Chapter 22: Thunderous Fury
After the Transfiguration class, which had left Ezio wanting more, the afternoon was a happy time for Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Potions class had arrived.
If they were nervous in Transfiguration, the atmosphere in the Potions classroom was a notch higher.
Passing through a gloomy corridor, the students arrived at a doorway glowing with a greasy green light. As soon as they entered, their eyes were met with two rows of specimen shelves lining the walkway. All sorts of dissected corpses were stuffed into jars, and the organs of various magical creatures floated in glass bottles that reflected the ominous green light. They bobbed up and down slowly, as if whispering into people's ears the terrible ordeals they had once endured.
Tears welled up in the eyes of some of the girls. Even the bolder boys couldn't help but feel a chill in their hearts. An atmosphere of oppression and fear had spread the moment they entered the classroom.
When it came to playing the villain, Snape was a true professional.
However...
Ezio, on the other hand, was quite interested in these parts that had been disassembled with extremely professional techniques.
"This thing you're looking at... what kind of brain is it?" Harry was also a bit creeped out, but seeing Ezio observe it so meticulously, he couldn't help but feel curious.
"Ah, a troll's brain," Ezio said, moving his gaze away from the glass jar. "I used to think that 'potato head' was just a description for a troll, but I didn't expect it to be a fact. These big louts are at least three meters tall, but their brains are really only the size of a potato. No wonder they're so dumb. With a small brain and shallow grooves, it's hard to be smart."
"So what's it used for?"
"A troll's brain is an important ingredient in a certain magical potion. Although this thing isn't bright, its intuition is surprisingly good. Probably because if they didn't even have that, they'd starve to death in the wild. The Supersensory Potion requires an extract from a troll's brain."
"That potion sounds really disgusting," Harry said, feeling the urge to dry heave and even wanting to wash out his ears.
"But it's very powerful and very useful. The Supersensory Charm allows a wizard to amplify their senses, letting them perceive everything within a three-meter radius with their eyes closed. But the Supersensory Potion not only lacks the side effect of over-sensitivity from the charm, but it can also expand this super-perception range to eight to ten meters. Drink it, and you can become a master voyeur without any training. For example, listening to your female neighbor taking a shower next door. You could even mentally reconstruct the scene just from the sound, with almost one hundred percent accuracy."
"Right..." Harry's face stiffened, but he couldn't help but let his imagination wander. He didn't have a beautiful female neighbor right now, but what if he did one day?
"But we probably won't learn that potion for a while, right?"
"The difficulty isn't high. It's in the sixth-year textbook, Advanced Potion-Making. I haven't tried it yet, but it shouldn't be too hard. The ingredients are just a bit difficult to buy."
Ezio shrugged and then sat down in his seat with Harry.
"Your 'not high difficulty' only applies to you..." Harry was a bit speechless, but he was used to it by now. "Just looking at 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' makes my head spin. There's just too much to memorize."
"There are one thousand three hundred and thirty-two magical plants in total, but in reality, only about two hundred are commonly used in the school. If you just categorize them and make a list according to their medicinal properties and effects, it becomes much easier to remember. The wizarding world sorely lacks this kind of standardized classification method. There's no proper system of taxonomy whatsoever. The attitude of wizards toward research is truly terrible, not exceeding a primary school level."
Ezio had a long list of complaints about the wizarding world. It wasn't just Potions; Charms was the same. Everything was a disorganized mess.
It was soon time for class. The classroom was silent; everyone was waiting nervously. The classroom door slid open without a sound, 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 seemed to gleam slightly, as if some reflective substance was at work, making his head look as if it were illuminated.
Ezio tried his best to hold back a laugh. Perhaps because the wizarding world's shampoo was invented by the Potter family, Snape had a deep-seated hatred for washing his hair. But at this moment, his greasy hair was truly something else.
"Silence."
As Snape floated like a ghost to the front of the classroom, he uttered a completely unnecessary sentence, then pulled out a roll of parchment and began to take attendance. It was as if they were being lined up and called out by the Grim Reaper himself. The already nervous young wizards were terrified. Anyone would imagine their doom was near if their name was called out by a man with such a gloomy appearance, a cold aura, and a deathly still face.
Fortunately, there was one... no, two people in the class who attracted all the animosity.
"It seems we have... a celebrity... in our midst."
Snape narrowed his eyes, looking at Harry, whom he had just called. His gaze was scrutinizing, severe, as if he wanted to see through Harry's body to the very shape of his soul.
Harry was a bit nervous, but some of the Slytherins had told him that Snape was a teacher who fiercely protected the students of his own house. He wasn't too worried that Snape would give him a hard time. After all, Draco had been very confident when he had said it.
Harry forced himself to calm down and met Snape's gaze.
Upon seeing those beautiful, emerald-green eyes, Snape seemed to falter for a moment. In that instant, the lines of his face seemed to soften ever so slightly. But this subtle change was hardly noticed by anyone else.
"Sit," Snape said coolly, continuing to the next name. His gaze had returned to the cold, empty look from before, like two endless, dark tunnels.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape's whisper-like voice clearly entered everyone's ears, like a sticky, damp, cold worm brushing lightly against your ear, sending a chill down your spine and making you want to slap it away. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really 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..."
His slightly ethereal voice drifted, Snape's murmurings filled with a dark temptation that seemed capable of pulling one into an abyss.
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—" Snape paused, his icy gaze sweeping across the room, "—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
The way Snape looked at them was as if he were looking at a group of idiots.
"Potter," Snape said suddenly in the silence. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"A simple version of the Draught of Living Death?" Harry, who had previewed and memorized his books well, only hesitated for a moment before standing up to answer. This wasn't a potion they were supposed to learn in the first year, but anyone who had carefully read 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' would have seen it mentioned in the section on asphodel root.
"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat. A bezoar is a powerful antidote to most poisons."
Snape's gaze darkened slightly, then he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. The properties are nearly identical. The roots and leaves are highly poisonous and have a certain restraining effect on werewolves."
"It seems your fame hasn't made you complacent," Snape said with a nod, his face expressionless. A flicker of satisfaction seemed to pass through his eyes. His pupils reflected Harry's image, reflected those emerald-green eyes.
"Very good, Harry. Ten points to Slytherin."
With a single sentence, Snape showed everyone his 'generosity'. But immediately after, his gaze fixed on the boy sitting next to Harry.
"I hope you all remember this humility. Now then—"
"If I were to ask you to brew a Draught of Living Death (the complete version), what would you do, Mr. Firenze?"
Snape's malicious gaze fell upon Ezio, a cold sneer seeming to play on his lips. "I've heard you have a prodigious talent. Is that true?"
"Simply put, you grind the asphodel root, add it to the wormwood infusion, heat and stir. Then, you add moondew and valerian root. When the potion turns tea-brown, you add the juice of a sopophorous bean. When the potion turns a light snow-blue, you stir counter-clockwise until it becomes a pale pink. Let it sit, then stir again, until the potion becomes clear and colorless. At that point, the Draught of Living Death is basically brewed."
Although it sounded simple, potion-making was highly dependent on timing and ingredient ratios. This simply brewed version of the Draught of Living Death would have a strong bitter taste; other ingredients would need to be added later to remove the bitterness.
"In fact, I have already attempted to brew it. Compared to other advanced potions, the Draught of Living Death, apart from being a bit time-consuming, is not very difficult. Could you help me evaluate the quality of my potion?"
Ezio reached into his waist pouch and took out a bottle containing about two hundred milliliters of a clear potion.
Snape's gaze became incredibly cold. He strode forward without a word, picked up the potion from the desk, uncapped it, and, wafting the fumes with his hand, took a light sniff.
"The ratio of asphodel root and wormwood is wrong. You added too little sopophorous bean juice. You heated it for too long. This Draught of Living Death is only effective for one week, and it has already expired."
As if he had the nose of a dog, Snape could smell the errors in the brewing process of this supposedly colorless and odorless potion with just a single sniff. His face held a trace of ridicule and a hint of disdain.
"You can't even follow simple instructions from a book. This shoddy piece of work is completely worthless."
"Then is it possible," Ezio said, looking at Snape coolly, not doubting for a second that Snape's assessment was genuine. It was nitpicking, one hundred percent, but the probability of it being a lie was very low. "That I produced such an inferior product precisely "because" I followed the book's instructions?"
Ezio narrowed his eyes, casting a provocative gaze at Snape.
"You said just now—"
"You will refer to me as 'sir' or 'professor' in this classroom," Snape interrupted rudely.
"Very well, Professor Snape," Ezio said, not bothered by the detail. "You just told all of us that Potions is a subtle science and an exact art. Then you must be able to enlighten me as to why, in either the Potions textbook or any other book on the subject, I cannot see any sign of this so-called subtlety and exactness."
"What is the ratio of powdered asphodel root to wormwood infusion? How much moondew is needed? Should the valerian root be powdered or chopped, and why is its measurement 'a sprig' or 'one root'? Doesn't the juice content of each sopophorous bean differ?"
"If Potions is an exact art, then why do none of these publicly available recipes have precise descriptions of the quantities? Wizards have always relied on experience and feeling when brewing potions. You have never quantified any of this."
"Even if we determine the quantities of various ingredients through experience, will ingredients of different qualities produce the same effect at the same dosage?"
"Perhaps you want to say, 'just do it more, practice more and you'll know.' But is that subtle? Is that exact?"
"You mentioned science just now, but let me tell you, this is not scientific. None of this is rigorous."
"In my view, Potions is the most scientific of all magic. Excluding the factor of some wizards' own incompetence, any person should be able to replicate the same result time and time again when making a potion, as long as they follow the correct formula and steps, rather than guessing based on feeling or estimating based on experience."
"What is 'a drop' as you say it? One milliliter or two? What is 'heating'? From what temperature to what temperature? Without quantification, Potions cannot be called subtle or exact at all."
"Would you like to see what real subtlety and exactness looks like?"
Ezio once again pulled a bottle of clear potion from his waist pouch. "The Draught of Living Death. After I quantified it according to a ratio I worked out myself, as long as one is not an uncoordinated idiot who can't remember the steps, the potion produced following this procedure will be identical to this bottle I made."
"The powdered asphodel root can be extracted using an ethanol solvent extraction method. After purification, we can obtain a high-purity, off-white crystal. Its ratio to the wormwood infusion is 1:115. The wormwood infusion is purified by distillation and diluted with eighty times the amount of water, then heated to 75 degrees Celsius. The moondew and valerian root can also be extracted using a solvent extraction method. Their ratios to the powdered asphodel root are 1:0.4 and 1:25, respectively. After mixing, heat to the critical boiling point of one hundred and fifteen degrees Celsius. Sopophorous beans do not yield juice easily; I used supercritical fluid extraction. By applying pressure and heat, carbon dioxide enters a supercritical state and dissolves the target component. The average extract from one sopophorous bean is 3.3 milliliters, with the optimal amount being 3 milliliters. The subsequent stirring process can be replaced by a centrifuge, which is more effective and faster. RPM 1500, in four intervals, six seconds each, followed by thirty seconds of rest. Magical energy needs to be infused throughout the entire process; this is currently the biggest difficulty."
"Just ten milliliters is enough to put an adult male into a stable, death-like super-deep sleep for sixteen hours. Compared to the top-tier Draught of Living Death I purchased from the best apothecary in Diagon Alley, this bottle I made is more stable in its effects. And after my repeated tests, different batches of the Draught of Living Death from the same Potion Master, at a fixed dosage, will induce a deep sleep lasting between seventeen to twenty-one hours."
"I probably don't need to tell you the name of that Potion Master, do I, Professor?"
"This is science. This is precision. Even if my formula is not the most optimal potion ratio, it can mass-produce a stable and consistent product."
"The current state of Potions is nothing more than the crude method of boiling pig feed in a cauldron. I see not a shred of so-called subtlety or exactness. From the materials to the techniques, you rely entirely on so-called 'feeling'. What's the difference between that and monkeys making wine by hiding fruit in a hollow tree trunk?"
"So this thing is a piece of rubbish," Ezio said, pointing to the first bottle of the Draught of Living Death he had taken out. "Are you going to teach me how to make this kind of thing in the future?"
The little snakes and lions, who were already completely baffled, stared blankly at the boy facing off against Snape. Their minds were buzzing. They understood most of the individual words, but when strung together, they couldn't understand a thing.
"The times are constantly progressing. We are now about to enter the glorious third millennium. I don't want to stand still and wait to be trampled underfoot as a stepping stone. So, as a professor, Mr. Snape, are you willing to lead by example and guide us to embrace progress?"
"OUT!"
Snape, his face as black as the bottom of a cauldron, pointed a finger at the classroom door. He looked at Ezio through gritted teeth. No wonder he had recently received several lucrative orders for the Draught of Living Death; so this was the source!
"Getting angry won't solve anything, Professor Snape." Ezio gave a slight bow. "I will be waiting for you at your office door after class."
"Let's go, Harry," Ezio said, beckoning to him.
"Oh... oh!" Although Harry didn't understand the situation, he stood up and followed Ezio instinctively.
"What do you think you're doing?" Snape narrowed his eyes dangerously, his killing intent almost overflowing.
"Teaching him what scientific potion-making is. I can teach everything up to the fifth year, maybe even the sixth. He's a smart person. Smart people don't learn stupid methods. That would waste his talent and make him dumber."
Snape was suddenly choked for words, watching helplessly as that bastard Ezio left the classroom with Harry.
"If any of the rest of you would like to leave, I will give you the chance." His gloomy, dripping eyes swept coldly across the room, scaring everyone into freezing stiff in their seats.