Potion Master's Insights

Stepping out of the common room, Allen walked briskly toward the Quidditch pitch, hoping the match hadn't ended yet; he was quite interested in Quidditch matches.

Before Allen even entered the Quidditch pitch, he heard the cheers of the Gryffindors echoing through the cold sky, interspersed with the roars and groans of the Slytherins.

Allen hurried up to the Ravenclaw stands. Watching a match from the stands felt remarkably different from participating in one. Seeing the little lions roaring in the opposite Gryffindor stands, Allen felt that he was indeed a Ravenclaw—he could never be that wild or passionate.

"The Snitch is still nowhere to be seen, is it?" Allen asked Roger, who was frowning and frantically recording data.

"Yes, we haven't seen the true strength of the Seekers yet; they haven't discovered the Golden Snitch's trail. But the Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters are all very strong, especially the Beaters—their coordination is exceptionally tacit." Roger cast his gaze toward the Weasley brothers soaring freely in the sky, his face full of envy.

"They are twins; they've lived together since they were small, so it would be strange if their coordination weren't tacit. But our team's Beaters are also quite good, for instance, you, aren't you?" Allen's understated compliment made Roger puff out his chest.

"Oh, of course, I am the best Beater at Hogwarts!" Roger's soft golden hair and his white teeth shone brilliantly under the sunlight, attracting the gazes of quite a few girls.

"Roger, could I borrow your binoculars?"

"Of course, I brought plenty." Roger felt like a particularly reliable captain.

Allen raised the binoculars, straining to look at a small dot in the sky—that was Harry. Harry was high up, gliding nimbly above the pitch; clearly, he hadn't spotted the Golden Snitch yet.

Allen watched the match with ease. After the tension of his studies, watching the game now, he felt no nervousness at all. Drowsiness washed over him, and he found himself missing that bed in Ravenclaw, longing for the feeling of being wrapped in a soft quilt.

"The Golden Snitch!" Roger's shriek jolted Allen's spirit. "Harry found the Golden Snitch!" Allen immediately raised his binoculars. Harry was diving rapidly, but unfortunately, he was deliberately knocked off course by Slytherin's Marcus Flint.

"That—after that obvious and despicable act of cheating—" The commentator Lee Jordan could no longer control his anger. Allen felt he was absolutely right; such behavior was indeed shameful!

Regardless of how angry the audience was, the match had to continue. This proved that when you encounter unfair treatment, there is no need to complain or give up on yourself; all we need to do is make ourselves stronger and leave our opponents disgraced.

Just as many were still immersed in their anger, Harry's broom began to shake uncontrollably. Slytherin scored, and no one noticed Harry's abnormality. Harry's broom twitched and jerked wildly, slowly carrying him higher and higher, away from the pitch.

"Something's wrong with Harry." Allen was the first to notice the situation. Beside him, Roger and Anna hurriedly turned their binoculars toward Harry. Harry's broomstick began to buck and roll incessantly, and he could barely manage to hold on. Suddenly, the broomstick gave another violent twist, and Harry was thrown off. He was now hanging in the air, gripping the broom handle with only one hand.

The audience in the stands had no heart left for the match; many gasped the moment Harry fell. Allen aimed his binoculars at Hermione, tracking her through the crowd, intending to step in if things went south. Fortunately, Hermione successfully set Professor Snape's robes on fire while knocking into Professor Quirrell. Harry landed safely and spat the Golden Snitch out of his mouth; Gryffindor had won.

"I don't know if it was skill or luck, but regardless, Gryffindor is a formidable opponent." Roger closed his notebook, full of fighting spirit.

"To Gryffindor, we are too!" Across the noisy, excited crowd, Allen flashed an encouraging smile at Harry. "See you in the finals, Harry!"

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts School woke from its sleep to find itself covered in several feet of snow, with the lake frozen solid. Despite the bone-chilling cold, Allen's mood was as beautiful as a spring day. He had finally completed the library task set by the system and successfully obtained the Book of Verto, the master of potions. The book recorded the preparation methods for various magical concoctions; the more he studied, the more he felt his own ignorance, and Allen wandered into the ocean of knowledge, unable to pull himself away.

Unlike Allen, other students were eagerly looking forward to the holidays. Although the common room was bolstered by Professor Flitwick's charms and the Great Hall was filled with roaring fires, making it very warm, the drafty corridors had become bone-chillingly cold, and the windowpanes in the classrooms rattled in the biting wind. Worst of all, Professor Snape's classes were held in the dungeons; every breath they took formed a white mist, forcing them to huddle as close as possible to their steaming cauldrons. Only Allen was exceptionally enthusiastic about Potions class. He experimented with the techniques from the Book of Verto while listening very carefully to Professor Snape's explanations to solidify his foundation. Comparing the two, Allen felt his Potions skills had made significant progress.

Professor Snape clearly noticed Allen's uniqueness; he found nothing to criticize in Allen's potions. Once, during a Potions class, he even saw that Allen was not using the methods from the textbook and said nothing. To the other students, this was simply inconceivable. Aside from the Slytherin students, Professor Snape only looked at Allen with special regard, not only refraining from criticism but even offering guidance. With other students suffering from both mental and physical freezing, Allen's state of being like a fish in water, calm and content, was truly enviable.

It wasn't just Potions; Allen performed excellently in other subjects as well. When the gap between you and someone else is too great, all that remains is to look up. Therefore, no one came to cause trouble for Allen. Everyone believed that the top grade in the final exams would surely belong to Allen, and they could only strive for second place!

Excellent students have their own troubles, namely, becoming a teacher's helper. For instance, at this moment, Allen had been called by Professor Flitwick to help decorate for Christmas. Together with the professor, they used their wands to spray strings of golden bubbles and hung them on the branches of the tree Hagrid had just brought in. With everyone's concerted efforts, the Great Hall looked beautiful and spectacular. The walls were draped with garlands of holly and mistletoe, and twelve towering Christmas trees stood throughout the room, some hung with glittering icicles, others flickering with hundreds of candles.

Allen saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione walking into the Great Hall behind Hagrid. Allen walked over with a smile, intending to greet them, but just happened to hear Harry say happily to Hagrid, "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel, we've been trying to figure out who he is."