"That was horrible," said Neville, his voice much higher than usual, still shaken. "Did you feel how cold it got when that thing came in?"
"I felt weird," said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful again..."
Ginny was huddled in the corner, trembling uncontrollably, hugging her knees and sobbing softly. Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around her.
"Ginny, if you don't like chocolate, you can try this."
Marcel took out another small bottle, which contained a small amount of a whitish liquid. It looked like watered-down milk, but just looking at it, everyone felt a trace of warmth.
Ginny certainly felt it too. She looked up at Marcel and said timidly, "Can... can I?"
"Of course, you'll feel much better after drinking it," Marcel said, handing the bottle to Ginny. "You only need to drink a tiny bit, a small sip the size of your fingernail."
"This looks like it must be very precious. Is it a new potion you invented?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Oh, yes," said Marcel. "Well, I mean it is quite expensive, but it's not really a potion—it's not made by brewing."
"Oh—I've been meaning to ask—" Harry couldn't help but say, "Marcel, what do you keep in your robes? It's like a storage cabinet full of all kinds of potions!"
Marcel shrugged. "That's my secret."
As they were talking, Ginny tremblingly uncorked the bottle and carefully took a small sip.
Instantly, she clearly felt a warm current flowing down her throat, which then spread instantly in her stomach—her mood improved incredibly.
"Oh—I feel happy," Ginny said with a smile on her face, but then her face soured again. "But it tastes really bitter..."
She re-corked the bottle, intending to return it to Marcel, but he waved his hand.
"You can keep it. Use it for someone who needs it," he said casually.
"Oh—thank you," Ginny said, nodding gratefully. "But I think it's best not to drink it a second time."
"Has she become a little more cheerful?" Ron said, looking at Ginny strangely.
"It's only temporary. When the effect wears off, she'll return to her normal state. Well... it probably only lasts for two or three minutes."
A little while later, Professor Lupin returned.
He paused as he came in, looked around, smiled slightly, and said, "I haven't poisoned the chocolate, you know..."
As he was speaking, his gaze was drawn to the potion bottle in Ginny's hand.
"Oh, what's this?"
"Just milk with Chizpurfle fang solution," Marcel said casually.
"That's very nice..." Lupin's mouth twitched.
Although it sounded simple, the ingredient "Chizpurfle" was not cheap. Chizpurfle fang solution alone could have a similar effect to the advanced "Elixir to Induce Euphoria," and it wouldn't have the side effect of singing and dancing.
"...Alright, we'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," said Professor Lupin. "Are you all feeling better?"
They didn't talk much for the rest of the journey.
Finally, the train stopped at Hogsmeade Station. It was a real rush getting off: owls hooted, cats occasionally joined in the fun, and even Neville's pet toad croaked under his hat.
The small platform was already icy, and a cold rain was pouring down.
"First years over here!" a familiar voice called.
Hagrid had bent down and emerged from the train. He was now waving to the bewildered new students, about to lead them on the traditional journey across the lake.
"Alright, you three?" Hagrid shouted over the many heads. Harry and the others waved to him, but they didn't have a chance to talk to him because the people around them were pushing them forward along the platform.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the other students up a rough, muddy path.
There, at least a hundred carriages were waiting for the remaining students, each pulled by an invisible horse—Harry could only assume, because as soon as they had climbed into a carriage and closed the door, the carriage began to move on its own.
The carriage bumped and swayed along. Inside, there was a faint smell of mildew and dry straw.
The carriage rumbled forward, towards a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates, flanked by many stone pillars topped with small sculptures of winged boars.
They saw two more tall, hooded Dementors standing guard at the gates. As they slowly approached, another wave of cold seemed to sweep towards them.
"They're all hiding under cloaks, so it's impossible to tell which is which..." Marcel thought, looking at them.
The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping driveway, all the way to the castle. Hermione leaned out the window, watching the many turrets and towers gradually approaching them.
Finally, the carriage swayed to a stop, and everyone hurried off.
Then they saw a person standing on the stone steps leading to the castle.
"Maclean, come here for a moment."
It was Snape. His face was as sour as ever. He didn't look at anyone else, just said this to Marcel, then turned and walked into the castle.
Marcel was taken aback for a moment, said goodbye to Harry and the others, and then hurried after him.
In Snape's office.
"Professor, is there something you need?" Marcel asked.
"Wolfsbane Potion, do you know it?" Snape asked directly.
"Oh, yes—" Marcel paused. "Professor Lupin needs it. Am I to prepare it?"
This time it was Snape's turn to be taken aback.
"You know he... well, you can brew Wolfsbane Potion?" he asked, looking at Marcel dubiously. "What's the success rate?"
Although Snape was a little curious about how Marcel knew Lupin was a werewolf, he was more concerned about the preparation of the Wolfsbane Potion. Its brewing difficulty was not ordinary.
"It should be around eighty percent. I'll have to try it to know for sure," Marcel said frankly.
"Mmm..." Snape frowned and considered for a moment, then said, "Then you try it first. You should know the dosage time for the Wolfsbane Potion. It must be prepared before then."
Marcel nodded to show he understood.
It was Dumbledore's idea to give this task to Marcel, and Snape hadn't objected. It was just that he had originally planned to demonstrate it to Marcel first. Who knew that Marcel's progress in Potions would be so fast.
Last term, Marcel had been keeping a low profile at school, and his interactions with Snape on Potions had been much less. But he had not expected that even when Marcel was just doing research on his own, he had made rapid progress that was difficult for ordinary people to achieve.
It could be said that Marcel's talent and diligence in magic were really not something ordinary people could learn.
But how could Snape know that there was a deeper reason hidden in this, which even Marcel himself had not noticed at all.
After the matter was settled, Marcel took his leave, intending to go to the Great Hall to see if he could still catch the Sorting Ceremony, but Snape called him back.
"Is there anything else, Professor?"
Snape looked at him impatiently. After a short while, he finally said.
"If you have time, keep an eye on Potter," he said reluctantly, and then specifically added, "...This is Dumbledore's idea."
"Alright, Professor."
One after the other, the two walked quickly towards the first floor.
The Great Hall was a sea of pointed black hats. Every long table was filled with students, their faces glowing in the light of thousands of candles floating in midair above the long tables.
Professor McGonagall was walking towards the center of the stage with an old hat and a three-legged stool.
"I made it in time, but..." Marcel shook his head faintly. "I have to listen to the hat sing again..."
The new students at Hogwarts had to wear the Sorting Hat to decide which house they should go to. The hat would shout out the house they were most suited for. But it always had a bad habit—it always liked to sing about the qualities of each house in a strange tone, and would insert a few messages that it thought were very interesting.
When Marcel and Snape walked in together, everyone's eyes turned to them.
Marcel politely bowed his upper body slightly as a sign of respect, but Snape never bothered with these things. He strode towards the empty seat at the staff table.
"Hey—Marcel! Over here!"
At the Hufflepuff table, a beautiful girl with long blond hair was waving at him—it was Charlotte Witt, a senior.
"Good evening, senior," Marcel walked over and sat down in the empty seat she had saved. "Congratulations on reaching your seventh year. You'll be graduating soon."
"Don't mention it! I don't even know if I can pass the N.E.W.T.s!" Charlotte said with a sad face. "They're really 'Nastily Exhausting'!"
"Is there any difficulty? Perhaps I can help you with something..."
Just as the two were chatting casually, Professor Dumbledore stood up to speak, and the Great Hall immediately fell silent.
Although Dumbledore was very old, he always gave the impression of being full of energy.
His hair and beard were several feet long, he wore half-moon glasses, and his nose was very hooked. People often said that he was the greatest wizard of the day, but that was not the only reason people respected him.
Even Marcel had to admit that this elderly white wizard had an innate affinity. You couldn't help but like him.
"Welcome!" said Professor Dumbledore, the candlelight making his white beard shine. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all..."
"And one of them is very serious. I think it is best to get it off my chest before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."
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