughed loudly. "Idiot." Leon stumbled. Pist carefully protected the potted plant.
Since borrowing enough books from the library yesterday, Shawn's only problem was not having enough time to complete homework.
At eight o'clock, Hogwarts Library would close. And after dinner, it was already six-thirty for Shawn. Therefore, Shawn didn't choose to go to the library but went directly back to Ravenclaw Tower.
Ravenclaw's double dormitory had desks and was thoughtfully equipped with floating candles—yes, the same models as the candles in the Great Hall. Obviously a good place to complete homework. Ravenclaw wisdom, Shawn thought.
"Shawn, are you heading back to the tower?" At the Great Hall entrance, Shawn ran into Michael, who was playing wizard chess.
"Yes." Shawn nodded. "Oh! Wait for me!" Michael quickly made a move. His wizard chess piece swung a large club, knocking away the opposing young wizard's last piece.
"Narrow victory." Michael smiled and put away the pieces, then ran toward Shawn.
The stairs back to Ravenclaw were still terrifyingly long. Michael climbed while panting and complaining.
"The welcome speech said Ravenclaw would help knowledge-seeking young wizards climb the stairs of wisdom, but it didn't say these stairs were this long!" Michael looked up. Ahead were endless steps. "Merlin's beard... such stairs, I have to climb for seven years?"
His words were cut off when a strong wind blew. It was an older Ravenclaw riding a broomstick into the tower, drawing exclamations from surrounding young Ravenclaws. "Cool!"
Michael stared at that elegant wizard, his heart heating up too.
The steps gradually decreased. Shawn and Michael were finally almost there. "...Perhaps many think the glory days of the Chudley Cannons are over, but everyone knows they'll relive yesterday's glory..." At this point, Michael's complaints had transformed into longing for Quidditch.
He was about to continue narrating the glorious history of the Chudley Cannons when he first noticed the swaying young wizard beside him. "Shawn!"