After assembling the cauldron and stabilizing the temperature of the fire in Hagrid's outdoor forge, Anduin's focus became absolute. He inspected the prepared materials; the color of the initial broth and the state of the final ingredients were paramount, defining the crucial margin between a potent, high-grade potion and mere unusable sludge.
The recipe for a single batch of the Euphoria Potion required a meticulous balance of the main ingredient: the Datura berry.
One berry had to be left whole and unpeeled—its rough, magical exterior acting as a slow-release compound—while the second had to be peeled and cut into strips, the dimensions of which were dictated by stringent, centuries-old guidelines designed to maximize the surface area exposed to the heat.
Anduin's hands moved with the practiced ease of a surgeon. His knife sliced the Datura into uniformly perfect strips, a testament to his hours of silent, tedious practice.
He swiftly prepared all the secondary ingredients, each one measured and set aside, awaiting the precise moment of introduction. Potion-making, he knew, was less about flashy magic and more about precision and patience.
The critical phase began with the timing of the additions. He did not rely on a stopwatch alone. Instead, he observed the liquid's subtle shifts: the specific shade of the broth, the rate of vapor rising from the surface, and the exact boiling point.
These physical cues were the true indicators of the brew's readiness. The process unfolded smoothly, exactly matching the fundamental description in the textbook, allowing Anduin to settle into a rhythm of stirring and adding.
However, the final, crucial step—the required period of cooling and resting before bottling—was where the Half-Blood Prince had offered his audacious heresy. The Prince's note claimed the introduction of a catalyst during this cooling phase would "hyper-induce the emotional matrix."
Anduin, now a believer in the Prince's unexpected genius, was not going to follow the orthodox method. He decided to conduct a controlled experiment: one flask would receive the Prince's final touch, and the other would be left pure.
He carefully siphoned half of the finished, pale blue liquid into a secondary flask. To the original cauldron, he added a small, finely crushed pile of fresh mint leaves.
The effect was immediate and pronounced: the milky blue liquid in the main cauldron instantly deepened, taking on a subtle, vibrant cerulean sheen, and the rich, sweet scent intensified, becoming almost overwhelming in its pleasantness.
The first brew had been completed. Now came the moment of highest risk and required self-assurance: the taste test.
Anduin poured a sample of the mint-enhanced potion into a pristine glass phial. He looked at it, considering the danger. The core potion is sound. The mint is a known magical potentiator, not a poison. The only risk is an unexpected side effect, not death. After a brief moment of pragmatic deliberation, he raised the phial and took a calculated sip.
A sudden, strange lightness flooded his consciousness. It wasn't the giddy, uncontrolled laughter of the extreme Draught of Euphoria, but a powerful, profound sense of well-being—a feeling that every shadow and stress in the world had been momentarily, and completely, dissolved. The effect was immediate and almost startling in its clarity and emotional strength.
"Excellent. Flawless execution," Anduin noted, slightly surprised by the depth of his sudden cheer. "Now, for the control group."
He tested the batch without the mint. The result was a gentler, slower onset of the same pleasant feeling. The original brew was subtle and sustained, a quiet happiness. The Prince's version was sharp, immediate, and overwhelmingly joyful.
With a successful first run confirmed, Anduin performed his profit calculation. One large batch yielded five doses of the Euphoria Potion.
At Hagrid's agreed-upon wholesale rate of 12 Galleons per bottle from the Hogsmeade apothecary (a fair discount from the retail price of 15 Galleons), each batch guaranteed him 60 Galleons. Though not the riches of a King's ransom, it was consistent, high-velocity income that would quickly build his war chest.
"Even if I'm not idle, this small venture is providing the vital foundation," he thought, his confidence in the 'Half-Blood Prince's' genius now fully cemented. "The modification works; this 'Prince' is no fraud, but a true alchemist." Suppressing his rising intellectual curiosity about the Prince's darker magical leanings, he patiently continued to brew.
Five intense hours later, Anduin had successfully prepared, cooled, and bottled ten doses of the Draught of Cheer, perfectly divided between the standard and the enhanced versions. He still had a colossal surplus of Hagrid's Datura berries, confirming the giant was truly a hidden source of immense wealth in raw magical materials.
"You've been an excellent guard, Hagrid," Anduin said, emerging from the hut. "We'll sort out the rest tomorrow. I need to get back for the evening curfew." He stored the new potions securely in a small wooden box and left them in Hagrid's care, planning to procure more bottles from the castle's stores the next day to continue production.
The evening was devoted to Hagrid's reward—a massive pot of salt-and-pepper short ribs sautéed in the brand-new iron cauldron—and the next morning, Anduin returned, this time bringing twenty empty bottles and even Vivian's large, spare cauldron (borrowed under the guise of an overdue cleaning job). Having gained confidence, he was now ready to double his output.
The second day's brewing went even faster. Anduin worked with twin cauldrons, his movements now fluid and automatic. By late afternoon, twenty more bottles of the potent cheer were complete. He carefully selected ten bottles for personal use—gifts and samples—and instructed Hagrid to take the remaining twenty to the arranged apothecary in Hogsmeade.
"Finally, the first phase is complete," Anduin sighed, stretching his back, the heavy work replaced by a feeling of strategic satisfaction.
With the financial and practical concerns temporarily secured, Anduin's mind immediately returned to the other secret in the Prince's book: the dark, aggressive spell. The proof of the Prince's genius in potions had made the possibility of his magic being equally potent, and perhaps equally deadly, highly likely.
"The potion recipe was true, so the spell must also be real," he concluded, his curiosity outweighing his caution.
He left Hagrid's hut and walked towards a remote area far behind the pumpkin patch, hidden by a cluster of gnarled blackthorn trees. He found a thick, unsplit log—a perfect, silent target—placed it firmly on the ground, and retreated ten meters away.
"This distance should provide a safe buffer for any unexpected magical backlash or explosion," he calculated, ensuring he was well clear.
He drew his wand, its weight now familiar, and pointed it at the distant log. He recalled the specific incantation, the words oddly foreign yet fitting: "Divine Strike!"
The result was instantaneous and shocking. An almost invisible blade of energy flew from his wand with incredible, silent speed. There was no flash, no sound, only a momentary shimmer in the air. In the blink of an eye, the thick log was cleanly and effortlessly split in two, the top half falling away with a dull thud.
Anduin's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He wasn't surprised by the raw, brutal power of the curse—it was far beyond anything a student should wield—but by the unmistakable familiarity of the visual effect.
He had seen this blade before.
The night he had first met Sirius, outside the ruins of the Potter home, when he was just a child, the man named Snape—the figure who had rushed through the wreckage, his face contorted—had raised his wand and fired a pair of curses, one of which had broken his Lily's Barrier Charms with exactly this silent, black speed.
If not for the strength of Lily's amulet, Anduin realized with cold clarity, he would have been sliced apart just like that log.
A single, chilling name clicked into place, the realization a punch to the gut.
"Sectumsempra. So it was you, Snape!"
The puzzle pieces snapped together with terrifying finality. The Half-Blood Prince, the purveyor of brilliant, modified potions, the arrogant genius who signed his work with a self-aggrandizing moniker, and the Death Eater who had ambushed him, was one and the same: Severus Snape.
"The arrogance, the dark magic, the mastery of Potions—it all fits. You're not just the Half-Blood Prince, you're a former Death Eater who likes to test his lethal spells on children!" Anduin thought bitterly, his respect for the Prince's skill curdled instantly by a deep, strategic hatred.
He slowly walked toward the felled log, needing to understand the nature of the dark magic he had just unleashed. The cut in the wood was surgical, unnervingly clean, leaving behind only the faintest trace of a strange, residual dark magic.
He then raised his wand again and cast a powerful Reparo (Restoration Spell) on the shattered log. He directed his magic, focusing the intent to heal and mend the object.
The log made no response.
Anduin repeated the spell, his voice firmer, pouring more power into the incantation. The wood remained sliced, stubbornly refusing to obey the healing charm.
A shudder ran through him. "This..." he hissed, his eyes narrowed, "the destructive power is grossly exaggerated. High velocity, complete stealth, powerful destructive force... and the wound cannot be magically healed?"
This realization elevated the curse from merely dangerous to truly terrifying. The reason the Unforgivable Curses are classified as such is because they inflict permanent, irreversible damage—magical wounds that often cannot be mended by conventional counter-magic.
Sectumsempra clearly belonged to this forbidden category. If cast on a human, the victim would either be killed instantly by the cut or bleed to death, as the magical wound would refuse to close.
"This spell is too dangerous. It must only be used as an absolute, final resort," Anduin resolved, his hand trembling slightly as he closed the textbook and sealed it with a basic locking charm. "To use it on a person, even in self-defense, would be tantamount to execution. It will be locked away until I fully understand its counter-curse—if one even exists."
Shaken by the sudden confirmation of his enemy's identity and the lethal power now at his fingertips, Anduin took several deep, calming breaths. He erased his tracks, cast a strong disillusionment charm over the log remains, and walked back to Hagrid's hut, the weight of the dark knowledge settling heavily upon him.
He had just confirmed his enemy was a lethal genius, and he had gained access to that genius's most powerful, and darkest, weapon.
Anduin now knows the Half-Blood Prince is Snape and that he possesses a high-risk, lethal curse. How will this revelation change his behavior in Potions class, and what will he do next to protect himself from the powerful threat he has just identified?