The warmth of the cauldron could not mask Snape's icy rage.
Nimbus 2000.
The words were like a key, instantly unlocking a memory box filled with humiliation, jealousy, and a sense of powerlessness.
As those eyes were once again linked to that foolish activity, a sharp fire of betrayal and mockery surged within him.
He almost blurted out the most vicious sarcasm, wanting to smash that broom and every filthy memory it represented to pieces.
Sheen was processing the materials earnestly, completely unaware of Professor Snape's predatory gaze.
Professor Sprout had just taught him the processing techniques for powdered ginger, sor렐, shrub-wormwood, and aloe vera juice.
If he didn't follow the notes with absolute focus, he would inevitably overlook some small details.
Thus, he took his notes and examined them carefully by the light of the magical candles.
Sensing something unusual, he looked back and happened to catch Professor Snape's extremely cold gaze.
Being in a state of deep concentration, he didn't pay it much mind and silently turned back to process the sorrel.
He quietly reviewed his work, wondering which step had gone wrong again.
Professor Snape was undoubtedly caustic; after all, the only people he wished to teach were geniuses, not ordinary people.
His method of education was like applying the requirements of a PhD student to children who had just graduated from primary school.
Things that seemed obvious to him were like an undecipherable celestial script to some of these children.
To the vast majority of young wizards, he was so caustic that even mentioning him inspired fear.
But to Sheen...
He qualified as a good professor.
Sheen carefully chopped the sorrel. The herb was pale pink with a faint scent similar to vinegar; because it was similar to the acidity of the lantern-plant, it was called sorrel.
In the wizarding world, it could be used in several different potions.
As the notes were taken away, and seeing the young wizard return to that same clumsy manner of brewing potions as before, the anger in Snape's focused green eyes subsided somewhat.
Complex emotions flickered within his cold, deep gaze.
However, after watching the young wizard bustle about for half the time only to produce some low-quality materials, he couldn't help himself
"Idiot! If you use materials that are poorly ground and lacking in juice one more time, get out of my dungeon!"
Sheen silently withdrew the materials he was about to put into the cauldron and instead re-processed them according to Professor Snape's instructions.
At this moment, Snape's gaze was almost an interrogation; he could not tolerate the noble art of potions having the slightest connection to that filthy sport.
Nimbus 2000, brewing potions, making money...
He instantly reached a natural conclusion
An orphan, with no source of income, yet researching the most expensive broom, wanting to brew potions to sell for money to buy that broom.
How vulgar! How pathetic!
So pathetic that he couldn't help but let out a cold sneer.
"Heh—a truly pathetic orph—"
Before he could finish, Sheen set the notes down. The materials he added caused the cauldron to boil rapidly.
The surging flames distorted the surrounding air and Snape's shadow.
The sudden heat wave caused the pages of the notes to flip slowly, and a line of text appeared before Snape's eyes.
【The Nimbus 2000 demonstrated excellent emergency turning capabilities during this morning's flight test. The secret to this control does not rely on the waist and abdomen, but rather on using intent to guide the second set of charms on the rear left. This is almost identical to the guidance in the final step of the potion; as expected, magic is connected by a single primordial thread.】
In his haste, Sheen turned his head quickly, and Professor Snape's words were instantly caught in his throat.
"Pathetic heat control! I suspect your troll-like brain simply cannot comprehend the beauty of a slow simmer. You should study the content on the bottom left of page sixty-three of the *Book of Potions*—when the swelling remedy boils, the heat should be double the constant amount!"
Sheen seemed to ignore the professor's scolding, focusing on timing the heat adjustment to the second.
The bubbles in the cauldron surged and burst rapidly, emitting an intoxicating white smoke.
In his mind, he recalled the book he had just encountered.
It was written by a famous potioneer named Sigismund who had left Hogwarts.
At fourteen, he had already been the best student in his potions class, even capable of correcting the teacher's mistakes when using the tails of soft-clawed land shrimp.
After feeling fully prepared, he requested the Headmaster's permission to participate in the Magic School Potions Tournament.
However, the Headmaster at the time refused because he was not yet seventeen, and the tournament was too dangerous for him.
In a fit of rage, Batch decided to leave the school in protest.
Batch felt that Hogwarts was a school that wanted to stifle his potential to become an outstanding potioneer, and thus he never regretted his decision.
But what left the deepest impression on Sheen was an anecdote from Batch's time at Hogwarts—
At the time, one of Batch's rivals had splashed a love potion on himself, resulting in him falling in love with the potions teacher of the time.
Later, whenever his Laughter Potion required loud, uncontrollable laughter, he would think of this incident.
It seemed like a trivial, unremarkable anecdote, but Sheen keenly noticed one point.
Since the Laughter Potion required loud, uncontrollable laughter, could it be reasonably inferred that other potions also required the wizard's emotions?
Perhaps the emotion displayed in Master Libashu Polachi's ritual was not the end goal, but merely focus and a longing for the potion's success.
In other words, it was the strengthening of conviction.
And the advancement of potions, perhaps like charms, required more refined emotions.
For example, the "shedding" of the Levitation Charm, or the "longing for light" of the Lumos Charm...
Potions and charms were indeed meant to be connected by a single primordial thread.
Professor Snape's face was no longer clear in the firelight; his rage vanished in an instant, and his body hid in the shadows of the dungeon.
Sheen Green already had a broom; where it came from was unimportant.
What mattered was that he loved potions—a fact that had already passed the double verification of both Snape and Polachi.
Those who do not love potions can never obtain those slips of paper.
So, what exactly had he been doubting?
The rage that distorted his reason and the slip of paper in his hand reminded him once again of those irrevocable words; today, that incident had almost repeated itself.
"Sheen Green..."
His black robes shifted slightly as his cold gaze looked down at Sheen.
"Heh—perhaps you would care to explain—what... foolish acrobatics do you intend to perform with that stupid broom?"
His gaze returned to that distant Hogwarts. If his reason had not been distorted by rage, if he had not spoken those words, but had instead been like this...
The cauldron bubbled and gurgled, and the setting sun spilled through the crevices. The knot of resentment in Snape's eyes became a cocoon in the moss on the dungeon's stone slabs.
The spiders here had survived for a long time; it seemed this was the first time they had been exposed to the sunlight.
(End of Chapter)