Snape's Thunderous Fury (5K Mega Chapter)

After the Transfiguration class that left Ezio wanting more, the afternoon was a time for the Slytherin and Gryffindor students to enjoy themselves.

Potions class had arrived.

Compared to the tension in Transfiguration, the Potions classroom was on an entirely different level.

Passing through the gloomy corridor, the students arrived at a doorway shimmering with a faint, sickly green light. As soon as they entered, they were greeted by two rows of specimen shelves lining the walkway. Various dissected corpses were stuffed into jars, and the internal organs of all sorts of magical creatures floated in glass bottles reflecting that ominous green glow. They drifted slowly, as if whispering into people's ears about the horrific fates they had once endured.

Some of the girls were so frightened that tears welled up in their eyes, and even the boldest boys couldn't help but feel a chill in their hearts. An atmosphere of oppression and dread had already permeated the room the moment they stepped inside.

When it came to playing the role of a great villain, Snape was quite professional.

However...

Ezio was actually quite interested in these parts that had been dismantled with such professional precision.

"The one you're looking at... whose brain is that?" Harry felt a bit uneasy himself, but seeing Ezio observing it so meticulously, he couldn't help but be curious.

"Ah, a Troll's brain." Ezio shifted his gaze away from the glass jar. "I used to think 'potato-brained' was just a figure of speech for Trolls, but it turns out it's a fact. These big, clumsy oafs are at least three meters tall, yet their brains are really only the size of a potato. No wonder they're so dim-witted; with such a small brain and shallow grooves, it's hard to be smart."

"Then what is it used for?"

"A Troll's brain is an important ingredient for a magical potion. Although this thing isn't bright, unexpectedly, a Troll's intuition is quite good—probably because if they didn't even have that, they'd starve to death in the wild. The Super-Sensing Potion requires extracts from a Troll's brain."

"Then this potion must be really disgusting." Harry felt a urge to gag and even wanted to wash his ears.

"But it's powerful and useful. The Super-Sensing Charm allows a wizard to amplify their senses, letting them perceive everything within a three-meter radius of themselves even with their eyes closed. However, the Super-Sensing Potion not only lacks the side effect of over-sensitivity found in the charm, but it can also expand this super-sensing range to eight or ten meters. Drink it, and you could become a master peeper without any training—for instance, listening to the sound of the female neighbor next door taking a bath. You could even mentally reconstruct the scene based on the sound, and it would be a nearly one-hundred-percent realistic simulation."

"Alright..." Harry's face stiffened, but he couldn't help but let his imagination run wild. He didn't have a beautiful female neighbor right now, but what if he did one day? "But we shouldn't be able to learn this kind of potion yet, right?"

"The difficulty isn't high. It's in the sixth-year curriculum, Advanced Potion Making. Although I haven't tried it yet, it shouldn't be too hard; it's just that the materials aren't easy to buy."

Ezio shrugged, then sat down at his seat with Harry.

"Your 'not high difficulty' only applies to yourself..." Harry was a bit speechless, but he was already used to this. "I get dizzy just looking at One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. There is simply too much to memorize."

"There are 1,332 potions in total, but in reality, there are only about two hundred commonly used ones in school. As long as you categorize them and make a table based on their medicinal properties and effects, it's easy to remember. The wizarding world lacks this kind of standardized classification method. There's no such thing as kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, or species. The attitude of wizards toward research is truly terrible—it doesn't even reach elementary school level."

Ezio had long had a pile of complaints about the wizarding world. It wasn't just Potions; Charms was the same—everything was a chaotic mess.

It wasn't long before class time arrived. The classroom was silent, and everyone was waiting nervously. The classroom door slid open silently, and a ghost-like black cloak glided in from outside. As he passed through the eerie green corridor, the top of the black ghost's head shone slightly, as if some reflective substance was at work, making his head look as if it had been lit up.

Ezio tried hard to stifle his laughter. It was probably because the shampoo in the wizarding world was an invention of the Potter family, so Snape detested washing his hair, but at this moment, his greasy hair was truly a bit funny.

"Quiet."

As Snape drifted to the podium like a ghost, he said a completely unnecessary word, then pulled out a piece of parchment and began to take attendance.

It was as if they were standing in line waiting for the Grim Reaper to call their names. The already nervous young wizards were terrified at this moment. Anyone would have thoughts of "my time is up" when their name was called by a guy with a gloomy appearance, a cold aura, and a deathly face.

Fortunately, there were... no, two people in the class who attracted all the hostility.

"It seems we have a famous person among us."

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at Harry, whom he had just called. His gaze carried a hint of scrutiny—a severe scrutiny, as if he wanted to look through Harry's body to see what shape his heart was in.

Harry's gaze was slightly nervous, but someone in Slytherin had told him that Snape was a teacher who protected the students of his own house. He wasn't too worried that Snape would make things difficult for him; after all, Draco, who had told him this, was full of confidence.

Harry tried his best to calm down, then met Snape's gaze.

Upon seeing those beautiful emerald-green eyes, Snape seemed to freeze for a moment. In an instant, the lines of his face seemed to soften slightly.

But this subtle change was almost unnoticed by anyone else.

"Sit down," Snape said coldly, continuing to read the next name.

His gaze returned to the cold, empty indifference he had arrived with, like two endless, pitch-black tunnels.

"You are here to learn the precise science and strict craft of potion-making." Snape's whisper-like voice clearly reached everyone's ears, as if a sticky, damp, cold worm were gently rubbing against their ears, making their spines chill and giving them the urge to swat at their ears.

"Since there is no foolish wand-waving here, many of you will not believe this is magic. I do not expect you to truly grasp the beauty of a simmering cauldron emitting white smoke and wafting delicate fragrances. You will not understand the marvelous magic of the liquid flowing into people's veins—that which makes hearts flutter and wills drift..."

A slightly ethereal voice rang out, and Snape's murmurs carried a dark temptation that seemed capable of dragging people into the abyss.

"I can teach you how to increase your fame, brew glory, and even stop death—" Snape's voice paused, his icy gaze sweeping across the room: "But there is one condition: you must not be the kind of blockheads and fools I often encounter."

Snape's look at the people was exactly like looking at a bunch of fools and blockheads.

"Potter." In the silence, Snape suddenly spoke. "If I added powdered Asphodel root to an infusion of Wormwood, what would I get?"

"A simple Draught of Living Death?" Harry, who had studied and memorized his books well, only paused for a moment before standing up to answer. This wasn't a potion for the first year, but as long as one had carefully read One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, this point would be mentioned when introducing Asphodel root.

"If I asked you to find a Bezoar, where should you look?"

"In the stomach of a goat. A Bezoar has strong detoxifying properties."

Snape's gaze darkened slightly, then he nodded imperceptibly.

"Then what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

"They are both Aconite, just different varieties, but their medicinal effects are almost identical. The roots are highly toxic, and they have a certain restraining effect on werewolves."

"It seems you haven't forgotten yourself because of your fame." Snape nodded gently, his face expressionless. In his eyes, a glimmer of satisfaction seemed to flash. His eyes reflected Harry's shadow, reflecting those emerald-green eyes.

"Very good, Harry. Ten points to Slytherin."

The moment he opened his mouth, Snape showed everyone his 'generosity', but immediately after, Snape's gaze locked onto the man sitting next to Harry.

"I hope you all remember this humility, so—"

"If I were to ask you to brew a Draught of Living Death, how would you go about it, Mr. Auditore?"

Snape's malicious gaze fell upon Ezio, a sneer seemingly curling the corners of his lips. "I hear you possess extraordinary talent. Is that true?"

"Simply put: grind Asphodel root into powder, add it to an infusion of Wormwood, heat and stir, then add Moon-dew flower pollen and Valerian roots. When the potion turns tea-brown, drip in the juice of a Soporific bean. When it turns a pale, snowy blue, stir counter-clockwise until it becomes pale pink. Let it sit, then stir again until it turns transparent and colorless. The Draught of Living Death is then essentially ready."

Although it sounded simple, brewing potions relies heavily on heat control and ingredient ratios. A Draught of Living Death brewed this simply has an intensely bitter taste, requiring additional ingredients later to remove the bitterness.

"In fact, I have already tried brewing it. Compared to other advanced potions, the Draught of Living Death isn't particularly difficult, aside from being time-consuming. Could you help me evaluate the quality of my potion?"

Ezio reached into his pouch and pulled out a vial containing about two hundred milliliters of a transparent potion.

Snape's gaze turned icy. Without a word, he stepped forward, picked up the potion left on the table, unscrewed the cap, fanned his hand slightly, and took a light sniff.

"The ratio of Asphodel root to Wormwood is wrong, you used too little Soporific bean juice, and you heated it for too long. The effective duration of this Draught of Living Death is only one week; it has already expired."

As if he possessed the nose of a hound, Snape identified the errors in the brewing process with a single sniff of what should have been an odorless, colorless potion. His face wore a look of mockery, tinged with disdain.

"You can't even follow simple instructions. This kind of shoddy work has no value."

"Is there a possibility," Ezio said, looking at Snape coldly—he didn't doubt the validity of Snape's critique; while Snape was certainly nitpicking, the chance of him being factually wrong was slim—

"That it is precisely because I followed the book that I produced such an inferior product?"

Ezio narrowed his eyes slightly, casting a provocative look at Snape.

"You just said—"

"In class, you will address me as sir or professor," Snape interrupted unceremoniously.

"Fine, Professor Snape," Ezio said, unbothered by the correction. "You just told us all that Potions is a precise science and a rigorous craft. Then you must be able to enlighten me: why is it that in both the Potions textbook and any other book on the subject, I cannot see this so-called precision and rigor?"

"What is the ratio of Asphodel root powder to Wormwood infusion? How much Moon-dew flower pollen is needed? Should the Valerian roots be powdered or chopped, and why is the dosage measured in 'a handful' or 'a piece'? Does the juice content of every Soporific bean not vary?"

"Since Potions is precise, why do these published recipes lack accurate measurements? From start to finish, wizards rely on experience and intuition; you have never quantified these things."

"Even if we determine the dosage of various ingredients through experience, can ingredients of different quality produce the same effect at the same dosage?"

"Perhaps you want to say that one just needs to practice more to know, but is this precise? Is this rigorous?"

"You mentioned science earlier, but I tell you, this is not scientific. None of this is rigorous."

"In my view, Potions is the most scientific form of magic. Excluding the factor of a wizard's own incompetence, anyone should be able to replicate a potion time and again by following the correct proportions and steps, rather than guessing by feel or estimating by experience."

"What is a 'drop' to you? One milliliter or two? What is 'heating'—from what temperature to what temperature? Without quantification, Potions cannot be called precise or rigorous."

"Would you like to see true precision and rigor?"

Ezio pulled another vial of transparent potion from his pouch. "The Draught of Living Death. After I precisely quantified the ratios based on my own research, as long as one isn't an idiot with poor coordination or a bad memory, following these steps will produce a result identical to this bottle."

"Asphodel root powder can be extracted using an ethanol solvent extraction method. After purification, we obtain high-purity, off-white crystals. The ratio to Wormwood infusion is 1:115. The Wormwood infusion is purified via distillation and diluted with eighty parts water, then heated to 75 degrees. Moon-dew flower pollen and Valerian roots can also be extracted using solvent extraction, with ratios to the Asphodel powder of 1:0.4 and 1:25 respectively. After mixing, heat to the critical boiling point of 115 degrees. Soporific beans are difficult to juice, so I use supercritical fluid extraction; by applying pressure and heat, carbon dioxide enters a supercritical state to dissolve the target components. The average yield per bean is 3.3 milliliters, with 3 milliliters being the optimal amount. The subsequent stirring process can be replaced by a centrifuge, which is faster and more effective than manual stirring—1500 RPM, performed in four six-second intervals, followed by a thirty-second rest. During this, magic must be channeled throughout the process; that is currently the greatest difficulty."

"Just ten milliliters is enough to put an adult male into a stable, death-like, ultra-deep sleep for sixteen hours. Compared to the top-tier Draught of Living Death I bought at the best shop in Diagon Alley, my version is more stable. Through my repeated tests, Draughts of Living Death from the same Potions Master but different batches vary in deep-sleep duration from seventeen to twenty-one hours at a fixed dosage."

"I probably don't need to tell you the name of that Potions Master, do I, Professor?"

"This is science, this is precision. Even if my recipe isn't the most effective possible ratio, it produces consistent, stable batches."

"Current Potions study is nothing more than a crude method of boiling pig slop in a cauldron. I see no trace of the precision and rigor you claim. From materials to techniques, you rely entirely on 'feel.' How is that any different from monkeys fermenting fruit hidden in hollowed-out trees?"

"So, this thing is trash." Ezio pointed to the first bottle of Draught of Living Death he had produced. "Is this what you intend to teach me in the future?"

The little snakes and lions, already bewildered, stared blankly at the boy confronting Snape. Their heads were spinning; they understood the individual words, but when strung together, they couldn't comprehend a single thing.

"Times are constantly progressing. We are about to welcome a glorious third millennium. I do not wish to stand still and be stepped on as a footstool by others. So, as a professor, Mr. Snape, are you willing to lead by example and guide us in embracing progress?"

"Get out!"

Snape's face was as dark as the bottom of a pot as he pointed toward the classroom door. He glared at Ezio, teeth gritted. No wonder he had received several orders for high-priced Draught of Living Death recently—so this was the source!

"Anger solves nothing, Professor Snape," Ezio said with a slight bow. "I will wait for you outside your office after class."

"Let's go, Harry." Ezio beckoned to Harry.

"Oh... oh!"

Although Harry didn't understand the situation, he instinctively rose to follow Ezio.

"What do you think you're doing?" Snape narrowed his eyes dangerously, his killing intent nearly overflowing.

"Teaching him what scientific pharmacy is. I can teach everything up to fifth year, and sixth year as well. He is a smart person; smart people don't learn the slow way. It wastes his talent and makes him dull."

Snape, his voice suddenly dying in his throat, watched helplessly as that bastard Ezio led Harry out of the classroom.

"If any of you also wish to leave, I will give you the opportunity."

His eyes, dark enough to drip ink, swept coldly across the room, freezing everyone in their seats.

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