Chapter 126: Oh Heavens!
Ron "urped" and vomited another glob of mucus.
The fishy smell of stomach acid almost suffocated him.
Dylan retreated another step, covering his mouth and nose, and flicked his wand gently.
"Ventus!"
In an instant, a gust of wind swirled up, dissipating the strong, foul odor that permeated the corridor.
"What happened to you guys..." Dylan blinked, suddenly remembering that on a certain day after the start of their second year, Ron had another run-in with Malfoy and his cronies.
Ron had tried to cast a curse on them but failed.
His broken wand had instead caused the curse to backfire on himself.
Dylan knew about this incident, but he wasn't Ron and Harry's babysitter. He couldn't follow them around every day, so naturally, he couldn't always be there to help when they got into trouble.
However, at the beginning of the school year, he remembered warning Ron not to provoke Malfoy and his gang again.
They were all students. If they encountered any problems, they could just drag out the other person's ancestors for eight generations and curse them out. There was absolutely no need to resort to physical violence.
But judging from the current outcome, it was clear that Ron hadn't taken his words to heart at all—even though he had agreed vehemently at the time.
Since he didn't heed the advice, he could only bear the consequences he deserved.
However, out of concern for his friends, after Hermione and Harry explained the whole story in turns.
Dylan pondered for two seconds and then said, "How are you feeling now? Still nauseous?"
Hearing this, the pained expression on Ron's face faltered, and a question mark popped into his head.
Can't you see how uncomfortable I am?
But before he could reply, Ron felt a rumbling in his throat and immediately hunched over.
Harry, who had missed catching the previous one, reacted this time and quickly held out the large bucket in front of Ron.
"Ugh—"
Ron vomited again.
A large, slimy slug slid into the bucket.
Hermione looked puzzled. "Didn't it seem to get a little better just now? How come you suddenly vomited three times in a row?"
Harry still held out the bucket, keeping it steady. "Professor said there isn't a very good way to solve this kind of curse. Once he's thrown up enough, as long as he stays calm, he won't keep vomiting."
Hermione blinked and asked considerately, "Ron, try to stay calm, you'll be better soon."
Ron looked pale. "Dylan, can you help me?"
Dylan clicked his tongue. "You guys just came out of Professor Flitwick's office, right? If the professor couldn't do anything, then of course I'm out of ideas too."
The Slug-vomiting Charm and the Bat-Bogey Hex had a similar principle.
One could make a person vomit shiny slugs, while the other could turn a person's boogers into large black bats that would fly out of their nose.
For the former, slugs would appear in the victim's body the moment they were cursed. The existing slugs couldn't disappear into thin air; they could only be vomited out.
For the latter, the Bat-Bogey Hex didn't just rely on whether the target had boogers.
From the perspective of magical compulsion, the magic of the Bat-Bogey Hex would forcibly transform some substances in the target's nasal cavity into black bats.
—Boogers were just the most suitable substance for transformation.
Hearing that even Dylan had no solution, Ron closed his eyes in despair.
Dylan looked at his appearance and shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to help, but curse backfires can produce unpredictable effects that are difficult to resolve."
Curse backfire referred to when a spell went wrong, producing unexpected effects or presenting a spell opposite to the intended result.
—Including when the original spell's power ultimately rebounded on the caster.
For example, using the Engorgement Charm, the target object might not enlarge but instead shrink, or even the caster themselves might swell up.
Or using a healing charm might not heal the injury but instead worsen the symptoms.
In severe cases, it could even trigger completely unrelated but extremely dangerous situations.
Like explosions, releasing other unexpected magical energy or creatures, etc.
Dylan and Professor Flitwick had discussed curse backfires in depth last semester.
And it was precisely because the magical power caused by curse backfires was completely different from normal spellcasting that the original counter-curse would lose its effect.
At such times, one could usually try using a Finite Incantatem to see if it could dispel the spell's influence.
However, the Slug-vomiting Charm was quite special, as it also involved aspects of transfiguration of living things.
For example, the slugs that had already been summoned by the spell couldn't simply disappear because of another spell. The only way was to vomit them out.
Dylan thought for a moment, then said to Ron, "How about this? I'll use a spell to induce vomiting, and you can just throw up all the slugs, then you'll be fine."
"Professor Flitwick should have used Finite Incantatem on you, right?"
Ron hesitated for a moment, then nodded, closing his eyes with a look of noble righteousness. "Hurry up, let me end this suffering quickly!"
Dylan clicked his tongue. "Just hold the bucket, why are you closing your eyes? Aren't you afraid you'll vomit in the wrong place and get it on someone else?"
Ron: "..."
He awkwardly opened his eyes again.
Harry then directly shoved the large bucket into his hands.
Seeing that Ron was ready, Dylan raised his wand. "Emesisurge!"
A strange blue light shot out from the tip of Dylan's wand, hitting Ron squarely.
Ron's whole body jolted violently, and his face instantly changed.
He felt his stomach churning violently, a strong urge to vomit surging up. He gripped the wooden bucket tightly, lowering his head.
"Ugh—urp—!"
Ron vomited loudly.
One fat slug after another slid out of his mouth like dumplings being poured out of a pot, landing in the bucket with a splattering sound, crowding together.
Ron's body trembled with the vomiting. He continued to throw up for a good while until not a single slug could come out, only sour liquid remained.
Ron's hands loosened their grip on the edge of the bucket, his legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath, his eyes hollow, his whole body as if drained of all strength, too weak to even lift a finger.
"Anapneo!"
"Rennervate!"
Dylan cast two spells, then handed Ron two potions.
"Drink these. One is a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and the other is a Pepperup Potion. You'll feel much better after drinking them."
Hearing the names of these two potions, especially the latter, Ron's eyelids twitched.
He wanted to refuse, because Ron knew that the Pepperup Potion was an extremely unpleasant-tasting potion.
But this potion could help alleviate his nausea and relax his stomach. Even if Ron didn't want to drink it, he had to grit his teeth and swallow it at this point.
"Glug glug"
By the time Ron had finished both potions with a grimace,
His spirits were noticeably better.
—He even had the strength to start cursing.
"That disgusting Malfoy! Actually calling Hermione a Mudblood, that's too vicious!"
Harry sighed. "Ron was really too angry to bear it, that's why he fought back, and then—"
Dylan shook his head. "Your wand is broken. Even casting normal spells will cause problems, let alone curses."
"So, you should be more careful in the future. Even if you're angry, you should first consider whether you have the strength to be angry."
Ron pouted, frowning and muttering, "But I can't just watch them bully my friends."
Hermione was a little touched by his words.
Dylan nodded understandingly. "So why didn't you just curse them back?"
Ron's expression froze. It took him a good while before he scratched the back of his head and said awkwardly, "Well, I couldn't curse them back properly—you know, those Slytherin guys, their mouths are always so venomous!"
Dylan shrugged. "I have to hurry to class—Professor Snape's class."
Ron's neck immediately shrank.
Dylan smiled. "Let me give you one last reminder. Let's try not to get angry casually, do you know why?"
Ron was taken aback and looked up. "Why?"
Hermione and Harry also turned their gazes towards him.
"Because when you get angry, you'll use your real skills, and that—will show everyone that your real skills are terrible."
Ron: "(-_-)..."
Ron clutched his chest with one hand.
—He felt a sharp pain in his heart.
And he felt a bit nauseous again, what should he do?
Harry helped Ron up from the ground, and Dylan smiled faintly. "Seamus's friend Dean, didn't he just have a big argument with someone in the common room? I suggest you learn from him and see how he gains the upper hand in arguments."
After bidding farewell to the others, Dylan hurried towards Professor Snape's office.
Leaving behind a sorrowful Ron being supported by Harry.
"Luckily, I'm not late."
Dylan arrived a few minutes early, breathed a sigh of relief, and raised his hand to knock on the door of Professor Snape's office.
"Enter," a familiar, low, and cold voice came from inside.
Pushing open the door, the scent of dry herbs wafted out. Professor Snape was standing in front of a shelf, his back to Dylan, intently selecting something from a row of potion bottles.
Hearing Dylan's approaching footsteps, he slowly turned around. The candlelight cast his shadow on the specimen display cabinet on the wall. His black eyes, like deep pools in a cold night, devoid of any warmth, landed on Dylan.
"Remarkably punctual, although not like the other Gryffindor students who are frequently late, but that's all—it seems you still prefer the classes of other professors. They tell me you always arrive a full half-hour early."
Dylan naturally understood the meaning behind Professor Snape's words. He gave an awkward smile and quickly explained the situation concisely.
"Professor, I actually arrived quite early, but I ran into Harry and Ron on the way. Ron was injured by his own spell, so I simply treated him briefly, which caused some delay. I'm truly sorry, I will definitely arrive even earlier next time."
Professor Snape walked to his chair and sat down, his eyes glancing at Dylan. "Injured by his own spell? Hmph, perfectly in line with my impression of those foolish Gryffindor students. McGonagall always says I only put them down."
Dylan could only give a stiff grin, not daring to say more.
He had to admit that being injured by one's own spell and wand was indeed a very foolish thing—even he thought so.
The light in Professor Snape's office wasn't bright, but rather dim. The sconces on the walls emitted a faint glow, illuminating the black walnut shelves filled with strange glass containers.
Inside were various peculiar things soaking, such as the shed skin of a basilisk and the venom glands of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
—Dylan quite wanted to get a few Blast-Ended Skrewts to raise.
However, as high-risk species, these little creatures were inherently dangerous. Coupled with the fact that their blood and venom were quite useful, they had been hunted to near extinction.
At least in England, it was almost impossible to see a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
Professor Snape had already taken out Dylan's cauldron and thoughtfully placed a potion spoon, mortar, and other tools beside it.
Even the necessary herbs had been prepared in advance by Professor Snape.
Dylan pursed his lips, smiled slightly, walked to the cauldron, and began brewing today's potion.
Carefully placing sneezewort into the mortar, Dylan began to grind it finely.
"Lighter pressure, don't waste the essence of the ingredients. Pay attention to the fineness of the powder."
"Raise your wrist two inches higher."
Snape's voice was like the flapping of bat wings across a stone wall, the tip of his wand peeking out from his sleeve, pointed directly at Dylan's mortar.
Dylan felt his wrist lift and quickly continued to turn the pestle in his hand.
When the seventh counter-clockwise grind was completed, the moonstone pestle suddenly emitted an emerald green glow—a sign that the essence of the top-grade sneezewort had been activated.
Taking Professor Snape's class always required Dylan to maintain extremely high mental focus—because it was so physically demanding. If he couldn't operate with full concentration, he wouldn't be able to complete each step according to Professor Snape's strict standards.
Only when an entire pot of potion had been brewed, and he saw a faint light emerging between the flowing liquid, did Dylan finally exhale a breath of stale air.
Professor Snape reached out and stirred the potion with a long, silver, serpentine spoon. A small emerald embedded in the handle suddenly emitted a faint green light—an indication that trace impurities had been detected.
When he looked up, the candlelight cast the shadow of his eyelashes on his hollowed cheekbones, making his already sharp features appear even more somber. "Barely acceptable. Pack them up and take them away. I have no use for such low-quality potions."
Despite his words, a clear hint of satisfaction flashed in Professor Snape's eyes.
Dylan had been around Professor Snape for so long that he understood his temperament. He cheerfully took out the tools he had prepared in advance, filled his potion bottles to the brim, and then happily put them away.
Every time Dylan came, he could always freeload Professor Snape's ingredients. Some of the ingredients were not only expensive but also difficult to buy—he would have to restock himself.
Dylan had a happy look on his face, but just then, Professor Snape's low voice suddenly came.
"After this, you only need to come once every two weeks, or every three weeks. No need to come every week."
Professor Snape's words stunned Dylan, and the hand that was packing froze in mid-air.
What did this mean?
Professor Snape didn't want to teach him anymore?
Was it because he always came to restock, and Professor Snape嫌弃ed him for taking everything?
Could it be that by having Professor Snape teach him potion-making, making the professor put in both effort and money, he had directly impoverished Professor Snape?
Dylan opened his mouth, organized his thoughts, and asked cautiously, "Professor, I can also bring the potion ingredients myself... some of them."
Professor Snape's face darkened instantly.
"What exactly is going on in that head of yours? Do you think I'm reducing your visits because I'm out of money?"
Wasn't that it?
After this thought popped into Dylan's head, he shook his head repeatedly. "Of course not! I certainly didn't think that!"
"I was just thinking... I can't always have you, Professor, prepare all the materials for me. I also want to relieve some of the pressure on you as much as possible!"
Dylan's words were sincere, causing a hint of suspicion to appear in Professor Snape's eyes.
After a moment, he snorted softly. "The reason I'm telling you to come every so often is because the things I can teach you, I basically taught you all last school year."
Professor Snape crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at Dylan, his voice cold. "I ask you, what is the true fundamental key to determining the success or failure of a potion?—Don't tell me it's memorizing the recipe!"
Dylan paused slightly, then answered without hesitation, "Professor, it's the manipulation technique—only precise manipulation can guarantee the high quality and efficacy of the potion."
Seeing that Dylan had given the correct answer, Professor Snape's calm gaze rested on him.
"It seems you remember something."
He walked around the desk and sat back down in his chair. "Continue."
Dylan blinked twice, then continued.
"Potions, technique is key, it's the most important thing of all. But manipulation isn't just stirring and grinding; the control of quantities, taking more or less, is all in my seemingly casual scoops and pours."
"In addition to quantity control, the mastery of heat is also crucial to technique. High heat for activation, low heat for simmering; different ingredients require different heat levels. A moment too early is too hasty, a moment too late is too much."
Dylan rattled off a series of points.
This caused Professor Snape to raise his eyebrows slightly and look up at him, his cold gaze softening a bit.
—This boy had actually memorized every word he had said back then.
Professor Snape suppressed the slight upturn of his lips. "Last school year, I repeatedly taught you the relevant key points of these techniques."
"Potion brewing requires long-term practice and accumulation, not mastering basic steps by repeating them here every week. The development of technique, besides talent, also requires a large amount of repeated brewing."
"I don't have that many low-grade ingredients for you to experiment with, so I'm telling you to come once every two or three weeks to ensure that you can brew some advanced potions under my supervision. That's already enough."
"Do you still want to learn all my skills completely? But remember, you are Dylan Hawkwood, not me! You should have your own things!"
Professor Snape, rarely, said so many words to Dylan in one breath again.
After hearing this, Dylan finally understood the professor's good intentions and nodded heavily.
"I understand."
—But in fact, he still wanted to learn everything Professor Snape knew.
It was just learning, what did it have to do with becoming anyone?
As long as he learned everything from everyone, wouldn't that become his own?
Seeing Dylan's decisive response, Professor Snape also nodded slightly. "Since you understand, then prepare for an assessment."
"Okay—huh? What? What assessment?"
Dylan was about to agree readily, but suddenly reacted and looked at Professor Snape blankly.
(End of chapter)
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