Chapter 35: Heretical Knowledge

Sean's potion-brewing plan was going even more smoothly than imagined,

due to an unexpected accident in Friday morning's Potions class—

Neville had mistakenly drenched himself in potion, leaving his arms and legs covered in red, swollen boils—

and as a result, Professor Snape had gone to the hospital wing.

According to Justin's hurried account

Professor Snape would be staying there for a while, giving Sean at least three hours to brew potions.

The dungeons were as cold as ever,

but Sean's enthusiasm hadn't cooled in the slightest. He deftly took out his ingredients and books and lit the cauldron.

Justin was still in the hospital wing, helping him keep an eye on Professor Snape;

he had to do his absolute best to grind out as much proficiency as possible.

Sean thought,

once he mastered potion-brewing and demonstrated his progress in the next Potions class,

would Professor Snape treat him like an older student and allow him to brew potions in the dungeons?

After all, he was a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor.

As long as it was reasonable and didn't violate school rules, Professor Snape shouldn't go out of his way to make things difficult for young wizards.

Of course,

that was assuming you weren't named Potter.

"Light the cauldron, prepare the ingredients..."

Sean was already well-versed in these steps; the only points worth noting were—

heat control and stirring.

Just last night, he had scoured the entirety of *Advanced Potion-Making*,

until he froze at a profound passage on the page of Master Libatius Borage

【Different potions require different preparation methods.

In fact, from time immemorial,

physical phenomena lacking metaphysical insight are just as unsatisfying as metaphysics lacking physical representation.】

Right behind this profound text, on a page where words had suddenly appeared like a sticky note,

was a passage that could be called a revolution in the experiential art of potion-making

【Every potion master should know that heat control is vital to brewing.

If one used the *Incendio* charm, anyone could brew a perfect potion,

but as I stated in *Let Yourself Have a Carnival in a Bottle*,

if one loses the peculiar intuition provided by spellcasting, the cauldron becomes as unmanageable as a piece of scrap iron...】

Sean flipped the page quickly, and the most crucial part leapt off the paper

【Although this passage has been mocked as something only "foolish wizards" need to learn,

and is not recognized by tradition, I say: fuck them!

If you are reading this, then I shall reveal to you,

that a self-lighting cauldron can also achieve perfect heat control.】

The feeling Sean had upon seeing this was no different from Harry discovering the Half-Blood Prince's notes, Hermione finding the Time-Turner, or Tom discovering *Secrets of the Darkest Art*...

"I—I lack nothing!"

Sean focused intently on brewing the slugs and processing the ingredients.

His stirring was no longer aimless, but adjusted according to the techniques Professor Snape had hinted at;

his heat control no longer followed vague standards, but followed the guidance of the potion master Libatius Borage.

There wasn't much light in the dungeons, but it was just enough to illuminate the young wizard's silhouette.

Wisps of white steam rose from the cauldron, soft and elegant like silk.

Amidst a series of gurgling bubbles and Sean's soft breathing, the liquid in the cauldron turned a pale blue-green once more.

Sean knew that the most important moment was next.

Using the exact same method as last time, he added the slugs and began the final stir.

In the cold underground,

the surrounding stone shelves were filled with all kinds of glass jars, containing twisted roots, beast eyes, or some kind of shimmering, strange scales.

A single drop of cold water seeped from a crack in the mossy ceiling,

landing precisely on the back of Sean's neck.

Yet, Sean felt nothing; his mind and body, much like the spells he recited and the magic he channeled, had sunk into the swirling steam.

【You have successfully brewed a full cauldron of Scabrous Potion to the standard of an entry-level brewer. Proficiency +3】

The prompt from the panel awakened Sean from his immersion. He looked at the dark green, jelly-like liquid with burning eyes.

He understood that the hardest step was complete.

What remained was simple: maintain this level, stabilize his potion-brewing skills, and finally, completely transform his "White Trash" talent.

Sean's heart was burning with fervor, but the speed at which he packed up and fled was also incredibly fast.

All the ingredients were tossed into his bag in an instant.

After carefully storing the Scabrous Potion in a crystal vial,

Sean flicked his wand

"S—cour—g—ify!"

The cauldron instantly returned to its original state. Sean carefully tucked *Advanced Potion-Making* and *Magical Drafts and Potions* into his bag.

He now knew the difference between the eight-Galleon *Advanced Potion-Making* and the two-Galleon *Magical Drafts and Potions*.

He checked the dungeons one last time to ensure nothing was left behind.

As the environment warmed slightly, Justin's anxious face appeared along with the sunlight.

Upon seeing Sean, he visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Great, Sean, did it go well?"

he asked, panting.

"Yeah."

Sean nodded.

At the same time, around the corner of the corridor, a man with sallow hair and a hooked nose was walking briskly.

The young wizards he passed all quietly stepped aside.

Sean and Justin watched Professor Snape walk into the dungeons just like that,

feeling like thieves.

"My mother says that friendships formed while doing bad things together are always stronger than those formed while doing good things together,"

Justin said with a smile first.

Then, after a moment's thought,

"Even though this wasn't a bad thing, the result is the same."

?

Sean gave him a strange look.

What on earth does Mrs. Finnigle teach?

...

In the wizarding world, terms like "science" are never recognized. Even in a discipline like Potions, which requires profound science and precise craftsmanship,

overly metaphysical dialectics are always rejected.

Well,

that wasn't Sean saying it; it was the potion master Libatius Borage, the author of *Advanced Potion-Making*,

*The Comprehensive Guide to Asian Anti-Toxins*, and *Let Yourself Have a Carnival in a Bottle!*, who said it.

His treatment of heat had benefited Sean immensely. Therefore, before lunch had even begun,

Sean prepared to head to the library to read his other two works.

It would be even better if there were more notes like those "heretical" pieces of knowledge tucked inside *Advanced Potion-Making*.

On a Friday, the Hogwarts library always drifted with a peculiar atmosphere unique to the eve of the weekend—a mixture of urgency and laziness.

Perhaps because the young wizards had finally discovered the fact that it was hard to finish homework without soaking in the library,

the long oak tables were almost entirely occupied.

Students could be seen everywhere, heads bowed in intense study;

the scratching of quills on parchment was the main melody here.

Fifth and seventh-year students wore visible anxiety on their faces, with mountains of books piled before them,

while the first-year wizards were no less intense, occasionally complaining, "A one-foot essay on the History of Magic?!"

Only to be "escorted" out of the library by Madam Pince.

(End of Chapter)