HP: Wormwood and Lightning Wood

After having dinner with Harry in the Great Hall that evening, West arrived at Snape's cellar door as promised.

He stood before the ancient, heavy wooden door, the bronze door knocker echoing dully beneath his fingertips.

From the cellar came Snape's deep, cello-like voice, "Come in."

West took a deep breath, rubbed his slightly numb ears, turned the cold metal doorknob, and opened the wooden door.

The first thing that catches the eye is a row of bookshelves filled with all sorts of magic books, scrolls, and parchment.

On the other side is the storage area for potion ingredients, where all kinds of potion ingredients are carefully preserved in glass jars and labeled accordingly.

The central worktable was piled high with crucibles, medicine bottles, herbal powders, and other such items, a dazzling array of bottles and jars.

Snape was grading papers at a relatively tidy table next to his workbench, his dark hair falling down smoothly against his cheeks.

"I'm assuming you can control your eyes and not look around?" Snape was still looking down at his paper, but he seemed to be able to feel West's gaze.

"Dean, is there anything I need to do?" West lowered his head, his long, thick, light red eyelashes casting a trembling shadow beneath his eyes.

"...Come here, sit down and write a 12-inch-long paper on how to concoct the Water of Life and Death—you can't leave until you've finished."

Snape picked up his wand and conjured a table and a chair, gesturing for West to sit down.

How do you prepare the "Potion of Life and Death"? This might be part of the sixth-grade curriculum?

West clicked his tongue in amazement, calmly sat down, and picked up the quill pen on the table.

Although he had read the Potions textbook several times, he only had a general understanding of it, which was still a bit difficult for him.

Never mind, let's give it a try.

As West recalled the steps involved in making the Water of Life and Death, he pondered how to begin writing.

As he put down his pen, a sudden, excruciating pain shot through his mind.

The color drained from West's face. He lowered his head, his fingertips gripping the quill pen were pale, and he endured the strange pain so that Snape wouldn't notice his abnormality.

It was as if a snake had crawled up his ear and into his brain, writhing and thrashing about inside. For no apparent reason, fragmented memories of making the Water of Life and Death flashed through his mind.

The pain gradually subsided. West's eyes widened.

What is this? How could he have such a memory? Why is he so familiar with the preparation of the Water of Life and Death? It's as if he created the Water of Life and Death...

With his mind racing, West wrote down the key points of preparing the Water of Life and Death in a flash.

He trembled as he looked at the words on the parchment.

The preparation process is more detailed than that in the textbook, and in some parts it is completely different from that in the textbook.

But West's brain was telling him with certainty that this was the correct procedure.

As soon as West put down his pen, Snape snatched the parchment from the table.

Snape looked tense as he finished reading the almost perfect paper.

Some of the improvements he made are similar to, or even more refined than, the results of his many years of practice.

"You've concocted the Water of Life and Death?" Snape's eyes were filled with undisguised amazement, but his face showed a hint of displeasure.

"...Yes, Dean." West lied without batting an eye—he wouldn't easily tell anyone, not even Snape, whom he trusted, before he had figured out the source of those images.

Unexpectedly, Snape's expression grew even colder. "What are you doing concocting this potion of life and death? Perhaps Mr. Potter remembers you're just a first-year student?"

West, recalling the effects of the Water of Life and Death, realized Snape had misunderstood and quickly added, "Professor, I was just curious; I have never used the Water of Life and Death."

In fact, this lie was full of loopholes, but as long as West didn't tell, no one could do anything about it.

Snape's eyes were fixed on West's face. Those emerald eyes were looking at him, filled with trust and respect.

...Trust? Snape even wondered if he was hallucinating.

All of Snape's students were afraid of him, and he didn't expect them to do anything to him, as long as he could complete his teaching.

Trust and respect were rare feelings for him.

Snape's pale knuckles curled into his palm, leaving crescent-shaped scratches on them.

He heard his own voice deliver its merciless verdict: "For unauthorized preparation of controlled potions and suspected theft of materials from the potion room, Slytherin will deduct twenty points from your score, and you... will receive an additional two weeks of confinement."

"Now, go back to the dorm."

West breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, Professor."

The cellar door slammed shut behind him.

West walked down the dimly lit corridor, finally having time to think.

When he was previewing the textbook, West felt that the knowledge was very familiar to him, but he never thought about why, only assuming that he had a good memory.

It wasn't until today, when that inexplicable memory surfaced, that West realized something was wrong.

It's as if his brain is a giant reader, where information is usually hidden in the corners and only appears when keywords are entered.

Unable to figure it out no matter how hard he tried, West decided to go back and get some sleep.

Back in the classroom and dormitory, West realized that Draco hadn't returned yet.

West casually asked Goyle and Crabbe, "Where's Draco?"

Unexpectedly, Goyle slowly said, "Draco and Weasley have arranged to have a wizard duel in the prize room tonight."

West's eye twitched. He had been feeling uneasy all night, thinking it was because of that memory, but it turned out to be Harry—that kid must have gone to the prize room too!

West had just sat down when he heard this and stood up again, ready to catch these disobedient brats, when he saw a dejected Draco walk in.

West looked at his pale face and red eyes, and asked softly (mainly wanting to know about Harry): "Draco, where did you go? Where's Harry?"

When Draco heard West ask him, he almost burst into tears. "It's terrible! I almost got bitten to death!"

He was furious and collapsed onto the bed, wiping away tears with his pillow. "It's all Harry Potter's fault! He led us into Cerberus's den!"

This brings us to the afternoon's flight lesson.

First, Neville had an accident; his broom went out of control and shot him high into the air. To be fair, Neville was quite lucky; from such a height, he only suffered a broken bone.

Mrs. Hodge had to suspend teaching and send Neville to the medical wing.

The conflict occurred during this period.

Draco picked up Neville's dropped Memory Orb and loudly mocked him, thus sparking a conflict between the two houses.

West stood aside, not wanting to get involved.

As a result, Ron and Draco started arguing. Although Harry was also a little angry, he held back and tried to mediate—but this only made Draco angrier.

He took to the air on his broomstick, shouting, "Come and get it if you dare!"

Ron was furious. He mounted the broom and actually flew up, albeit shakily—even though he couldn't even lift a broom before.

He gritted his teeth and shoved the broom at Draco.

Draco was also startled and a little scared, so he threw the memory ball away.

However, Ron completely ignored the memory orb and charged straight at Draco, causing both of them to fall to the ground.

Fortunately, they weren't flying very high, and West used a levitation spell to bring them to a safe landing.

Harry, meanwhile, rode his broomstick to chase after the thrown memory orb, only to be caught red-handed by Professor McGonagall who happened to be passing by.

McGonagall was furious. Because of the three's impulsiveness, she deducted ten points from Gryffindor and five points from Slytherin. However, because West saved Ron and Draco with a beautiful Levitation Charm, Slytherin gained ten points back.

McGonagall called Harry away.

Harry returned quite a while later, and vaguely told West that Professor McGonagall had put him on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as the Seeker.

West's eye twitched. Harry, with his physique, would be in serious trouble if he were bumped into—he couldn't understand what Professor McGonagall was thinking, letting a first-year student join the Quidditch team.

Are all the older students useless? Then the Gryffindor Quidditch team might as well just disband.

What West didn't expect was that Ron and Draco had arranged a fight behind his back.

Harry followed them to stop them.

What West found even more unbelievable was that Hermione Granger was also in their group.

The four of them were caught red-handed by Mrs. Lorris of Filch and, by some twist of fate, ended up in a room on the right side of the fourth-floor corridor.

"There was a drooling Cerberus inside!" Draco screamed. "It almost bit me!"

"Is Harry alright?" West frowned.

"Of course he's fine! He's happily back in Gryffindor with the Weasleys!" Draco grumbled intermittently, "I don't know what he's so excited about!"

West breathed a sigh of relief, then his face hardened. "Why did you go and provoke Ron, Draco?"

This little boy was spoiled by his family and always liked to cause trouble.

Draco felt even more aggrieved and a little angry. "He provoked me!"

"Didn't you mock Longbottom first?" West asked, somewhat exasperated.

"So what! Besides, Harry got the Memory Orb back!" Draco argued, not feeling he had done anything wrong.

"Don't you ever consider the consequences of your actions?" West didn't want to discipline Draco and Ron at all, but Harry often played with them, so he decided to discipline them all together to prevent them from recklessly provoking threats everywhere.

"What if you get caught by the dean while you're out at night? What if you really get bitten by a Cerberus? Don't you even care about your own safety?"

West's face darkened. "As the heir to the Malfoy family, if you can't control yourself, I'll have to ask the Dean to write a letter to your father."

Draco felt that West was not qualified to discipline him, but West's gloomy expression was almost identical to Snape's, or even more terrifying.

He was so afraid that West would tell the dean about it that he had no choice but to angrily pull down the curtain and refuse to speak to West.