The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

However, when Snape reached Lyria, he unusually stopped.

Liria's approach was quite peculiar—she didn't even touch the gleaming silver potion knife.

While the other students were frantically trying to deal with the hard, slippery porcupine quills with their blades, she simply lowered her eyes slightly, extended her right index finger, and gently touched the tip of one of the porcupine quills.

In an instant, a wisp of almost invisible white mist seeped from her fingertips, quickly enveloping the entire thorn-like object. It was not ordinary water vapor, but a chill with a magical rhythm, as if the quietest frost of a winter night had silently descended.

Within seconds, a layer of crystal-clear ice forms on the surface of the porcupine quills, instantly freezing and brittlening the originally flexible fibrous structure.

Her movements were as light as snapping a dry reed. With a crisp "snap," the porcupine quill split neatly into three pieces, each piece of the exact same length, with a smooth, mirror-like cut.

Snape observed in silence. Lyria remained unfazed by his approach, continuing to process the herbs at her own pace, as if the professor's presence were nothing more than a stone in the corner.

Snape raised his hand and gently picked up a frozen porcupine quill with the tip of his wand.

The ice melted rapidly under his magical touch, revealing the dry but undamaged plant fibers underneath. He narrowed his eyes and rubbed them between his fingertips—the texture was easier to crush than at room temperature, but if properly controlled during the cooking process, it could be prevented from collapsing due to water absorption and expansion during subsequent boiling.

He quickly deduced in his mind: if the boiling was completed before adding the caterpillar juice, the residual coldness would slightly slow down the reaction, but it would actually help the medicine to be released slowly...

He raised his head, his gaze sharp as a knife, trying to pierce through the hood to see Liria's face. Liria kept her head down, the shadow of the cloak concealing her completely.

Finally, Snape straightened up, his black robes fluttering slightly. He didn't deduct points, didn't make sarcastic remarks, and didn't even point out the "violation of rules."

He simply stared in Liria's direction and uttered two words in a low, slow, almost monotone voice:

"interesting."

However, the other students weren't so lucky; Snape turned on his hairdryer mode again.

John Nash of Ravenclaw, due to nervousness, dropped two extra drops when adding the caterpillar juice.

Snape appeared immediately behind him, his voice low and almost forced out through clenched teeth: "Mr. Nash, it seems your fingers, like your brain, aren't quite on your guard. Ravenclaw, another point deducted. If your potion turns into poison, I'd be happy to send you to Mrs. Pomfrey's office for clinical trials."

John was so startled he nearly knocked over the crucible, and his movements became even more unsteady.

The worst off was Justin Finley. He stirred it in the wrong direction—counter-clockwise instead of clockwise.

Snape stood behind him and said coldly, "Mr. Finley, are you trying to summon a boil demon to play with you? Your potion smells like stewed slugs in stinky socks. Hufflepuff, three points deducted. Stay after class, clean up your 'masterpiece,' and redo it."

Justin was almost in tears. A Muggle-born student who had always excelled academically, he had never encountered such a strict teacher before.

As time passed, the liquid in Julien's crucible gradually took on its proper pale purple luster and emitted a refreshing aroma reminiscent of a blend of lavender and mint.

Julien carefully added the last ingredient—crushed snake tooth powder—and stirred it clockwise with a silver stirring rod at a speed of seven revolutions per minute.

This is the most crucial step; if you're not careful, the entire pot of medicine will turn black and smell bad. Even more importantly, you have to stir it while simultaneously controlling the heat.

He held his breath, completely focused. Snape had somehow moved behind him again, observing him silently.

The liquid in the crucible foamed up as it was stirred. When the liquid darkened in color, Julien would gently lift the crucible away from the flame.

After several cycles of this process, the color changed from light purple to a crystal-clear pale blue, and finally stabilized at an almost transparent pearly luster—the perfect state for a boil treatment.

Julien then turned off the fire, wiped the sweat from his brow, and let out a long sigh of relief. Only then did he realize that Snape was standing behind him.

Snape's brow twitched slightly. He extended his wand and gently tapped the edge of the cauldron.

A drop of potion flew up, condensing into a tiny bead in the air, emitting a soft glow. He sniffed it, then dipped the tip of his wand in it and tasted it on his tongue.

The entire classroom was completely silent. Everyone held their breath, as if awaiting judgment.

Snape put down his wand, glanced expressionlessly at Julien, then turned and walked back to the podium. No one knew what he was thinking.

The bell rang, and Snape stood at the front of the class, summarizing in his signature, soul-chilling voice: "Overall, today's potion barely met the standard of 'not enough to kill.' Of course..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Yu Lian again. "Mr. Black's operation was passable. That's all. Go back and each of you write a paper on the application of joint potion devices. Three feet long, due next week."

After saying that, he waved his wand, and all the cauldrons were automatically cleaned. Then he strode out of the classroom, leaving behind a group of young wizards who had survived the ordeal.

"My Merlin!" Kayson slumped in his chair, dramatically wiping imaginary cold sweat from his forehead. "I thought I was going to be turned into another specimen! I almost mistook a porcupine quill for a dried nettle! Thank goodness it didn't explode!"

"He actually praised you, Julien!" Edgar exclaimed incredulously. The other young wizards also looked at Julien.

Has he ever praised anyone?

"'Passable'! In Professor Snape's words, that's practically 'flawless'! Do you know when the last time he called someone 'passable' was? Apparently, it was five years ago."

Julien smiled and packed his things. He knew that behind Snape's "qualification" lay a complex emotion towards his eyes, as well as a hint of recognition of the potion-making talent he had displayed.

Although the Potions class was thrilling, it was also quite rewarding. Three books appeared in the Magic Resonance Library in his mind: "Non-Standard Potion Processing: From Frost Slices to Moonlight Extraction", "The Shadow of Slytherin: On Prejudice and Truth in Potions", and "The Silent Cauldron: On the Role of Emotional Values ​​in Potion Making".

Before the start of the semester, his library had already compiled a book called "Basic Potion Making," which was more detailed than the Hogwarts textbooks. The so-called observation of the texture of potion ingredients all came from this book.

The three books that have now appeared are clearly advanced versions. The third one is not yet ready for reading.

He looked up at the classroom door, but Snape's black figure had already disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Julien thought to himself: This greasy, bat-like professor might not be as scary as he seems. At least, he'll still make an exception for truly talented people.

At that moment, Liria walked over, a faint smile appearing beneath her cloak: "Your potion is perfect."

Julien was somewhat surprised: "Yours is good too. I just saw your finished product. Have you processed magic potion ingredients before?"

"Well, I deal with herbs a lot in the tribe, so I only know a little bit," she said softly. "Especially... those parts that require 'unconventional methods' to complete."

The two looked at each other and smiled.

Meanwhile, at the far corner of the corridor, Snape leaned against the cold stone wall, his fingers unconsciously stroking his wand.

He gazed at the gray sky outside the window and murmured softly, "Lily... your nephew has inherited your eyes, and... your talent."

His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, yet it carried a fleeting, almost imperceptible tenderness, which vanished in an instant before being covered again by that thick layer of ice.