The three waves of impact gradually subsided.
He still floated in that nothingness, but he no longer felt pain. The knowledge sat quietly in his mind, like furniture just moved into a new home—neatly arranged and waiting to be used. Physical strength flowed through his veins like a freshly cleared waterway: clear, unobstructed, and full of vitality. That feeling of being fast had become a part of him. It didn't require deliberate maintenance or active invocation. It was just there, always ready.
Then—
The nothingness dissipated, and he opened his eyes.
The Room of Requirement looked the same as before, but everything was different.
He could see more. Not "clearer" in a purely physical sense—though it was indeed clearer; he could make out the texture of every strand of wool on the tapestry.
He saw more things. Details previously ignored. Presences that couldn't be perceived before.
Leon pulled out his wand.
"Lumos."
The moment the spell left his lips, he knew he had succeeded. Not because he saw the light—he hadn't looked—but because he could feel the path of magic surging from his body, the angle at which the wand received the magic, and the exact moment the spell was about to take shape.
A ball of light ignited at the tip of his wand. Stable and bright.
He extinguished the light and raised his wand again.
The Levitation Charm. Wingardium Leviosa.
An empty flowerpot by the window gently rose and hovered in mid-air, completely motionless. He waved his wand, and the flowerpot spun once in the air, then again, before landing steadily back in its original place.
The pages of a book automatically turned in his mind—the knowledge from the Wizard's Practical Guide had merged with this new knowledge, and he could access it without even opening the book. He knew his spellcasting just now was flawless: the precision of the wand angle, the exact output of magic, and a level of concentration that had reached its theoretical peak.
He tried a few more spells.
Petrificus Totalus—a flash of light hit an empty chair opposite him, and the chair instantly stiffened, completely motionless.
Tarantallegra—the chair began to dance wildly, as if someone was tickling it.
Scourgify—a gentle breeze blew across the floor, sweeping up a few invisible specks of dust and sending them into the bin.
Every spell was a success. The casting process for every spell was clear and distinct, as if he had practised them thousands of times. He knew he hadn't practised them—it was given to him by the infusion just now, the so-called "completion of the first through fourth-year curriculum content."
He could even do this...
Leon waved his wand. First, a Levitation Charm lifted the empty chair into the air. Then, with a flick of his wrist, two Stunning Spells sent it tumbling twice. After that, a Full Body-Bind froze the chair, and finally, he followed up with a Reductor Curse, blasting the chair into powder on the spot.
"I am terrifyingly strong right now!"
In September at Hogwarts, even the dark waters of the Great Lake rippled with dark green hues in the morning light. However, in the Potions dungeon classroom, sunlight was never seen.
Leon followed his Hufflepuff classmates down the spiral stone staircase. The air gradually grew damp and cold. Torches flickered on the walls, stretching and shrinking their shadows.
The Potions classroom in the dungeon was filled with a mixed scent: dried herbs, preserving solutions, and an indescribable aura of centuries of history. Various biological specimens floated in glass jars lining the walls, casting twisted shadows in the dim light.
Following his habit from university, Leon found a seat near the back—easier to observe from there.
Around him, the students' faces were tense, and the sound of flipping pages was softer and faster than usual, as if they were afraid of disturbing something. Leon knew the source of this oppressive feeling—it wasn't the Potions class itself, but the black figure on the podium.
Severus Snape stood behind the podium like a giant bat with folded wings. His black robes were completely still. His sallow face looked even more gloomy in the candlelight, and his greasy black hair hung down the sides of his face, making those hawk-like black eyes look even sharper. He didn't speak, only slowly sweeping his gaze across the classroom.
Whenever he looked at someone, that student would instinctively lower their head.
But Leon met that gaze.
It was only for an instant, perhaps less than two seconds. But Leon clearly saw Snape's eyes narrow slightly—a kind of scrutiny, an instinctive suspicion, like a hound sniffing an unfamiliar scent.
Snape moved.
He stepped out from behind the podium, his black robes trailing silently behind him like a flowing shadow. The classroom fell completely silent, even the sound of breathing suppressed to the absolute limit.
"Today," Snape began, his voice low but clearly reaching everyone's ears, "you will be brewing—"
He drew his wand and gave it a casual flick.
The blackboard made a soft bang, and rows of neat, cold white handwriting instantly appeared on the previously empty black surface. The handwriting was as neat as printed text, but every stroke carried a sharp edge, as if carved with a knife.
"The Draught of Peace."
Snape turned around, facing a classroom of students holding their breath, and a cold, mirthless smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"A potion that frequently appears in the O.W.L. examinations. If any of you harbour the extravagant hope of achieving a decent grade at the end of your fifth year, you had better carve every word on this blackboard into your pitiful brains."
He slowly paced between the students' desks, the edges of his black robes sweeping the floor with a faint rustling sound.
"The Draught of Peace," his voice came from all directions in the classroom, seemingly omnipresent, "is used to calm and soothe feelings of agitation and anxiety—provided, of course, that you brew it correctly. If you are sloppy when adding the ingredients—"
He stopped beside a Ravenclaw boy, looking down at his trembling hands.
"—it will send the drinker into a heavy, and sometimes irreversible, sleep. I advise you not to treat your classmates as experimental subjects. Unless you wish to experience what it is like to be sent to Azkaban."
The boy almost knocked over the scales in his hands.
Snape seemed satisfied with this reaction. He continued moving forward, his black eyes sweeping over rows of nervous faces.
"The ingredients and brewing method are on the blackboard—" He made a gesture. "Everything you need is in the store cupboard—"
He flicked his wand again. The doors of the store cupboards at the back of the classroom popped open simultaneously with a click. Leon turned to look. Inside those tall wooden cabinets, various herbs, powders, and potion vials were neatly stacked. The labels shimmered faintly in the dim light—some on yellowed parchment, others faded red.
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