A light rain fell over Scotland, and the sound of raindrops echoed throughout Hogwarts Castle. Water collected on the stained glass windows, eventually running down in small streams that soaked into the ancient, fertile earth.
Madam Pince, the librarian, never let Shawn borrow more books than allowed, no matter how reliable he was. Unless he returned books like Modern Magical History and signed the old record book, he had to read Potion Master Libatius Borage's two works right there in the library.
Even without taking them out, he still saw on the first page the note Madam Pince had inserted:
[The consequences will be as terrible as it is within my power to make them.
Hogwarts Librarian,
Irma Pince]
Shawn never questioned how strict Madam Pince could be. He had seen her catch young wizards more than once, always quick to find and punish anyone who mistreated the books.
In the study area, Madam Pince, who always looked stern, walked past Shawn. For a moment, her expression softened. She gave him a small nod before leaving.
[Wizards produce needs; they produce spells. If not, then this spell simply hasn't been discovered yet. And now I assert: Wizards produce needs; they produce potions. If not, then this potion recipe simply hasn't been discovered yet]
Shawn had just read this quote in Have Yourself a Fiesta in a Bottle! and was struck by how powerful it sounded. As he sat there thinking about it, a sticky note suddenly slipped out.
A bit surprised, Shawn quietly took out his notebook and quill to copy down the words.
[I must tell you something, or people will only remember my achievements in recipes and craftsmanship, but forget my greatest and most misunderstood pioneering work in the profound field of potions]
His greatest and most misunderstood work? Maybe something like the heat control method for self-igniting cauldrons? That would be amazing. Shawn, now even more curious, kept reading.
[I actually saw all potion researchers forget to study its intrinsic meaning. What kind of researchers are they! They're simply Miranda's sticky, stinking apple pie! I'm certain spells and potions should be connected by a fundamental thread. If Magical Theory believes advanced spells require wizards' own mental strength, then why did they forget about potions? This can only be because of one thing—they're all ￥*&% ]
Shawn skimmed past a long list of harsh words. What came next made his heart race.
[The improved incantations and rituals require greater mental strength from wizards and are far more mentally exhausting. But for any potion-maker who has reached the pinnacle of technique and skill, this opens an entirely new path forward. I must remind you: you should possess sufficient willpower and use this method carefully. While these techniques have astonishing effects, they also become more unstable. They can, of course, be improved further, but my days are numbered. I have glimpsed great truth and regret that I must spread it in hidden ways. Please perfect it. And allow me to revise the epitaph those foolish wizards carved for me and tell you the true version: Libatius Borage died in 1961. He spent most of his life engaged in this great work. Now, it's your turn to study the most profound magic in the field of potions]
Me? My white talent? Shawn silently acknowledged, suddenly feeling some responsibility. He stuffed every word into his mind. He hadn't expected to see such knowledge.
Master Libatius Borage had really worked with the old incantations and rituals passed down in the art of potion-making. Shawn remembered reading in A History of Magic that most potion rituals had been around for over three hundred years, as steady and unchanging as spell words.
This discovery was a big surprise. Shawn felt like a Niffler who had just found a hoard of gold coins. He quickly wrote down all the improvements in his notebook. There were only a few, but one of them was the Cure for Boils, which made him grin with excitement.
The magical crystal lamp lit up Shawn's focused face. Soon, he stood up from the oak table as the Hogwarts bells rang along with the sound of owls. Lunchtime had come, and after all that learning, Shawn realized he needed to eat.
He quickly returned the books to Madam Pince. The hallway was already full of young wizards heading from the library to the Great Hall. As he passed the warm fireplace, Shawn noticed the Gryffindors seemed unusually quiet today.
"He must hate me..." A black-haired little boy said with incomprehension. "Powdered asphodel root, wormwood... why didn't he ask Hermione!"
"Harry, don't be angry." The red-haired boy beside him said quietly. "I heard Snape's always like this. Particularly unreasonable."
Shawn quietly watched Harry and Ron sit down nearby. He remembered hearing about this question before. In his past life, some people believed that Professor Snape, known for his devotion, often asked questions with hidden meaning.
Asphodel means regret that lasts until death, and wormwood stands for deep sorrow. So, the real meaning behind the question was: I am filled with endless grief over your mother's death.
Just as Shawn was about to continue with his beans, Justin sat down beside him with a red face, followed by Hermione with dim eyes.
"Even if he's Professor Snape, he can't do such unreasonable things!" Justin appeared very angry. His gaze toward his companion was full of sadness. "If a student raising their hand to answer a question is wrong, then the professor asking that question should also be a fool!"
Shawn looked up, a bit confused. They had just finished Potions class. Was Justin really cursing Snape? Even Harry hadn't gone that far, had he?
"Shawn, oh, I wanted to tell you earlier..." When Justin looked at Shawn, that anger dissipated. He sadly explained the scene to Shawn—when Professor Snape questioned Harry, he not only ignored Hermione's repeated hand-raising but roared at Hermione: "Sit down!"
"No one in the whole room thought this was wrong. Those Gryffindors are just cowards!" Justin's face turned red again, and his voice was full of guilt. He almost gritted his teeth. "I saw it from the door but couldn't do anything... I'm not much of a friend, am I?"