Potions Smoke and Hidden Warmth

The starlight and night wind from the Astronomy Tower seemed to still linger on their skin, but Hogwarts never slowed its rhythm for the night. The eve of Halloween hung over every corner of the castle like fermenting pumpkin juice. The corridors were filled with the sweet scents of roasted pumpkin pie and caramel apples. Enormous jack-o'-lanterns floated overhead, held aloft by Levitation Charms, orange flames dancing within their hollow eyes and mouths and casting wavering, eerie shadows. Flocks of bats—magical decorations—glided silently beneath the vaulted ceilings.

Yet the final day of classes before the holiday was like a bitter pill coated in sugar. For Gryffindor's first-year students, that bitter pill was called—Potions Class.

The Potions classroom lay deep beneath the castle, even colder and damper than Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. The lighting was dim, provided entirely by sickly green torches mounted on the walls, making the rows of stone worktables and the shriveled animal specimens hanging above resemble a scene from a horror story. The air was heavy with an acrid smell combining sulfur, rotting plant roots, and some old medicinal brew, making their noses itch.

Professor Snape slipped into the classroom like a silent black shadow. His greasy black hair hung against either side of his sallow cheeks, thin lips pressed tightly beneath his hooked nose. His black robes billowed behind him like bat wings. When those cold black eyes, deep as stagnant pools, swept across the room, the pressure they brought made even the drip of condensation from the walls seem gratingly loud.

"In my classroom," Snape said, his voice low and smooth, carrying a chilling frost that rang especially clearly through the silent dungeon, "there will be no foolish wand-waving, nor will you show off those... insignificant theories." His gaze, like a poisoned needle, struck precisely at Hermione, who sat in the front row and instinctively straightened her back. "What is needed here is precise proportions, absolute obedience, and..." His eyes slowly passed over Lynn, carrying a deep scrutiny. "...a clear mind unclouded by foolish impulses."

He began a lengthy introduction to Potions, his tone filled with contempt for "reckless lions" and mockery for "certain inflated senses of self-worth." By the time he finally drew his wand and wrote the day's potion recipe on the blackboard—"BlemishBane Potion"—a tense, oppressive atmosphere had already settled over the classroom.

The recipe was complicated and demanded extreme precision: porcupine quills had to be added immediately after the potion turned smoky blue and was stirred counterclockwise three and a half times. Add them too early, and it would explode; too late, and the potion would lose all effect. Flobberworm mucus had to be filtered three times to remove every impurity. Dried nettle powder had to be ground as fine as dust...

"Pairs," Snape said coldly. "Begin. Any foolish mistake will result in you... and your unfortunate partner suffering unpleasant consequences." His gaze swept over Lynn and Hermione again.

Hermione immediately took out her notebook—ordinary parchment, since the Starry Notebook was far too precious—and rapidly copied down the instructions. Her little face was taut, her eyes focused as though she were dismantling a bomb. Lynn calmly rose and went to the storage cabinet at the back of the classroom for ingredients. When he returned carrying jars of flobberworm mucus and dried nettle powder, he saw Hermione frowning at the flickering flames beneath their cauldron, apparently dissatisfied with their instability.

"The flame temperature needs to be raised by another five percent." Lynn set the ingredients on the table, speaking softly enough that only Hermione could hear.

Hermione froze for a moment and looked at Lynn. How did he know? But she did not question him. She swiftly pointed the tip of her wand toward the base of the fire and adjusted the angle by the slightest amount. The flames beneath the cauldron immediately became steadier and hotter, shifting from orange-yellow to a bright blue.

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly. The taut string in her heart loosened slightly at Lynn's reminder.

The brewing began. Hermione handled the main work, strictly following the notes as she muttered the key points to herself. "Counterclockwise three and a half times... filter three times... grind the powder..." Her movements were somewhat unpracticed, but she strove for precision at every step. Lynn acted like the most perfectly coordinated assistant, passing her processed materials exactly when she needed them: nettle powder ground as fine as dust, mucus filtered until it was clear and free of impurities, and venomous snake fangs—substitute ingredients for the recipe—sliced thin as cicada wings with a Silver Dagger.

Snape moved soundlessly through the narrow aisles like a ghost. He stopped beside Neville and Seamus's cauldron and watched thick yellow-green smoke and a foul odor billow from it. His thin lips curled into a cold arc. "Mr. Longbottom, am I to assume those clumsy hands of yours are attempting to turn your cauldron into a biological weapon? Five points from Gryffindor, for your astonishing destructive ability." Neville's face instantly became greener than the potion in his cauldron.

He stopped again at Ron and Harry's table. Ron was frantically stirring while Harry filtered flobberworm mucus, with large chunks of sticky matter still caught in the sieve. "Mr. Weasley, are you mining for gold with that stirring rod? Mr. Potter, the result of your filtering is more revolting than Troll snot. Five points from each of you." Ron's face turned bright red, while Harry lowered his head awkwardly.

When Snape paced over to Lynn and Hermione's table, the potion in their cauldron had turned a textbook-perfect smoky blue. Its surface was smooth and bubble-free, giving off a faint, cool scent like mint. Hermione held her breath, staring intently at the potion's color while pinching a porcupine quill between her fingers, waiting for the ideal moment to add it.

Snape's icy gaze swept over the cauldron as if it had substance, then over Hermione's tense little face and Lynn's calm profile. He seemed to be waiting for them to make a mistake. Just as the potion began to transition from smoky blue to pale violet, Snape suddenly spoke coldly. "Miss Granger, tell me, what would happen if porcupine quills were added at this moment?"

Hermione's attention was instantly diverted! She looked at Snape instinctively, rapidly working out the answer. "Professor, the potion's color has not fully stabilized. If porcupine quills are added now, the unstable magical elements within them will violently clash with the potion in its transitional state, possibly causing a small explosion or producing corrosive fumes..."

At the very instant she answered, the potion's color had already missed its optimal smoky-blue stage because of a microsecond change in the heat!

Lynn's pupils contracted sharply. Without the slightest hesitation, the moment Hermione realized the color had changed, his left hand shot out like lightning and caught the wrist holding her porcupine quill with incredible precision, stopping her instinctive motion to drop it in! At the same time, his right-hand wand made a tiny motion almost impossible to see, tapping precisely at the flames beneath the cauldron.

A faint, deep-blue starlight flashed and vanished!

The flames beneath the cauldron seemed to be instantly suppressed and adjusted by an invisible force. Their blazing blue glow dimmed for an instant, then immediately stabilized again. That precise moment of cooling miraculously held the potion in its smoky-blue state just before it changed color!

"Now." Lynn's low voice sounded beside Hermione's ear. Holding her wrist, he guided her hand and dropped the porcupine quill precisely into the center of the cauldron. "Counterclockwise, three and a half times."

Hermione moved almost mechanically, relying on the steady strength coming through Lynn's wrist to complete the stirring. The potion gave a soft sizzle and released a wisp of harmless white steam. Its color instantly turned a clear pale violet, like a fine amethyst solution, carrying an even richer, cool mint fragrance. They had succeeded!

Professor Snape's cold gaze paused for an instant on Lynn's hand around Hermione's wrist before moving to the perfect potion in the cauldron. No expression changed on his sallow face, but something exceedingly complicated passed through those deep-pool black eyes—scrutiny, inquiry, and a trace of... indescribable darkness. He deducted no points and offered no praise. He simply glided silently toward his next target, just as he had arrived.

The crisis had passed. Lynn released her hand. The warmth of his fingertips and the feeling of his steady strength still lingered on Hermione's wrist. She looked down at the perfect potion in the cauldron, then at the wrist he had just held. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, not because of the danger just now, but because of Lynn's decisive intervention and that... reassuring sense of control. Her cheeks began to burn uncontrollably.

"Th-thank you, Lynn," she said, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. Her eyes darted away, unable to meet his.

"Focus." Lynn's voice remained calm, as though he had merely brushed away a speck of dust. His eyes indicated that she should continue with the final cooling step.

Hermione drew a deep breath and suppressed the flutter in her heart. She moved the cauldron away from the flames and added the final Moonstone Powder according to the instructions. The potion instantly cooled and solidified into a clear, faintly glowing purple paste, flawless in every way.

At the end of class, Professor Snape collected everyone's finished potions. Hermione and Lynn's brew received the highest assessment without question, though there was no verbal praise. But when they left the cold underground classroom and entered the relatively brighter corridor, bathed in warm Halloween lights and decorations, Hermione's mood was somewhat low. Snape's cutting words in class and his mockery of her "inflated sense of self-worth" had pricked her proud self-esteem like tiny needles.

"How could he say that?" On the way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Hermione finally could not stop herself from quietly complaining to Lynn. Her eyes were slightly red. "I only wanted to do well! I only wanted to prove..."

"His judgment is irrelevant." Lynn's voice was not loud, but it held a peculiar calming strength that interrupted her self-doubt. "Your worth does not need his approval to be proven." He stopped walking and turned to look at Hermione. The flickering jack-o'-lantern light in the corridor danced in her bright eyes and illuminated a tiny speck of dried nettle powder that had somehow gotten onto the tip of her nose.

Lynn raised his hand again. This time, he did not touch her wrist. Instead, he naturally brushed the tip of her nose with the pad of his thumb.

The sensation from his fingertip was clearer than before. Hermione's body stiffened again, but this time she did not flinch away in panic. Her long lashes merely fluttered quickly once, and her cheeks swiftly flushed red like two ripe little tomatoes. She could clearly feel the faint roughness of the calluses on Lynn's fingertip against her skin, and the warmth transmitted so distinctly by the Star Stone, like sunlight baking her skin. The Moon White Stone at her chest answered with a warm current.

"Powder." Lynn withdrew his hand and rubbed that speck of powder between his fingertips, his tone as calm as ever.

"...Mm." Hermione's voice was barely louder than a mosquito's. She lowered her head, but this time did not immediately run away. The dejection Snape had caused seemed strangely dispersed by the warmth of Lynn's fingers and his words, "irrelevant." A subtle, sweet warmth quietly surged into her heart, diluting the dungeon's chill.

The Great Hall had become an ocean of festivity. Thousands of jack-o'-lanterns floated in the air, while flocks of bats darted beneath the domed ceiling. The four long tables were piled with an astonishingly lavish Halloween feast: whole turkeys roasted until they sizzled with grease, their skins golden brown; enormous steak-and-kidney pies overflowing with gravy; mountains of roasted potatoes and creamed corn; and countless bizarrely shaped desserts—jellies that screamed, chocolate cakes shaped like skulls, and pumpkin pies that constantly seeped "blood-red" syrup.

The atmosphere at the Gryffindor table was lively. The twin brothers Fred and George were performing "Making a Pepper Shaker Dance the Can-Can," drawing waves of laughter. Percy, meanwhile, was sternly lecturing them. Harry and Ron were devouring a giant meat pie.

Lynn and Hermione found seats and sat down. Hermione was clearly in much better spirits. She curiously poked a chocolate eyeball that split open by itself to reveal "worms" inside—actually strawberry jam. She jumped in fright, then could not help laughing, her eyes curving into crescents. Lynn took a slice of pumpkin pie that looked relatively normal.

Halfway through the feast, the mood was at its height. Suddenly, the Great Hall doors were violently thrown open! Professor Quirrell stumbled inside. The distinctive violet turban wrapped around his head, which gave off a strong garlic smell, was crooked. His face was bloodless and filled with extreme terror, his lips trembling as though he might faint at any moment.

"T-Troll! In the dungeons!" he shrieked, his voice warped by fear. "Th-thought you ought to know..." With that, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed beside a high stool, unconscious.

Silence! Absolute silence engulfed the entire Great Hall! The next moment, terrified screams erupted like a tidal wave! The students descended into chaos!

Dumbledore sprang to his feet. His booming voice was like an anchor, instantly suppressing the disorder. "Silence!" His sharp gaze swept through the hall. "Prefects! Lead the students of your Houses back to their Common Rooms immediately! Teachers, with me!"

The entire Great Hall instantly fell into even greater chaos. Percy immediately stood up, waving his arms as he shouted, "Gryffindors! Follow me! This way! Quickly!"

The crowd surged toward the doors like a startled school of fish. In the chaos, Lynn immediately grabbed Hermione's wrist and shielded her at his side, keeping her from being jostled. His hand was firm and strong. The warmth from his palm and his unquestionable protective stance immediately calmed Hermione, who had been frightened as well. She even forgot to pull away, instinctively gripping back tightly, as though he were the only piece of driftwood in a storm.

"Don't be afraid. Stay with me." Lynn's low voice sounded by her ear, steady enough to make her heart ache.

They pressed toward the doorway with the crowd. As they passed the unconscious Professor Quirrell, Lynn's steps paused almost imperceptibly. The Star Stone against his chest suddenly sent out an extremely sharp, icy stab of pain filled with malice and chaos! It was as though an invisible poisoned needle had viciously pierced him! The sensation vanished in an instant, so quickly it could have been mistaken for an illusion.

Lynn abruptly turned back, his gaze shooting like lightning toward Professor Quirrell's unconscious body on the floor. Beneath that violet turban, something seemed to... twist?

"Lynn! Hurry!" Hermione anxiously tugged at him, breaking his stare.

Lynn withdrew his gaze, suppressing the alarm in his heart. Shielding Hermione, he quickly rejoined the stream of evacuating students. Chaotic footsteps, frightened cries, and the flickering light of jack-o'-lanterns blended into a scene of disorder. Yet the feeling of Hermione's hand tightly gripping his wrist, and the last trace of icy pain from the Star Stone—rapidly dispelled by the Moon White Stone's warm current—both reminded him that beneath Halloween's revelry lurked a far deeper, more unsettling shadow than any Troll. And the one he needed to protect was right beside him.