The underground classroom of Hogwarts Castle was cold and damp.
This was the domain of Potions. Glass jars containing all kinds of preserved animal specimens lined the walls, faintly reflecting the flickering firelight from beneath the cauldrons, lending the entire space an eerie atmosphere.
"…Add four porcupine quills, then heat the cauldron…"
"Remember, a low flame. If any of you possess a brain as dull as a troll's and use high heat, I assure you your eyebrows will be blasted off along with your foolish pride…"
A low, silken voice—sharp enough to scrape oil from the seams of one's bones—echoed through the classroom.
Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House, swept his obsidian-black gaze across the trembling young witches and wizards below like a bat patrolling its territory.
He was explaining the most basic of concoctions, the Cure for Boils, yet in his mouth it sounded like some world-ending forbidden potion.
The Gryffindor first-years sat in terrified silence, barely daring to breathe.
Yet in the most inconspicuous corner of the classroom, a handsome boy with black hair and dark eyes suddenly shuddered.
A torrent of memories from a previous life crashed through his consciousness like a breached dam, flooding his mind in an instant!
Lucian Thornwick!
He remembered now—he was a transmigrator from a blue planet in the twenty-first century.
This was… the world of Harry Potter!
And the caustic man before him was the deeply passionate yet tragic Potions master—Severus Snape!
"So… I really did transmigrate…"
The brief confusion in Lucian Thornwick's eyes swiftly gave way to profound clarity.
Along with his memories, an inexplicable and mysterious power awakened within him completely.
Heaven-Defying Comprehension.
In that instant, the entire world became utterly different in his perception.
The magical elements drifting in the air, the residual magic clinging to Snape's robes, even the leaping flames beneath the cauldrons and the intertwined magical properties of the ingredients within—none of their essence could escape his sight.
The obscure Potions terminology that Snape spoke sounded to him now as simple and direct as "one plus one equals two."
His gaze fell upon the open copy of Magical Drafts and Potions before him. With a single glance at the Cure for Boils recipe—
"…"
Lucian Thornwick shook his head slightly, a faint smile curving his lips.
It was riddled with flaws.
The neutralizing reaction between the dried nettles and crushed snake fangs was severely disrupted by the magical properties of the porcupine quills—flaw number one.
The viscosity of the juice from six shriveled figs would affect the dissolution of powdered horn of bicorn—flaw number two.
…
Seven logical and procedural flaws in total lay exposed before Lucian Thornwick's eyes on this textbook revered as gospel by the wizarding world.
At the same time, countless supreme insights into the art of Potions began to deduce, merge, and elevate themselves within his mind.
A new ability was born—Max-Level Mastery of Potions!
"So that's how it is. Potions, in essence, are simply another form of magic."
"And since it is magic, it falls within the scope of my Heaven-Defying Comprehension."
Understanding dawned upon him, confidence flashing in his eyes.
"Since I've come to this world, I wasted my previous life in mediocrity. In this one, I shall stand at the pinnacle of the world and uncover the ultimate secret of immortality!"
A clear goal took root in his heart.
And this small brass cauldron before him would be the first stepping stone in revealing his brilliance to the world.
"Potter!"
Snape's unpleasant voice suddenly rose, shattering the silence.
"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry Potter stood up, looking utterly lost, stammering without an answer.
A cruel smile curled Snape's lips.
"Clearly, fame isn't everything."
"Another chance. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Harry remained speechless.
"Five points from Gryffindor, for your world-famous savior."
The little lions groaned softly in despair as Snape announced the deduction without mercy.
The classroom atmosphere plummeted to its lowest point.
After thoroughly humiliating Harry, Snape declared:
"Now, begin brewing."
"I must warn you—follow every step in the book precisely."
"Any unauthorized modification could result in disaster. That will earn you a month of detention—or even expulsion from Hogwarts."
The chilling threat made everyone instinctively shrink back as they began carefully preparing their ingredients.
Lucian Thornwick, however, inwardly scoffed.
"Sharp tongue, soft heart. He's clearly afraid these kids will blow themselves up by altering the recipe, yet he insists on sounding so harsh."
As for Snape's warning, he paid it no mind.
A joke!
With his "Max-Level Mastery of Potions," would brewing a mere Cure for Boils possibly go wrong?
Impossible.
He frowned slightly at the error-ridden recipe on the parchment.
Brewing according to such a flawed formula was nothing short of an insult to the art of Potions!
Thus, while everyone else nervously or clumsily followed the textbook instructions, Lucian Thornwick moved.
Ignoring the very first step—"Add porcupine quills"—he instead picked up the dried nettles and crushed snake fangs.
With a speed nearly impossible to follow, he combined them in an unusual ratio.
Ron Weasley, who had been about to snap his porcupine quills, stared in disbelief.
"What's he doing?"
To Ron, this kind of subversive move was practically dancing on the edge of an explosion.
Potions was an extremely precise discipline. The slightest alteration could turn a cauldron into a volatile bomb.
Ron's face turned pale. Subtly, he dragged his stool several steps away to avoid being caught in the blast.
Harry, who had just sat down in frustration, also cast a strange look over.
They could almost foresee Lucian Thornwick being blown black and blue in the next second, then dragged off by an enraged Snape for a semester of detention.
"Lucian Thornwick, what are you doing? Stop!"
A deliberately hushed yet crisp and anxious voice sounded.
Hermione Granger.
She couldn't understand why this usually quiet and handsome Eastern classmate would suddenly do something so reckless and insane.
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table—
Draco Malfoy, who had been watching Harry, noticed Lucian Thornwick's actions. He immediately couldn't resist commenting to his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle:
"Oh, look at that Gryffindor fool. Who does he think he is?"
"Daring to alter a potion recipe at will?"
Low, malicious chuckles rippled through the nearby Slytherins.
Faced with Hermione's concerned warning and Malfoy's mocking ridicule, Lucian Thornwick remained unmoved.
His world contained nothing but the cauldron before him.
His eyes were focused and confident, as if he were not conducting a dangerous experiment but crafting a perfect work of art.
Time ticked by.
Several students' cauldrons began emitting foul green smoke; someone even let out a small shriek.
Those who had noticed Lucian Thornwick earlier couldn't help glancing at his unusually calm cauldron.
They were waiting.
Waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Yet just as everyone believed Lucian Thornwick was doomed—
A strand of pale golden light rose slowly from his cauldron, like the first ray of dawn breaking through the horizon!
The glow was soft and almost sacred, instantly capturing every gaze in the room.
Before anyone could recover from the strange sight, a refreshing fragrance—completely unlike that of the Cure for Boils—spread throughout the dungeon classroom.
It was fresh and elegant, like the scent of grass after rain mixed with morning dew. A single breath of it invigorated the spirit, dispelling all the damp chill of the dungeon.
Under everyone's stunned gaze, the murky potion in Lucian Thornwick's cauldron gradually changed color beneath his precise and graceful stirring, becoming clearer and clearer.
In the end, the entire brew took on the pure hue of melted sapphire. A faint, visible aura of magical radiance even shimmered above its surface.
Perfect.
"Hiss—"
All laughter and doubt vanished in an instant.
In their place came the sharp, collective sound of gasps filling the classroom.
Everyone was utterly dumbfounded.
This… this was brewing a potion?
That dazzling brilliance!
Every young wizard present—including Malfoy—stood there with mouths agape, eyes filled with indescribable shock.