"Emotions between people are never truly shared; at times, one may not even understand their past self from just yesterday."

  — Professor Severus Snape, from his book.

  When Snape id eyes on that potion formu, he was struck with the same speechless silence that Victor had experienced upon witnessing this world's form of divination.

  Potions could work like this?

  Could this method actually be effective?

  One could not entirely rule out the possibility, but even if the concoction Victor described truly existed, Snape refused to acknowledge it as a potion—because it neither produced the signature aromatic fumes of proper brewing nor contained any herbs.

  Snape even suspected that stirring blue cy for thirteen days would result in nothing more than a charred bck mess stubbornly sticking to the cauldron he diligently cleaned every day.

  As for the absurd list of ingredients, he couldn't even bring himself to comment. Just looking at them made him feel as if decades of meticulous potion research were being polluted.

  That formu’s retionship to potion-making was akin to how trickery differed from true divination, or how Dark magic was distinct from the defense against it.

  Yet, Victor continued speaking.

  "I assume you have some understanding of the properties of medicinal ingredients?" After gncing at the parchment for a moment, Victor said calmly, "This formu has a few minor issues. Its activity level is too high, often leading to explosions during brewing."

  "So I was considering whether substituting a mermaid's voice with a schor's voice might maintain a simir level of activity while making the potion slightly more stable."

  "Do you have anything comparable in potion-making?"

  Snape’s expression turned cold and hollow. He took several deep breaths before responding in a low voice:

  "In the field of potion-making, cauldron explosions are often caused by ingredient conflicts or contamination. If this mermaid’s voice you mention—"

  His expression grew even more disdainful, as though uttering the term itself was repulsive to him.

  "—if its extraction process involves steps that introduce impurities, such as exposure to seawater or soil, then yes, an explosion would be inevitable. Stimunt ingredients or those derived from living organisms are indeed more unstable than others."

  "But this isn’t absolute. The brewer themselves pys a significant role in the process. Some wizards are simply more prone to causing explosions than others. Perhaps it's coincidence… but I must say, it has far more to do with having eyes and not using them—like a certain Mr. Finnigan from Gryffindor."

  Despite his usual disparagement of Gryffindors, Snape’s words were otherwise quite useful. At the very least, they confirmed that Victor's proposed modification was pusible.

  Victor had never extensively studied potion-making before. Even alchemy was only a passing interest. Yet, in the weeks since arriving at Hogwarts, he had developed an instinctive feeling that he would make discoveries in this field.

  A diviner's intuition was rarely baseless. Even someone like Professor Trewney, whose Inner Eye was often clouded, could still vaguely sense changes in circumstances. Even her theory that "a noisy life dulls the crity of my vision" had a sliver of truth to it.

  "Well then…"

  Before Victor could continue his inquiry, Snape cut him off, unable to bear it any longer.

  "Go find Professor Pheromone instead," Snape said icily. "Potion-making requires precise processes and rigorous craftsmanship. My anecdotal insights alone are neither accurate nor necessary. I suggest you borrow Magical Drafts and Potions from the library and start with the basics."

  That was, in fact, a first-year textbook. But Snape did not explicitly state this, merely adding lightly:

  "As for anything else reted to that formu, do not come to me. I have no interest."

  His disdain for the formu was evident.

  Victor, however, merely folded the parchment neatly and tucked it into his pocket, then remarked with an air of certainty:

  "I think you’ll regret this."

  "I highly doubt that. What proof do you have?"

  "No proof is needed. My intuition is enough." Victor tapped his temple.

  "But if you insist… the pnet Mars is particurly bright tonight."

  "And what exactly does Mars being bright mean?"

  "Some things lose their potency when spoken aloud, Severus—especially astrological divinations. They require a degree of ambiguity to ensure that foreseeing the future does not cause adverse effects."

  "…So now we finally understand why centaur divinations are so maddeningly vague," Snape said with a touch of sarcasm.

  Victor, unfazed by the undertone, merely nodded at him and walked away. Snape was left seething, grinding his mors in frustration at yet another cryptic diviner. He scowled, limping away with a grimace.

  —

  In truth, the schor’s voice Victor had mentioned was none other than the one he had received from Hermione that afternoon. Her voice had been stored inside a stark white fishbone, which emitted a faint glow and a whisper of Hermione’s ethereal voice whenever one got too close.

  However, Victor had no intention of lingering near it.

  In fact, once the fishbone was brought back to the Divination office, every living thing in the room instinctively avoided it—because touching it would trigger an anxious voice:

  "Oh no, I haven’t even started my essay due in five days! Professor McGonagall is going to be so disappointed in me!"

  The next day, after unintentionally hearing it again, Victor sighed, locking the bone deeper inside a drawer alongside a pitch-bck gss jar, ensuring it was well out of earshot.

  But the true reason he kept it was that it served as a crucial ingredient in his pnned alchemical potion.

  The formu he had shown Snape was merely a small part of a grand alchemical ritual designed to create an immortal soul. Theoretically, even this fragment of the process could forge a vessel capable of housing a soul—representing the present.

  However, given the near 200% fatality rate of the ritual (historically, one alchemist had not only blown himself up but also inadvertently killed a thief attempting to rob his house at the time), Victor had never considered attempting the process himself. He wouldn’t even think of drinking the first batch he created.

  Instead, he pnned to visit the faculty lounge and consult Professor Pheromone, the Alchemy instructor, to see if this world had any useful magic that could help.

  The Hogwarts faculty lounge was designed for professors who taught in the main castle. Slightly more comfortable than their offices, it featured several armchairs, making it a popur spot for teachers to chat between csses. As Victor pushed open the door, he overheard a conversation just as he entered—

  "I heard Severus got bitten by Fluffy on the leg st night!"

  Professor Kettleburn, who had only one leg and one hand remaining, sat in an armchair, enthusiastically thumping his wooden limb against the floor as he spoke.

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