HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Ian was the first to rush into the dorm room, carrying the chill of the outside air and a bulging, heavy package.

"Hey! Severus! We're back! Look what my mom brought you—double-layered fudge and jam tarts!"

As he shouted, he shook the snowflakes off his body and then spotted the small bottle on his pillow.

"What's this?" He picked it up, looked at the label, and his eyes lit up. "Wow! You made this yourself? 'Resistant to burns from common magical plant sap'... How did you know I was splashed by Jumping Roots?"

He did accidentally burn the back of his hand with the sap when he was processing the tubers of the jumping root last time, and a small blister formed, but it healed quickly and he didn't pay much attention to it.

Severus looked up from his book, pursed his lips, and said briefly, "Just guessing." But his gaze drifted to the back of Ian's hand, which was now smooth and untouched, lying casually on the table.

Kevin and Aris returned one after another, and were overjoyed to see the gifts.

Kevin held the bottle of stimulant as if it were a priceless treasure: "Merlin! This is simply a gift from Merlin! I was so worried that I'd be writing that paper on medieval persecution in the history of magic forever!"

Aris was full of praise for the ink and parchment, and immediately tried it out. He found that it wrote smoothly and was easy to correct, and he absolutely loved it.

"Very useful, thank you. Did you adjust the formula yourself? Is the splash-proof property achieved by increasing the resin ratio and adding trace amounts of stabilizers?"

Severus nodded slightly.

Ian had already uncorked the bottle and carefully sniffed the light green liquid, which had a cool scent mixed with lavender and some kind of mineral aroma.

"It smells good," he commented, looking at Severus with a bright smile. "Thanks, Severus, this is much better than Honeydukes candy."

Severus didn't say anything, he just lowered his head again to read.

……

In the first week after the holiday, Professor Slughorn made an announcement.

"Students, in order to increase your interest in the art of potions—and of course, to encourage those young people who show special talent in potions—"

With his round belly protruding, his hands clasped in front of him, and a kind smile on his face, he said, "Hogwarts will be holding a potion-making competition for first- to third-year students in early March."

A slight commotion arose in the classroom. The Slytherins sat up straight, while a few indifferent murmurs came from the Gryffindors.

"Quiet, quiet." Slughorn waved his chubby hand. "The competition consists of two stages: a written theoretical exam and a practical exam. In the practical exam, participants must independently complete a designated potion within a specified time—one that is appropriate for their grade level, of course. And the final winner..."

He paused deliberately, "You'll receive a special 'Potion Nova' badge, and—more importantly—the qualification to join the Slug Club!"

This time the commotion was even bigger. The Slug Club was synonymous with Professor Slughorn's private gatherings, and the invitees were all students from prominent families or with exceptional talents.

For Slytherin, it was not just an honor, but a symbol of status.

Severus tightened his grip on the quill, his face expressionless, but his dark eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at Slughorn, who was smiling on the podium.

"Those who are interested, please give your names to your respective prefects by Friday," Slughorn concluded, clapping his hands. "Alright, now please open your textbooks to page..."

The bell rang, and the students poured out of the classroom.

The corridor was filled with the constant buzzing of discussions about the competition.

"You're definitely going to join, right?" Kevin leaned closer to Severus, his eyes shining. "The Slug Club! My dad said he was desperate to get in when he was in school. Professor Slughorn always has the newest candies and the best connections—"

"Quiet, Kevin." Ian nudged him lightly with his elbow, his gaze sweeping over Severus's expressionless profile. "Whether he goes or not is his own business."

"If you only look at the results, joining that club is definitely a win," Aris said calmly. "You'll have resources, knowledge, and connections, but... you'll be watched more closely."

Severus did not answer immediately.

He held his books, his steps unhurried, his dark eyes lowered, as if he were deep in thought.

Only when they turned the corner at the top of the stairs leading to the cellar did he speak in a low voice: "I need that badge."

It wasn't "I want to go," but "I need to." Ian understood the difference.

For Severus, it wasn't a matter of interest or honor, but something more practical—a proof, a stepping stone, and perhaps even a layer of protection.

"Then go get it." Ian said casually, as if he were saying "go get a book." "The written test is as easy as breathing for you, and the practical test... well, you're always at the Room of Requirement, so the materials are readily available."

Kevin nodded repeatedly: "Exactly! And we can all help—uh, I mean, lend a hand! Aris can help you look up information, and I can… I can help you deal with those disgusting things! Like slugs!"

Severus glanced at them, his lips twitching slightly. "No need," he said, his tone less icy than usual. "I can manage on my own."

But for the next few weeks, the potions table in the Room of Requirement was almost never cold.

Severus's time was divided into more precise blocks: attending classes, completing assignments, researching in the library, and then practicing several potions that might be chosen as competition items in his secret base.

Ian noticed that he wasn't just practicing the standard steps in the textbook. Some materials required more refined processing, some required more subtle control of heat, and he even made dense annotations and comparisons on parchment regarding the number of turns and direction of stirring.

"Are you improving the recipe?" One Friday evening, Ian approached the workbench and watched Severus use a silver knife to slice the sleep beans into almost perfectly uniform slices.

Severus grunted in agreement, his hands continuing their work. "The standard-bearing water of life and death, its quality fluctuates between 'passable' and 'good'."

"Slughorn likes things to be perfect." Ian said knowingly, picking up an empty bottle from the side and examining it against the light. "Do you need me to get some more evenly distributed moongrass? The ones in the greenhouse have been given too many growth spells, and the sap in their stems isn't distributed very evenly."

Severus stopped what he was doing, glanced at Ian, and said, "...Thank you."

Ian waved his hand and turned to look at his plants. The peppermint had grown into a lush clump, the rue had bloomed with tiny yellow flowers, and the tubers of the jujube plant had bulged out of the soil in several small buds.

He carefully watered them, and then recited a spell to adjust the posture of one of the rue plants that was growing a little crooked—the spell had little effect, and the plant just lazily moved a little.