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*****
A rather uneventful Potions class had come to an end.
After witnessing Professor McGonagall's advanced Animagus transformation and Professor Flitwick's spell-casting techniques, this seemingly unchanged Potions class felt like it lacked, well… surprises.
Snape, however, was a surprise to Harry. Now that Snape was his godfather, Harry had been worried about him keeping that greasy, sallow face and unwashed hair. Honestly, the thought of having a greasy middle-aged man for a godfather was a bit off-putting. But now that Snape looked more like a cold, handsome man in his prime, it made Harry much more comfortable. One day, when their relationship was revealed, Harry knew having such a cool and formidable godfather would be something to boast about.
'Still, this Potions class is way too normal,' Harry thought.
Lost in thought, Harry slowly packed up his materials. Most students were already rushing off to the Great Hall for dinner, but he lagged behind.
"What's on your mind?" Snape hadn't left either. With the classroom empty except for the two of them, Snape's otherwise cold face showed a rare flicker of emotion.
"Oh, nothing," Harry snapped out of his thoughts and glanced around before looking back at Snape. "I guess I'm just… surprised."
There was no way Harry could tell Snape that, in such a strange magical world, this Potions class being so ordinary felt like the most unusual thing. If he said that, Snape would probably think he'd lost his mind.
"Was there something you didn't understand?" Snape's brow furrowed slightly. To him, Boil-Cure Potion was as simple as it got—a basic concoction even children could make. It was only used to help novice students practice handling ingredients. Brewing it barely counted as potion-making; it was just about tossing prepared ingredients into the cauldron and stirring.
"Uh, no," Harry shook his head. "The potion was pretty easy. I was just thinking…"
He hesitated, carefully choosing his words.
"I mean…"
"You think it's too easy, don't you? Not challenging at all?"
Snape, who had been frowning, now seemed to have a slight smile on his face.
'Of course! Harry's inherited Lily's talent completely! James Potter? That idiot better not have left anything for Harry!' Snape thought to himself as he imagined tearing James Potter's phantom apart.
Snape's chin lifted slightly. "How wonderful."
He sighed softly, as if recalling something from the past. He could almost see glimpses of a young Lily. Back when they first arrived at Hogwarts, he had once heard her make a similar remark.
Though Lily was Muggle-born, she excelled at every subject. Every professor adored the brilliant young witch. The stars were shining bright in those days, and the professors often praised her as a peerless talent.
"How wonderful, Harry."
Snape clapped Harry on the shoulder. His cold, stern face melted into a rare smile—one that no living person had ever seen.
The smile almost caused Harry to faint. 'What strange script have I activated here? Snape… smiling? Am I hallucinating? Is my life about to end?'
"Uh... um... godfather? Are you... okay?" Harry stammered.
"What could possibly be wrong with me?" Snape quickly wiped the smile away, his face returning to its usual unreadable state, much to Harry's relief.
"If you really think this is too simple, I should've realized sooner. With the talent you've inherited from your mother, Lily, you shouldn't be taught the same way as the other idiots."
"Let's see what you're truly capable of, Harry. Follow me."
Snape turned on his heel and led Harry out of the classroom. Not far from there was Snape's office, though calling it an office didn't do it justice. It was more of a luxurious—no, extravagant—Potions lab, beyond anything Harry had ever seen.
Behind a hidden door, concealed by a bookshelf, was a massive room, about five hundred square meters in size. Precise instruments were neatly arranged, and various odd potions bubbled away in small compartments made of transparent crystal. Directly opposite the lab, beyond a large crystal wall, was a potion storage area several times larger.
Through the crystal wall, Harry saw something truly staggering—a dragon, or at least half of one, as it had been dissected. Its scales had been removed, leaving only flesh and organs, making it hard to identify the species, but Harry was sure it was a dragon.
Even more shocking was the sight of a living giant. The creature had been dismembered, its limbs severed and its body submerged in a gigantic glass jar. Despite its lack of legs, the giant was still almost one-and-a-half times the size of Hagrid, its enormous fangs and single, massive eye marking it as anything but ordinary.
"That's a Norwegian Cyclops. Its eye extract is a key ingredient for farsight and x-ray vision potions, but it has to be harvested from a living specimen."
"A... living specimen?" Harry stammered.
"Yes, it's still alive. I've kept it in a nutrient solution, and it will survive for decades," Snape replied nonchalantly. "It took me quite some effort to bring it back in pieces. The giant's magical resistance is exceptionally high. These creatures can even withstand dragon fire. But fortunately, the spell I invented was specifically designed to handle such thick-skinned brutes."
Seeing the sparkle in Harry's eyes, Snape's lips curled into a smirk. "Want to learn?"
Harry nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, yes!"
"But it's dangerous. I'll teach you that spell later."
"For now," Snape continued, "let me show you what real potion-making is like, Harry."
Snape raised his hand, and a crystal wall slid aside, revealing rows of glass vials filled with various mysterious, magical liquids.
"I've told you before: spells can solve 90% of the world's problems, but the most difficult remaining 10%? The answer to them lies in potions."
"Spells can heal surface wounds, but potions can pull someone back from the brink of death. Even if half your body is blown apart, a single vial of ultimate life potion will regenerate the missing flesh."
Snape picked up a tiny vial, no bigger than a thumb, filled two-thirds with a thick red liquid.
"Just a small amount like this—drink it, and even Death himself won't be able to take you from me."
"Of course, potions aren't just for saving lives. Many things that spells can do, potions can do as well," Snape said. "But to achieve such mastery requires more than just study—it requires talent."
"Some people spend their entire lives only succeeding with the most basic potions. The vast majority of potion-makers in the world are average at best. Even here at Hogwarts, fewer than ten students a year make it into my advanced class on war potions."
"Because of talent?" Harry asked.
"Yes, talent," Snape nodded. "True mastery of potion-making is built upon extraordinary talent. Without it, no amount of effort will get you there."
"Your mother, Lily Evans, possessed that talent—far surpassing others."
"What about compared to you, godfather?" Harry asked, curious.
"Compared to me?" Snape hesitated for a moment. "Your mother was exceptional—far more so than most."
Though Snape didn't finish the sentence, Harry understood. Lily's talent was exceptional for a human, but it seemed Snape no longer even considered himself on the same scale.
"Harry, do you know what the most important talent for potion-making is?" Snape asked, shifting the topic.
"I... don't know, godfather."
"Knowledge can be accumulated, and experience can be gained, but there is one thing that a potion-maker can never obtain through hard work alone."
"Potion-making doesn't require wand-waving like spells or Transfiguration, but it demands a fine sensitivity to magic from the wizard."
"The process of stirring is just mechanical. The real essence of potion-making lies in using the wizard's own magic to blend and harmonize the different ingredients, unlocking their true mystical power."
"Now, let's see just how much of your mother's talent you've inherited."
With a wave of his hand, Snape summoned a worktable, placing an empty cauldron on top. Unlike the cauldrons Harry was used to, this one was a thick, cylindrical shape, made of transparent material.
Snape took seven differently colored potions from a nearby shelf and poured them into the cauldron one by one. As expected, there was no reaction. The seven distinct colors remained separate, each taking up its own space based on their densities.
A flame ignited under the cauldron, but even after heating, the potions stayed unchanged, refusing to mix.
Snape handed Harry a silver stirring rod. "Give it a try. Let's see how far you can go."
Even without Snape saying it, Harry understood what he needed to do. The key to potion-making was blending, and blending required a fine sense of magical control. The more potions he could fuse into one, the greater his talent would be.
'Although I have no idea what counts as passing,' Harry thought, sighing inwardly. 'I bet Snape's misunderstood something about me… Oh well, doesn't matter now.'
After shaking off his wandering thoughts, Harry took the stirring rod. For a wizard, magic is difficult to perceive. This power, ingrained in them from birth, becomes a kind of instinct. Often, wizards rely on a vague "feeling" when using magic, much like how a cook from China might describe their seasoning with terms like "a pinch" or "a dash"—expressions that defy precise explanation.
Quantifying magic has always been an unsolved issue in the wizarding world. If it were possible, it wouldn't be so difficult to establish standardized spell power. Every wizard's idea of what constitutes a "1" in magic varies.
Fortunately, Harry had a steady heart. As he began to stir the potion at an even pace, his brow furrowed as he tried to track the flow of his own magic. Then, slowly, he directed it through the stirring rod and into the cauldron.
For the first few minutes, there was little change in the cauldron. Only the top two or three layers of potion became cloudy. Snape felt slightly disappointed. When he had first taken this test, it had taken him less than two minutes to perfectly blend the potion. And if it had been Lily... well, he thought, *let's wait a bit longer.*
This kind of high-concentration activity was exhausting, but Harry wasn't unfamiliar with it. It reminded him of the time he had gone rock climbing without a harness. Below him was a steep drop of several dozen meters, and the crack in the rock he held onto was barely one or two centimeters wide. With all his weight resting on a few fingertips, his mind had been entirely focused on finding a way forward, driven by the resolve to reach the top.
With enough focus and patience, Harry began to sense the flow of magic more clearly. Though he couldn't fully control all the magical currents, he could now feel where the magic from the stirring rod was flowing.
Each layer of liquid had its own unique properties, and blending them required different amounts of magic and even specific flow directions.
As Harry began to grasp the method, he shifted from simply stirring to varying his technique. With changes in strength, speed, and direction, the top three layers of potion visibly began to merge. The fourth layer became cloudy, and even the fifth layer started to ripple.
Snape's gaze softened. Although Harry was slower than expected, this was his first real attempt at potion-making. For a beginner, even moving a little slower was understandable.
Sweat gathered on Harry's forehead, and his tightly clenched lips had turned pale. After successfully blending the fifth layer, Harry let out a tired breath and looked up.
"This is as far as I can go," Harry said, a bit embarrassed. "Did I disappoint you?"
"Not bad," Snape nodded slightly. He was being truthful. While Harry's performance wasn't extraordinary, his talent deserved at least a nine out of ten.
"I'm not just trying to comfort you. Being able to blend the fifth layer is worthy of nine points. If you could go further and blend the sixth, that would earn you a perfect score. Your mother was about at that level. But you're still young, and your magic hasn't fully stabilized."
"The sixth layer is a perfect score?" Harry put down the stirring rod, looking puzzled. "What about the seventh?"
"Oh, don't even think about that," Snape said, smirking. "The seventh layer is for scores out of a hundred. Ninety points would only get you to the seventh."
"Wait… what?"
Harry stared at Snape, not sure whether to laugh or be frustrated. Was this some kind of joke?
"Compared to the average student, your talent is impressive. If you can blend the fourth layer, you qualify for my elite class. And those who can blend the sixth layer—if they dedicate themselves to potion-making—could easily earn the title of Master in a few decades. As for the seventh..."
Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully. "There are probably only twenty-seven or so people in the world who can do it, half of whom are in their eighties or nineties. Though all of them are Potion Masters, the gap between their skills is vast. There's no point in comparing them."
"Every Potion Master has a specialty. For instance, my former teacher, Horace Slughorn, specializes in Blessing Potions. Even a Muggle, after drinking his potion set, could punch a thick-skinned giant to death in no time."
"???"
Harry's eyes went wide with disbelief. Since when could potions do that?
This world was already strange enough—he couldn't rely on his old assumptions anymore. He needed to rethink everything. Forget the past, Harry! Think of Super-Cat or Rat-a-Tat Wizard! This isn't the world you once knew!
Seeing the shock on Harry's face, Snape's lips curled into a slight smile. "You'll see it for yourself soon enough. The true brilliance of the magical world lies in the miracles brewed in a cauldron."
"And what about you, godfather?" Harry asked, finally forcing himself to accept this new reality. "What's your specialty?"
"War Potionry."
Snape didn't hesitate for a moment. "While I've delved into other fields, my true expertise lies in crafting war potions."
"I strip away all unnecessary effects and maximize the potion's potency," he explained. "Take, for example, the Ultimate Life Elixir. My version can regenerate a lost limb in fifteen seconds, four times faster than others. Though it consumes slightly more of the user's lifespan, on the battlefield, time is everything. If you take too long to heal, you might be dead—what's the point of saving your life then?"
"Of course, functional potions also see at least a 1.5x increase in effect. Take this Strength Unleashing Elixir, for instance."
Snape grabbed a small vial of dark brown potion from the shelf, casually opened it, and downed it in one gulp without even flinching.
In an instant, Snape's body began to swell dramatically. His already tall frame of 6'1" shot up by four or five inches, and his fitted tailcoat stretched to the brink of tearing. If it weren't for the high-quality enchanted fabric, his now much bulkier body would've ripped it to shreds.
"Even a regular person, after completely releasing their body's muscle restrictions, could punch with a force of 40 tons. After drinking this potion, the limiter on your strength is removed."
"But wouldn't that... kill you as well?" Harry stared in disbelief at Snape's inflated muscles, which looked ready to explode. He could practically feel the immense power barely contained within the now too-small clothes. No wonder Snape was in such good shape—was it all thanks to potions?
"No," Snape shook his head slightly. "Magic holds the power of miracles, and potions seal those miracles into a bottle."
"After drinking this potion, I can throw three punches—each with 40 tons of force—without causing irreversible damage to my body. However, most wizards who aren't specialized in war potions can only use the potion's effect once, and their side effects are often worse."
Snape squinted, then thumped his chest, coughing up a mouthful of dark brown liquid. As he expelled the potion, his body gradually returned to normal size.
"Still, throwing those three punches puts a significant strain on the body. While it won't kill you, it will drain your energy rapidly. If you don't replenish your energy quickly, after burning through all your fat, your muscles will start to break down."
"It's not bad to occasionally rinse your mouth with a potion like this. The ingredients that stimulate cellular activity and replenish the body can help maintain your health."
Snape admitted that potions had contributed to his physique, but he saw no downside to it. In fact, most Potion Masters took great care of their bodies, knowing that they would frequently test strange new concoctions on themselves. Though the results were usually not fatal, having a strong constitution certainly helped them recover more smoothly.
"So, what if Hagrid drank one of these?" Harry asked curiously. If an ordinary person's unleashed strength was already that terrifying, what about someone with giant blood like Hagrid?
"He could probably punch a dragon to death—or a giant," Snape mused, smirking slightly as he imagined the carnage. "Though it wouldn't just be killing—it'd be more like blowing them apart. A punch of two or three hundred tons isn't something that anything can truly withstand. Hagrid's physical strength is only about 10% weaker than a full-blooded giant. Honestly, I've never seen such a perfect giant hybrid before. Most don't have anywhere near his durability."
Shaking his head slightly, Snape added, "That big oaf is something of an enigma. I'd love to get my hands on him for some research."
Noticing Snape's eager expression, Harry quickly changed the subject. He held deep respect and affection for Hagrid, who had always been a true friend to him. No way was he going to let Snape use Hagrid as a test subject—even if Snape was his godfather.
"So, godfather, does that mean I can start learning war potionry from you now?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Now?" Snape shook his head. "You haven't even mastered the basics. Even if I wanted to teach you, you wouldn't be able to keep up. First, memorize those herbology references from your reading list: One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, The Identification and Refining of Crystals and Minerals, and The Complete Catalogue of Unconventional Magical Ingredients. These are the fundamentals of potion-making."
He continued, "Besides, every potions master is built on years of practice, brewing potion after potion. Talent is important, but effort is just as crucial."
"If you're truly interested, come by my office whenever you have time, and I'll give you extra lessons."
Snape glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. You'll miss dinner if you don't hurry. Off you go, Harry."
With a wave of his hand, the hidden door to the office swung open.
"Oh, one more thing," Snape added. He produced an old, thick book from somewhere, its gold-embossed letters faded with age. "You can take a look at this. It's a bit advanced for you now, but it'll give you an idea of what war potionry is all about."
"Thanks, godfather." Harry accepted the heavy book and took his leave.
"War potionry, huh?" he muttered to himself, glancing at the worn cover as he walked out of Snape's office.
Now this is the kind of potion-making that really speaks to me.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Harry quickly flipped open the book. The first potion that caught his eye was Plastic High-Energy Explosive Potion IV. According to the description, every ounce (approximately 28 grams) had the explosive power of seven stacked Confringo spells at full strength.
"What the—C4? No, even C4 doesn't compare to this!" Harry slammed the book shut, suddenly realizing he might have underestimated the content of war potionry. This stuff wasn't just dangerous—it was practically weapons-grade.
It seemed like his godfather's true calling wasn't that of a dark wizard or even a potions master, but more like a black-market arms dealer.
(End of Chapter)