"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 307: True Warriors
In front of a Muggle pharmaceutical factory, Professor Snape stood as ever—draped in his black robes, his presence brooding and cold. He said nothing, simply lingering on the sidelines like a slab of onyx, his very stillness chilling the air around him.
The young witches and wizards dropped their heads, each silently calculating how much of their Potions homework remained unfinished.
Only Harry dared to lift his chin, meeting Professor Snape's gaze—but to his disappointment, Snape wasn't looking at him. Instead, his sharp eyes were fixed on Douglas.
Truth be told, Snape had absolutely no intention of joining this excursion. But after relentless persuasion from Headmaster Dumbledore, and in the spirit of advancing the art of potion-making at Hogwarts and throughout the wizarding world, he—Severus Snape—had grudgingly agreed to set foot in a Muggle pharmaceutical plant, to witness and perhaps learn from their unique manufacturing techniques.
Douglas greeted him with his usual enthusiasm. "Good morning, Professor. Wonderful to see you here—uh, aren't you all going to say hello?"
The students, hearing Douglas's prompt, forced down their complicated feelings about seeing Professor Snape in this setting and mumbled their greetings one by one:
"Good morning, Professor Sn—Snape..."
Their voices were subdued and mechanical. Not a single one dared, or cared, to add "Wonderful to see you here."
Professor Snape stood there, his black cloak rippling faintly in the breeze, eyes sharp as a hawk's. He cast a frosty glance over the lackluster group, lips curling into a sneer:
"This is how you represent Hogwarts? I should have brought those well-trained, disciplined Slytherins instead. Given your performance—twenty points from Gryffindor, ten each from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw..."
Harry stepped forward without hesitation, eyes flashing with a defiant light.
"We're not at Hogwarts. You—uh, Professor—you can't take points off us here."
His voice trembled ever so slightly, but his resolve was clear.
Snape was unmoved. In fact, his sneer deepened.
"Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Potter. I'll simply deduct the points when we return to Hogwarts. Backtalking a professor—another ten from Gryffindor..."
Douglas rolled his eyes. He'd thought things would be easier with Sirius gone, but now he had Harry to contend with.
Suppressing a sigh, he shot Harry a look, then turned to Snape with a polite smile.
"It's getting late, Professor. Shall we take a look at the Muggle pharmaceutical process?"
He then addressed the students in a tone that brooked no argument:
"From this moment on, I expect you all to be at your sharpest—watch, listen, and experience everything. If you have questions, raise your hand. All right, follow me..."
Though Harry had been on the receiving end of a glare, he realized his own recklessness and quickly reined himself in—already wondering if he should start drafting his apology essay in advance, just in case...
The Muggle pharmaceutical plant had made thorough preparations for their visit.
The factory director personally welcomed them, assigning a knowledgeable, veteran supervisor to guide the young visitors through an in-depth tour.
For this venerable and highly respected company, such educational visits were nothing new. Every year, schools applied to observe their advanced techniques and management systems.
But this time was different. The request hadn't come from a school seeking collaboration, but directly from the government, requiring them to host a group of secondary students from northern Scotland. The staff were curious—after all, it was a long way to travel, and cities like Glasgow or Manchester seemed more logical choices.
Before entering the production floor, the supervisor led everyone into the changing room and handed out pharmaceutical-grade work uniforms.
Watching the students don crisp white coats, Douglas felt momentarily disoriented, as if he'd suddenly crossed from the magical world into the strictly ordered realm of Muggle pharmaceutical science.
Despite the supervisor's earnest explanation about the importance of these uniforms, Professor Snape seemed lost in thought. Though his expression betrayed no hesitation, his failure to start changing revealed his reluctance.
He stood there, expression unreadable, still clutching the uniform.
The supervisor began his introduction:
"To enter the workshop, you must first change into this protective clothing. It's highly anti-static, corrosion-resistant, and heatproof..."
He glanced at Snape's famously greasy hair, his lips twitching almost imperceptibly, and continued:
"The reason for this attire is, firstly, to prevent skin flakes—your body sheds a layer of skin every twenty-eight days, and these particles can contaminate pharmaceuticals. Secondly, there are particulate pollutants from the mouth, nose, and ears. Third, cosmetics worn by staff can introduce contaminants. Fourth, clothing fibers may contain residues that threaten drug purity. And fifth, most importantly, the cap prevents hair from falling into the products..."
Again, he looked pointedly at Professor Snape.
It was clear the supervisor was an old hand at this—he knew some people might be skeptical or resistant, especially those who looked a bit... unkempt. Especially this Mr. Snape, who seemed to exude a rather peculiar scent.
So he patiently elaborated, his tone both thorough and professional:
"Entering our high-precision, strictly regulated workshop, the first task is to change into this custom-made uniform. Its anti-static properties prevent minute electrical discharges from causing unexpected reactions. Its corrosion resistance protects you from chemical exposure. And its heat resistance ensures safety around high-temperature equipment or solutions..."
The young witches and wizards listened to the technical jargon, but the meaning was clear enough. They all turned to look at Professor Snape. Their own Potions classes were never this rigorous.
After all, who among them hadn't suffered the odd mishap during a lesson? If only they had protective gear like this—well, perhaps a magically enhanced version...
Neville fiddled with his uniform, thinking that if he'd had one of these, his Potions accidents might have been a lot less painful.
Snape caught their looks and sneered. He could guess exactly what was running through their minds. The very first draft of Douglas's "Potions Classroom Safety Standards" had included a section on protective uniforms—he'd personally removed it.
Only repeated, hard-learned lessons would teach them: carelessness in potion-making could harm others, but more often, it would hurt themselves.
The supervisor's gaze lingered on Snape's signature, oily black hair a moment longer, his lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. He straightened, launching into a meticulous explanation:
"Mr. Snape, you may never have considered this, but every detail in our pharmaceutical environment is critical.
We require all staff to wear these specially designed clean suits for several reasons:
First, human skin is a marvel of constant renewal—shedding and replacing itself every twenty-eight days. The sheer quantity of shed skin is staggering.
These tiny flakes, though invisible, can pose major contamination risks to drugs prepared in precision, sterile environments.
Second, we can't ignore the particles expelled from the mouth, nose, and ears. Saliva droplets, dust from breathing, even the tiniest bit of earwax—all can silently compromise the purity and potency of valuable medicines.
There are other factors too: fibers from clothing, body odors affecting drug composition, and so on—all accounted for in our strict dress code.
But the most critical point, and the reason I emphasize the cap, is that it prevents hair—a common contaminant in daily life—from falling into the production process.
Even a single strand can irreversibly damage a batch of high-grade medication."
As he finished, the supervisor's gaze once again locked onto Snape's greasy, slightly disheveled hair. The meaning was unmistakable: perhaps Mr. Snape should pay more attention to laboratory hygiene.
"Hiss—"
The young wizards all sucked in a sharp breath. The temperature in the room seemed to rise by two degrees.
Now that's a true warrior.
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