HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 147

Chapter 147: A Winter with No Letters Sent​

The dungeons were always filled with the sound of young witches and wizards stirring, like snooker balls colliding. Occasionally, a cold voice would ring out. But more often, it was the soft hiss of ingredients hitting cauldrons, and the gentle bubbling as the cauldrons boiled.

Snape lurked in the shadows, and his long observation had taught him one thing: apart from a few specific areas, that fool’s talent was no different from the average, ordinary witch or wizard he had ever seen.

Amid the wisps of white smoke rising from the cauldron, he could not distinguish the subtle reactions between ingredients, nor could he sense the delicate nuances of flame licking the sides. He certainly could not judge the critical timing points when brewing potions.

In this respect, the only thing he could do was be meticulous.

Ha. If not for that meticulousness, he would probably be lying in the hospital wing by now.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]

Without the support of ritual magic, Shawn could only brew Apprentice-level Elixir to Induce Euphoria, but this was already a significant improvement over the past week.

It had been a struggle just to succeed at first.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]

Another Apprentice-level Elixir to Induce Euphoria. After several batches, Shawn paused to rest.

He was only a little proficiency away from unlocking Entry level, but Shawn was certain his magical stamina could not support him further. He pulled out a potion bottle and drank it under Professor Snape’s thoughtful gaze.

A warm current flowed through his body, and his exhausted mind began to recover.

He put the crystal bottle away. It was apple-flavoured.

Over the course of three months, with flying lessons and Professor Snape’s help in Potions, his magical power had returned to the level of a first-year student.

Compared to the days when even practising Levitation Charm would leave him drained, now he could cast silent spells repeatedly without tiring.

More importantly, Shawn felt he was approaching a crucial threshold.

Before, his body could only produce a trickle of magic, far below the normal level for a young witch or wizard. If he could cross this threshold, not only would his body recover, but his magical development would also return to normal.

All he needed—

A potion bottle appeared out of nowhere, landing in Shawn’s hands. He looked up, but Professor Snape’s face was hidden behind a sheet of parchment.

Shawn looked down at the potion. The crystal bottle was the same as before, but the potion inside was deeper in colour. Only one word was written on it: Drink.

Shawn did not hesitate. The potion—let’s call it Mystery Potion No. 2—was at least ten times more effective than the previous one.

The flavour was a rich apple.

Shawn felt a faint warmth spreading through his body. He felt as if he had already crossed that threshold. When he waved his wand and cast Lumos, the sound of Professor Snape’s roar echoed from outside the dungeon.

“Idiot! Contain your magic!”

Shawn silently lowered his wand, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Good news did not come alone.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Entry level. Proficiency +3]

Magical power clearly had a significant impact on a witch or wizard’s performance in all branches of magic.

[A new Potions domain title has been unlocked. Please check.]

Shawn looked down with anticipation:

[Title: Novice Potioneer]
[Greatly increases perception of potions; greatly enhances potion talent]
[Witch/Wizard Shawn, Potion Talent: Blue (boosted by Novice Potioneer title, original talent was White). Note: Typical witch/wizard is Green]
[Advance: Brew six Expert-level potions and six Proficient-level potions to unlock Expert-level title in Potions domain]

His talent had increased!

Shawn knew that the days of desperately searching for inspiration, the days of being cautious about every tiny mistake, the days of agonising over the timing and stirring technique, were behind him.

He could now be called half a potions prodigy, could he not?

Professor Snape’s gaze remained fixed on Shawn. He had felt the sudden surge in magical power—the fool had nearly lit up the dungeon with a hundred magical lanterns, and some ingredients needed to be stored in darkness.

At the same time, certain details kept swirling in Snape’s mind until they finally coalesced into a moment of error.

Late November in the dungeons, the chill had seeped deep into the stone walls. Snow drifted onto the castle’s edges, making a soft, soothing sound.

Shawn skilfully lit the cauldron, prepared the ingredients, added them, and stirred, waiting for them to blend.

He followed his unique intuition, constantly refining his technique as he brewed, and a quill beside him recorded his notes.

He now understood why Professor Snape was always so anxious and angry. Looking back, his own earlier attempts had been clumsy and often wrong.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Proficient level. Proficiency +10]

Perhaps it was the result of hard work, or perhaps it was luck, but Shawn’s face lit up with joy.

A Proficient-level Elixir to Induce Euphoria, even at the lowest resale price, was worth a staggering twenty Galleons.

This meant he was now capable of brewing advanced potions independently.

Compared to the days when even brewing Boil-Cure Potion was a struggle, he was hundreds of times better.

At the coldest moment in the dungeon, Severus Snape turned away, standing at the window and staring into the frozen Black Lake.

In the cauldron before Shawn, the last red flame sank into the ash, making a faint, sighing sound.

Professor Snape did not move. He watched his breath form a mist in front of him, then dissipate into the stagnant air of the dungeon.

It was as if he was waiting for something, or had long forgotten the very act of waiting. In this corner, shunned even by ghosts, only memories and the residue of potions remained, sealing certain wounds that would never heal, in weather below zero.

He thought it was only low talent, but his own potion talent was slowly revealing itself. In a daze, he could only think of one possibility:

Suffering had given him a feeble body, destroyed his natural talent, and frozen his magical power just above the passing line.

Compared to Shawn’s quiet excitement, Professor Snape remained expressionless. For once, he asked in a calm voice:

“Why are you not angry?”

Hogwarts’ snow fell silently onto the Black Lake, onto the Forbidden Forest, onto a long winter with no letters sent. And the snow fell thicker. The flames in the cauldron rose, occasionally making a soft sound. This winter, the snow seemed to settle on Snape’s rusted trachea and lungs.

His voice was like a train stopped in its tracks, the name in his throat lingering through the long winter.