Potions Class (Part 1)

Nothing much to say—just max it out batch by batch.

First, 100 Magic Points.

[Potions—LV2 (Apprentice)] 1/1000 [You can deeply understand the principles of Potions and complex potion recipes, partially grasp advanced ingredient ratios, and learn to adjust a potion's effects based on different needs.]

Though the description said as much, Damon didn't feel any knowledge spontaneously materializing in his mind. However—he subconsciously flipped through the book in front of him, and what had previously seemed hard to memorize and understand in terms of combinations and pairings suddenly became simple and clear.

So, adding points to a branch skill improved his talent and comprehension, rather than directly instilling knowledge into him?

Damon raised an eyebrow slightly, his interest piqued even more, and he added points again.

[Potions—LV3 (Advanced)] 1/10000 [You can quickly master the recipes and brewing of most potions with an extremely high success rate, produce very precise potions tailored to different needs, and even make fine adjustments and innovations based on the effects!]

Keep going.

[Potions—LV4 (Expert)] 1/1000000 [You can brew some very complex and powerful potions, possess the ability to research and innovate potion recipes, have a deep understanding of rare and dangerous ingredients, efficiently use them to make potions, and even create some legendary potions!]

Damon glanced at the familiar string of zeros after the number 1, raised an eyebrow, and didn't continue adding points.

He had a feeling that Level 4 Expert Potions was already enough to let him learn to brew most potions in the world—like the famous Felix Felicis, or Love Potion, and the Polyjuice Potion Hermione had started brewing in her second year.

"D-Damon, can I sit here?"

Damon looked up slightly, his gaze sweeping over the empty seat beside him. Neville was standing there nervously, holding his Potions textbook, his eyes revealing a hint of unease and hesitation.

Even though they'd been roommates for five days, Neville seemed as timid as ever, his words overly polite.

"Yeah, sure."

Neville let out a breath of relief, quickly set his bag on the desk, and carefully sat down in the chair, clearly a bit tense.

Just as Neville was about to say something, Professor Snape swept in from the door like a bat, brisk and imposing.

As soon as class started, he picked up the roster and called names. When he got to Harry's name, he paused deliberately. "Oh, yes," he murmured, "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Snickers rippled through the crowd. Then he called the name Harry had been worried about.

"Ron Weasley."

No response.

"Ron Weasley!"

Snape seemed surprised that anyone would be late to the first class, and his face turned extremely sour.

Just then, a breathless voice sounded from outside the door—red-haired Ron arrived late, clearly delayed somewhere else.

"You're late, Weasley." Snape's voice turned even colder in an instant. He set down the roster slowly, a faint, mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"You know, Weasley," Snape continued, his tone contemptuous, "punctuality is one of the most basic rules at Hogwarts. If you can't even manage the simple etiquette of showing up on time, I'm afraid you're doomed to fail Potions."

Ron's face flushed red. Clearly angered by Snape's words, he hurried to an empty seat and sat down, trying his best to avoid Snape's icy glare.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

"I don't expect you will truly understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—but only if you aren't as dim-witted as the usual dunderheads I have to teach."

A brilliant opening speech, leaving the students dead silent. Damon, however, smiled quietly.

Stopper death? That was quite the boast—but the professor's beloved Lily hadn't been saved.

Snape's eyes, sharp as knives, swept across the students. He clearly noticed Damon's faint smile.

"Damon!" Snape said abruptly. "If I add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?"

Ron had just settled into his seat and exchanged a glance with Harry—both of them thinking the same thing: Damon was in for it.

But the Damon they thought was in trouble stood up and answered seriously: "Powdered root of asphodel and wormwood together make a powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death. In excessive doses, it can bring someone to the brink of death."

"Just give me the most concise answer, rather than showing off things I already know, Mr. White!"

Snape's face darkened, as if Damon's correct answer hadn't improved his mood one bit.

"Then, White! If I asked you to fetch me a bezoar, where would you look?"

"In a goat's stomach, sir."

As if on purpose, Damon's answer was extremely short. Still, he added "sir" at the end, which made Snape glance at him oddly.

"Oh? It seems our Mr. White, who briefly caused quite a stir—even overshadowing the Boy Who Lived—is something of a Potions prodigy, isn't he?"

He paused, then spoke in an even colder, more serious tone: "In that case, I imagine you can answer this question—if you add refined Mandrake Root to an extract of Moonpetal and stir rapidly while the temperature is too high, what would you get?"

This question clearly jumped out of the basics entirely, touching on a much more difficult level of potion-making.

Hermione, who had kept her hand raised high throughout the first two exchanges, quietly lowered it. Damon frowned, relying on his guesswork about the properties of the ingredients, and answered hesitantly:

"You would obtain an extremely unstable potion. It would rapidly evaporate and release a lethal toxic gas, causing anyone exposed to fall into a poisoned coma, possibly even suffocation."

"You hesitated?" Snape concealed the flicker of surprise deep in his eyes, his gaze sharpening in an instant.

"That answer truly disappoints me, Mr. White." He paused, almost able to feel the tense atmosphere among the students in the classroom. Then, Snape spoke slowly, his voice low and intimidating:

"Potions is a discipline of precision and detail—every ingredient added, every temperature controlled, even the timing of administration determines success or failure. That hesitation of yours is not what Potions requires."

"Damon, due to your sluggish phrasing, Gryffindor will lose one point!"

"Yes, sir."

Damon smiled, sat back down, and didn't take it to heart.

This Old Bat Snape was just that temperamental. Rather than being angry, Damon found it fitting for the character, almost amusing—like interacting with a real NPC.

Damon didn't notice that behind him, Hermione's brow had already furrowed. She instinctively opened her mouth as if to defend him, but ultimately said nothing.

"He's so calm," Ron whispered to Harry, a hint of shock in his tone. "Just looking at Professor Snape scares me, but Damon isn't flustered at all."

Harry was also stunned, saying nothing, merely staring blankly at Damon's back.