Flying Lesson

The potion was so clear it contained not a single impurity, so transparent it felt as though one could see through time and space.

In the dim classroom light, it emitted a soft, sacred silver halo, like a melted star brimming with immense life energy.

A fresh aroma, as if mixed with post-rain grass and nascent flower buds, wafted from the cauldron. Merely inhaling it brought clarity to the soul, banishing the fatigue of recent days.

Snape's mind was a blank slate.

He would swear on Lily's grave, this... this could not possibly be a scab treatment potion!

No, in terms of effect, it might treat scabs, even instantly heal skin burned by dragon fire.

But in "essence," it had transcended the realm of "potion."

This was a perfect work of art.

This was a pot... of spiritual liquid possessing its own "life"!

"Impossible..." Hermione's voice trembled beside him. She looked at Lin Yuan's cauldron, then at her own potion, which, though passable, was like a lump of mud in comparison. Her worldview was collapsing.

Snape stared intently at the pot of azure spiritual liquid, his heart engaged in an internal battle.

Reason told him he should be amazed on the spot, acknowledge the student's talent, perhaps even take him as his sole disciple and impart all his knowledge.

But his pride, his prejudice against Gryffindor, and his ingrained habit of masking himself with sarcasm prevented him from making such a choice.

He had to maintain his "persona," especially in front of Harry Potter.

Thus, he forcibly suppressed the storm raging within him, donned his icy mask once more, and spoke in a hoarse voice:

"Mr. Lin. It seems you not only enjoy being sensational in theory, but in practice, you are equally fond of... flaunting your laughable, third-rate 'cleverness'."

These words stunned everyone.

Lin Yuan looked up, calmly meeting Snape's eyes, which were filled with struggle. He knew Snape's inner turmoil was far from the calm he projected.

"Professor, is there something wrong with my potion?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Wrong?" Snape reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his voice suddenly rising. "There's a lot wrong! I asked you to brew a scab treatment potion, which should be light green! What is this pot of yours? Blue dye for bathing goblins? You completely disregarded the textbook, disregarded the rules, disregarded me! This kind of arrogant, self-important behavior will not be tolerated in my class!"

"Gryffindor, five points deduction for Mr. Lin's baseless and foolish showing off!"

The Gryffindor students let out a collective groan, while Harry and Ron clenched their fists in anger.

However, Lin Yuan merely watched him, his heart unmoved.

As expected, the inertia of the script is strong. He still chose to deduct points to cover his loss of composure.

Snape announced the punishment but did not leave. He retrieved the most exquisite crystal bottle and a long-handled silver spoon from the lectern. With a gentleness that suggested he was handling a priceless treasure, he carefully scooped a full bottle of the azure spiritual liquid from Lin Yuan's cauldron.

"Furthermore," he said, capping the bottle and holding the potion, which shimmered with a divine glow, up to his eyes, scrutinizing it with an almost greedy gaze, yet offering a grandiloquent reason, "I will confiscate this 'dangerous substance' of unknown composition and take it back for detailed analysis. I must ensure you haven't added any prohibited materials capable of killing a Norwegian Ridgeback."

With that, he didn't spare anyone another glance, clutched the crystal bottle tightly, flicked his black robes, and practically "fled" into the private storeroom behind the lectern.

Lin Yuan knew Snape would use every method at his disposal to study the potion.

And then he would discover that the potion's composition was exactly the same as listed in the recipe, no more, no less.

The class bell rang.

"Pack your things and get out," Snape's muffled voice came from the storeroom.

On the way back, Ron and Harry were still indignant on Lin Yuan's behalf.

Hermione, full of confusion, caught up to him and asked, "Ryan... how... how did you do it? Did you really use the Eastern... 'soup-making' technique?"

Lin Yuan looked at her eager eyes and smiled mysteriously:

"No, that wasn't 'soup-making'."

"That was 'alchemy'."

On the Scottish Highlands in autumn, the sky was high and azure, like a vast, washed sapphire.

A cool breeze, carrying the scent of grass and earth, brushed against every stone wall of Hogwarts Castle, finally converging on the flat, open training ground outside.

This was the first flying lesson for the first-year students of Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Over twenty brand-new broomsticks stood in neat rows on the lawn, like soldiers awaiting inspection.

They were the school-provided "Comet 260s." While not top-of-the-line models, for children who had never flown before, each broomstick's wooden handle seemed to be encircled by a halo named "freedom" and "dreams."

The students' faces were a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation.

Ron's cheeks were flushed with excitement as he constantly discussed Quidditch tactics with Harry.

Hermione, meanwhile, nervously recited the chapters on safe flying from "Quidditch Through the Ages," muttering to herself.

On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy was holding forth, boasting to his cronies Crabbe and Goyle about how he had evaded the house-elves' surveillance in the manor and secretly flown a Nimbus 2000. His voice was filled with an innate sense of superiority, as if the sky were the backyard of the Malfoy estate.

Lin Yuan stood at the edge of the group, his expression as calm as ever.

His gaze fell upon the seemingly unremarkable broomstick at his feet.

Within his Spiritual Sense, its construction was almost comically simple.

So that's it... this is this world's flying "magical artifact," he realized.

This broomstick is essentially a piece of ordinary wood enchanted with several simple charms.

At its core is an extremely crude "Levitation Array," which can counteract an object's gravity but is highly unstable, requiring the user to continuously activate and guide it with their own "Magic Power," or rather, "willpower."

Next, there's an equally crude "Propulsion Array" that converts the user's intent to "move forward" into thrust. The stronger the intent, the faster the speed.

Finally, there's a "Cushioning Charm" that's more for show than anything, likely intended to prevent users from breaking bones upon landing.

"In summary, it's a semi-finished, low-grade magic tool that requires the user to act as both the 'spirit stone' and the 'main control core'," Lin Yuan defined it precisely in his mind. "Its flight stability, speed, and maneuverability depend almost entirely on the user's own soul strength and precision in controlling energy."

"No wonder... Harry Potter is a natural flying prodigy."

Lin Yuan's gaze inadvertently swept over Harry beside him. He knew that a fragment of Voldemort's soul lay hidden within Harry.

Although this remnant soul brought endless pain and curses, it also endowed him with an instinct for communicating with the magical world, far surpassing that of ordinary people.

His "willpower," or rather, his "soul," was far stronger than that of his peers when in an unconscious state.

For ordinary young wizards, controlling a broomstick was like trying to tame a wild, untamed horse. But for Harry, it was more like an instinctive calling.

As for Lin Yuan himself...

The corners of his lips curled into a faint smile.

If the willpower of these young wizards were trickling streams, and Harry's willpower a surging river, then his own soul, tempered by over a decade of immortal cultivation and as solid as a mountain, was... a boundless ocean of control.

Using the power of an ocean to drive a tiny skiff?

This wasn't just overkill; it was like using an interstellar star destroyer to crush an ant.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon!"

A clear, crisp voice interrupted the students' hushed whispers.

The flying instructor, Madam Hooch, strode over.

She had short, gray hair and sharp, hawk-like yellow eyes, and she was now sternly scrutinizing every student.

Her presence was as no-nonsense and unquestionable as she was.

"Alright, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone, stand to the left of a broomstick. Quickly, quickly, don't dawdle!"

The students scrambled, quickly taking their positions.

"Extend your right hand, place it above the broomstick," Madam Hooch commanded. "Then, shout with all your might: 'Up'!"

"Up!"

The voices of over twenty young children merged into a chaotic chorus.

On the lawn, a series of comical and absurd scenes unfolded.

Ron's broom merely rolled lazily on the ground.

Neville's broom remained motionless, as if nailed to the grass.

Seamus Finnigan's broom shot up violently, hitting him squarely on the nose, drawing laughter from the crowd.

Most of the brooms merely twitched slightly or jumped a symbolic half-inch off the ground.

However, amidst this chaos, there were two exceptions.