In Horace Slughorn's murky eyes, a glint of determination flickered intensely.
He slowly put away the invitation that Hermione had ignored, his plump fingers lightly stroking the edge of his ornate wizarding robes.
A collector's patience can sometimes brew a person's heart more effectively than the finest Potion.
The next day.
The Hogwarts Dungeon was always so cold and damp.
However, the first Potion Class of the new semester seemed somewhat heated due to Professor Slughorn's excessive enthusiasm.
Eerie blue flames burned beneath dozens of cauldrons, the air interlaced with the scent of crushed herbs and ground minerals; countless strange odors mixed and fermented, permeating every inch of the space.
Slughorn stood in the center of the classroom like a mountain of flesh.
He dramatically pointed to three cauldrons on the podium, each filled with a different concoction.
He cleared his throat and began his performative opening remarks.
"Veritaserum, Polyjuice Potion... and this bottle,"
He triumphantly held up a small glass vial, the golden liquid inside sloshing violently with his movements, as if it had captured a handful of molten sunlight.
"Oh, ladies and gentlemen, look! This is today's grand prize! Felix Felicis!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a chorus of gasps erupted in the classroom, and some students even stood up from their seats.
Everyone craned their necks, looking at the bottle of liquid with a near-greedy longing.
It shimmered with an incomparably seductive luster under the candlelight.
"That's right! Just one tiny sip will make everything go your way for the next twelve hours!"
Slughorn's voice was filled with a beguiling magic, "And this bottle of Felix Felicis will be awarded as a prize to the student who can brew the most perfect 'Draught of Living Death' today!"
Hermione's eyes instantly lit up. She subconsciously straightened her back, her fingertips lightly tracing the pages of her well-worn copy of advanced potion-making.
Her breathing became focused; this was the pride of a top student.
On the other side, Harry and Ron looked at each other, their faces written with embarrassment. They hadn't bought the book at all.
"It's alright, boys!" Slughorn waved his hand generously, "Go look in that storage cupboard; there should be some spare school textbooks there. They're a bit old, but better than nothing."
Harry and Ron felt as if they had been granted a grand reprieve, immediately heading to the dusty wooden cabinet in the corner of the classroom and rummaging through it in a flurry.
Ron pulled out a relatively clean one at random.
Harry's fingers, however, brushed against a textbook with yellowed pages and a cover that was nearly falling apart.
The moment he picked up that book.
Lia, who had been quietly napping by Hermione's bag with only her small head showing, gave a very slight twitch of her snow-white nose.
A familiar, strange scent.
An indescribably complex odor wafted from the open storage cupboard, like an invisible serpent slithering deep into her sense of smell.
In that scent, there was the smell of dust settled in old paper over long periods of time;
The faint botanical scent of various long-dried inks;
And the nervous smell of sweat and anxiety mixed from the touch of countless students over decades.
But at the very bottom of these odors, there lurked a very faint, yet extremely sharp and unique soul-aura.
With the Eye of Truth passively activated, in Lia's vision, a layer of grey-black magical resonance hung over that tattered book.
That aura didn't resemble any substance; it was more like the scent of a thought.
The thought of a brilliant person who was misunderstood by the world because they were too lonely.
It had slowly soured over the long years, like a lemon forgotten in a dark corner, gradually rotting.
It was Snape's scent!
"Alright, children, let's begin!" Slughorn announced enthusiastically.
Hermione immediately turned her attention back to her cauldron.
She strictly followed every step in the textbook, precisely weighing the Sopophorous Beans and carefully crushing them with the side of her silver dagger.
Lia watched quietly.
She saw Hermione's stable and orderly magic slowly pouring into the cauldron, resonating gently with the various medicinal ingredients.
The comforting scent unique to Hermione, a mix of bookishness and a faint fragrance, diffused outward. Lia took a deep breath beside her, intoxicated.
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