The last time Skyl had worked as a substitute teacher was, naturally, the last time.
Back then, he had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. This time, he was teaching Potions. Comparatively speaking, this was one of the duller, more somber kinds of classes, and the most Skyl could do was give the younger students a little more encouragement.
The fifth years had to take their O.W.L.s, so they needed extra attention. Skyl had survived the land of SAT prep and standardized testing, so when it came to exams, there was no better method than drowning them in practice questions. That was exactly how he had taught himself Potions back then. His personal experience proved that repetitive, mechanical practice really could raise a student's Potions grades in a short period of time. As for the principles behind potion-making, those could be explained along the way once the young wizards had enough spare energy to absorb them.
"Seventy percent of potion-making lies in the preliminary preparations. It's like cooking. You need to prepare all the ingredients before putting anything in the pot, and after that, you simply follow the recipe step by step. What this craft fears most is frantic, last-minute scrambling. Before making a potion, you must have every stage clear in your mind. Preparations include determining whether the ingredients are qualified, pre-processing the ingredients…"
Skyl sat on the solid-gold lectern and taught the younger students with ease. The Potions classroom was a basement room, buried away from the sun year-round. With a small spell, he used the Lumos Charm to bring ample light into the room, which made it easier for the students to see the state of their potions. The bright light also helped drive away some of the oppressive, gloomy atmosphere. Along the walls of the classroom stood many glass jars, each holding all kinds of animal specimens. Staring at them in the dark really would have been a little frightening.
He always encouraged everyone to be brave enough to try, while stopping accidents in time whenever they appeared. Through a mountain of accumulated experience and the relentless bombardment of Skyl's after-class assignments, the students became increasingly comfortable with potion-making.
The assignments Skyl gave them were not traditional essays, but test papers with multiple-choice questions, fill-in-the-blanks, short answers, and applied problems. It gave the British wizards a small taste of SAT-boot-camp shock.
In short, another half a month passed. Hogwarts was about to enter winter. The temperature in northern England had already begun to drop steadily, and the first snow of the year was not far away.
At that point, the Potions class Skyl was temporarily handling ran into a major problem. It was not that a student had been injured by an exploding cauldron and sent to the hospital wing. Rather, the ingredients were about to run out.
Potions classes consumed a great deal of ingredients, and the experiments Dumbledore and the others were conducting inside the White Tower consumed even more. The old headmaster might have deep pockets and could purchase ingredients in bulk, but the British wizarding world's ingredient market was only so large. Even with money, there were no more raw materials to buy.
There were many ways to solve the problem. The first thing Dumbledore thought of was producing and consuming their own supply. Hogwarts had built such enormous greenhouses, which could be used to grow medicinal plants. It also had such a vast Forbidden Forest, which could be used to collect animal-based materials.
The manager of the greenhouses was Professor Pomona Sprout, Herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff House. Dumbledore invited her to the headmaster's office for a detailed discussion, and later that night, the professor also went to the White Tower. She was very willing to help, and she was also quite interested in joining the Tower of Tomes.
The keeper of the Forbidden Forest was Hagrid. He was the professor of Care of Magical Creatures, and as long as Dumbledore said the word, he would gladly go through fire and water for him. Unfortunately, he could not join the Covenant. The half-giant was not exactly known for his scholarship.
Professor Sprout led the students in cultivating all sorts of medicinal plants in the greenhouses, while Hagrid also had the young wizards raise certain specific kinds of magical creatures. In this way, the school gradually gained its own internal production. With Dumbledore continuing to purchase ingredients from around the world, the problem of potion ingredients was basically solved.
The only thing left unsolved was the curiosity of the other professors. Professor McGonagall's aggrieved stare practically needed its own caption.
Inside the White Tower, the cultivation of the Celestial brain tissue had already achieved a staged result. One night in mid-November, Skyl was invited to observe the fruits of Dumbledore and the other great wizards' hard work.
"Hmm… not bad. It's quite healthy." Skyl stared at the primitive neural cell mass in the cultivation pool, which weighed nearly two hundred pounds. His evaluation made Dumbledore and the four professors exchange pleased smiles.
"The first and second steps are both complete. Next comes the directed induction of cell differentiation. This step is equivalent to building a computer's hardware. Specialized brain structures can also prevent the Celestial brain from developing self-awareness to the greatest possible extent, avoiding contamination of the artificial soul entity."
Skyl spoke casually and pointed out the difficulty of this step. "Directed induction requires the neural tissue to be cut first. You need to divide the brain into regions like drawing a map, and you have to do it across a three-dimensional sphere. It's like carving an onion, with each layer having its own separate pattern, while still preserving the onion's overall integrity. This step has to be steady, accurate, and ruthless. After the regions are completed, Transfiguration must be used to reshape the neural connections. For all of you professors, this will require even more patience."
Dumbledore, whose face was paler than a vampire's, revealed a weak smile. He had barely closed his eyes since the start of term and clearly could not shoulder such a major operation. Beside him, Grindelwald, who was an actual vampire, shook his head with a strange expression. A vampire's magic naturally carried a necromantic aura, which might harm the Celestial brain. That left only Snape with the necessary skill. He had Sectumsempra, a spell extremely suited to cutting.
Snape indicated that he had fallen asleep standing up, had said nothing, and yet seemed to have said everything.
Skyl shrugged and smiled. "In that case, we can only ask Professor Flitwick for help. Oh, perhaps Professor McGonagall too. She can hardly wait. On my way here from the dormitory, a suspicious tabby cat was following me. I even tried feeding her cat treats, but she wouldn't eat them. Eight times out of ten, she was a certain wizard's Animagus."
Professor Sprout let out a soft chuckle, while Hagrid burst into belly-shaking laughter.
Together, everyone went down to the first floor and opened the door. In the grass not far away, they found the suspicious tabby cat.
The wizards placed a hand over their chests and saluted the cat, saying in unison, "Professor McGonagall, please reveal yourself."
The tabby cat's figure stretched and transformed into a dignified witch in a pine-green dress. Professor McGonagall returned the courtesy with impeccable manners, her eyes fixed firmly on Dumbledore. She was obviously hoping her questions would be answered, though she said aloud, "I was merely out for a walk. I did not expect to run into all of you professors, and you as well, Mr. Skyl. Curfew has already passed at this hour. Shouldn't you be in your dormitory?"
"I went wandering around at night on the very first day of term, so I suppose it's a personal habit. Uh, that isn't what I meant, Professor. In any case, I really should be going. We can chat another time. Good night, everyone."
Skyl slipped away and returned to the main castle. The ghosts were still drifting around everywhere, and apart from them, the Weasley twins were also active.
While he was heading toward Gryffindor Tower, he passed the corner on the second floor of the entrance hall, and George Weasley suddenly popped out, making a face at Skyl. "Boo! Caught you!"
Skyl looked toward the medieval armor by the wall and smiled. "Fred, how long have you been hiding in there?"
"Ah, no fun. We were planning to give you a scare." The other twin took off the helmet and pouted at the transfer student.
"How did you know where I was?"
"That's a secret," the twins said in unison. Then they laughed brightly again. "But you're a good friend of the Weasleys, so we'll share the secret with you for free."
They took out a large piece of folded parchment and handed it to Skyl. This was the famous Marauder's Map. It displayed the real-time movements of every person in Hogwarts, making it an extremely useful tool for nighttime roaming and tracking. With it, there was no need to worry about being caught by the caretakers and professors.
"We're giving it to you. The password is, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'"
Skyl was not interested in the Marauder's Map. After fiddling with it briefly, he returned it to the twins. The Weasley brothers were clearly very curious about what the professors were doing in the White Tower, and they seized this opportunity to press him with questions, hoping to get some inside information.
"That's a secret." Skyl narrowed his eyes and smiled. "You'll know when the time comes."
"Skyl, oh Skyl," George said.
"What a sealed mouth," Fred added.
Then the two of them walked out of the main castle shoulder to shoulder.
Skyl stood in the quiet hall where moonlight spilled across the floor. Just as he was about to return to the dormitory, a light, drifting voice called out to him.
"Skyl."
He turned back and saw a ghostly lady floating behind him.
"Lady Ravenclaw. It's been some time. Is there something you need from me?"
The visitor was the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of the founder Rowena Ravenclaw, and one of the more interesting ghost friends Skyl knew. More than two years had passed since their first meeting.
"I hope… you can do me a favor." The ghostly lady sighed softly, her voice colder than wind passing through birch leaves.
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