"Ah?"
The moment Ron heard they had Potions with Slytherin, his expression became wonderfully twisted.
He waggled his brows at the others. "I heard the Head of Slytherin is even stricter than Professor McGonagall!"
Neville said quietly, "But only with students from other Houses. He's supposed to be really nice to his own."
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
That was not exactly wrong.
Once class began,
Professor Snape started taking roll.
When he got to Harry's name,
his voice paused.
"Oh? Let's have a look, then, at the famous Harry Potter."
Snape's eyes were flat and cold. When they met Harry's, they looked oddly empty, with a hint of hostility.
"Dylan Hawkwood."
"Here, Professor!"
Dylan answered loud and clear, and Snape's gaze swung over at once.
What he saw was Dylan staring at him, eyes practically glowing.
It looked exactly like…
A dog that had not eaten for three days spotting a meat bun.
Snape's brows creased slightly.
He moved on to the next name.
When he finally set the roll down on the desk,
he let his gaze travel slowly around the room.
"Good afternoon, you foolish little wizards."
His voice was low and cold, laced with contempt yet cutting clean through the room.
"Potions is not magic. It is a precise and rigorous craft that has no use for your clumsy wand-waving."
"I do not expect all of you to appreciate the delicate aroma hidden in the pale steam winding up from a cauldron simmering over a gentle flame."
Snape's eyes flicked briefly toward Malfoy.
"I only hope that a few select students can understand the wondrous power of liquids coursing through the veins—enchanting the senses, clouding the will…"
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death."
Then his tone shifted.
"But that depends on a few select students."
"Some dunderheads will never grasp the subtlety of potions."
Since this was everyone's first Potions lesson,
none of them had ever heard anyone claim magic could prevent death.
Their eyes went wide.
Dylan's gaze grew more intense.
Potions really was a mysterious and profound discipline.
Like spellwork, it was worth a lifetime of study.
And Snape was not talking nonsense. He was not bluffing.
The Elixir of Life could indeed be made through potion-brewing.
While waiting for term to start, Dylan had read plenty of texts on potion-making.
Because he had picked up a bit of traditional Chinese medicine in his previous life, he could not help comparing Chinese herbalism and potions as he read.
In his mind, the two were actually quite similar.
In both, you combined herbs to balance or amplify certain properties, and diminish others.
But the deeper he dug into the theory of potions, the more he realized that while there were similarities with Chinese medicine,
the differences were fundamental.
If herbs in his previous world had truly miraculous properties, Chinese physicians might not have been incapable of brewing an immortality elixir.
And that was exactly where potions and herbal medicine parted ways.
Herbal decoctions in the non-magical world did not contain mystery.
But a wizard's potion could coax magical effects out of the plant matter in the cauldron.
Which made Dylan think of something else.
Chemistry.
Before the birth of modern science, who would have guessed chemistry could make things explode?
Potions and chemistry both revolved around mixing and transforming substances.
Think about it carefully: powdered unicorn horn, mandrake roots, newt eyes…
And then think of acids meeting bases, the strange beauty of redox reactions…
There were definitely parallels.
They both demanded rigor.
Pinches, pieces, drops…
Controlling constants and variables…
In truth, chemical pharmaceuticals had more in common with potions than Chinese medicine did.
And brewing potions, at its core, could be seen as crafting a physical form of a spell.
The occult essence within the ingredients was drawn out during carefully timed simmering and stirring.
And it was tied to how many times you stirred, and in what way.
In potion-making, numbers were the equivalent of syllables in an incantation.
The finished potion was a spell stored in liquid form.
It could achieve effects as wondrous as any spoken charm.
Dylan was already itching to dive deep into this discipline.
As for Professor Snape…
Just a "tsundere softie," really.
What was there to be afraid of?
"Famous little celebrity, your arrival has caused quite a stir at Hogwarts."
Snape's narrow gaze settled on Harry.
"Tell me, Potter—what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Dylan knew the answer.
But he sat in the front row, while Harry had refused to sit up front and had gone to the back with Ron.
So when Snape suddenly shot the question at him, Harry went completely blank.
Seeing no answer, Snape fired off two more questions in quick succession.
Harry could not answer a single one.
The odd gleam in Snape's eyes only deepened.
"Gryffindor loses one point."
Dylan did not think much of it.
All through the lesson, he carefully memorized every step of instruction Snape gave.
The man's tongue might be venomous, but his skill was the real deal.
Every scrap of knowledge buried in this prickly, abrasive professor needed to end up in Dylan's head.
By the time Snape strode past the back row where Harry sat,
Gryffindor was already down five points.
As he passed Dylan,
Snape was just about to snap at this strange boy as well.
But then he noticed that every step of Dylan's brewing was precisely aligned with the points he had emphasized.
Snape froze for a heartbeat, surprise flickering in his eyes.
He did not restore any of the points lost to Gryffindor, though. He simply made to walk on.
Only for Dylan to stop him.
"Professor Snape, please wait a moment. There are a few details I'd like to ask about."
Snape's stride broke, his swirling robes coming to an abrupt halt.
He turned back, eyes cutting toward Dylan.
"Brewing a potion and you still have the mind to chat. Gryffindor loses another point."
"Okay. So what I wanted to ask is, if I add the drops when…"
Dylan went ahead and asked his questions anyway.
Snape answered them one by one.
The more he explained, the more he realized this Dylan Hawkwood was nothing like the other idiots.
The boy clearly had real talent for potions.
Snape's impression of Dylan shifted—if only slightly—for the better.
Dylan: Well, what do you think my achievement rewards were for?
(End of Chapter)
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