Monday morning. The Potions dungeon was, as always, damp, dark, and smelled of pickled despair. Severus Snape swept through the room, his black robes billowing like the wings of a giant bat.
"Today," he hissed, silencing the class with a single glare, "you will brew the Aging Potion. A complex concoction that, when brewed correctly, can temporarily increase the drinker's age. Brewed incorrectly, it may induce irreversible senescence or, more amusingly, regress you to a mewling infant. Do try not to embarrass yourselves."
The instructions appeared on the blackboard. A collective groan went up. The recipe was monstrously complicated—seventeen ingredients, each requiring precise timing and temperature control.
"Impossible in two hours!" Ron Weasley muttered under his breath.
Snape's eyes snapped to him. "Then perhaps, Weasley, you should quit now and save us the spectacle of your inevitable failure. The rest of you, begin!"
The students scrambled. The air filled with the sounds of chopping, slicing, and the nervous sizzle of cauldrons.
Zhang Ming, however, stood perfectly still, his eyes scanning the recipe. The [Myriad Celestial Mechanism] instantly provided an analysis.
[Potion: Aging Potion]
[Principle: Magically accelerated cellular metabolism to simulate aging.]
[Standard Recipe Efficiency: 6%]
[Flaws Detected: Poor temperature control, inefficient ingredient sequence, excessive brewing time (87 mins), significant side effects (nausea, dizziness, memory fog).]
[Optimized Recipe Generated.]
Ignoring the prescribed steps, Zhang Ming began. First, he didn't light a fire under his cauldron. Instead, he held his palm beneath it. A ball of pure, golden flame—spiritual fire—bloomed into existence, its heat radiating with impossible precision.
[Spiritual Fire Control Activated]
[Temperature Range: 0-3000°C]
[Precision: ±0.1°C]
[Energy Efficiency: 98%]
Hermione, working beside him, gasped. "Zhang Ming! What is that?"
"A more precise heat source," he said quietly. "I'll show you later."
He then proceeded to completely disregard the instructions. He added ingredients in a different order, stirred counter to the directions, and adjusted temperatures that defied the textbook.
"He's lost his mind!" Malfoy sneered from across the room. "Snape will feed him to his stores!"
But Snape wasn't watching Malfoy. He was watching Zhang Ming, his dark eyes narrowed not in anger, but in intense, analytical fascination. He saw the method in the madness. The changed sequence created better magical synergy. The reduced stirring was sufficient at the precise temperature Zhang Ming maintained. The shortened brewing time was possible because of the supremely efficient heat transfer.
He's not disobeying,Snape realized, a thrill running through him. He's optimizing. He's… perfecting it.
Thirty minutes later, while most students were still fumbling with their fifth ingredient, a perfect, lilac-colored vapor began to rise from Zhang Ming's cauldron. The potion within was a flawless, shimmering purple, emitting a gentle, pleasant aroma.
Snape was at his side in an instant. He took a vial, filled it, and held it up to the light. His hand trembled slightly.
"The color… perfect clarity. The consistency… like liquid silk. The scent… no trace of the usual acrid notes." He performed a quick diagnostic charm. His face, usually a mask of indifference, paled. "The potency… three times the standard efficacy. Brewing time reduced by two-thirds. And…" he whispered, utterly stunned, "…no detectable side effects."
The dungeon was silent enough to hear a spider breathe.
"THREE TIMES?!" Ron exploded.
"No side effects?!" Hermione breathed, her textbook forgotten.
Snape took a deep, shuddering breath. "Fifty points… to Gryffindor."
The silence that followed was absolute. Students looked at each other, wondering if they'd hallucinated. Snape awarding Gryffindor fifty points? Voluntarily?
"Zhang Ming. My office. After class." Snape said, his voice unusually strained, before turning and retreating to his desk, his posture uncharacteristically agitated.
After Class, Snape's Office
The office was dark, lined with jars of floating, unidentifiable things. Snape gestured to a chair. "Sit."
Zhang Ming sat. Snape regarded him for a long, silent minute, the only sound the bubbling of a cauldron in the corner.
"Teach me," Snape finally said, the words seeming to cost him a great effort.
"Professor?"
"The fire control. The optimization theory. All of it." Snape's voice was low and intense. "I have devoted my life to this art. I believed I was nearing its pinnacle. Today, you showed me… I have not even stepped through the gate."
Zhang Ming considered the man before him—proud, brilliant, and humbled by a higher truth. "You are a master, Professor. Your knowledge is profound. You merely lack… the proper tools and the underlying theory. It is like being a master chef forced to use a dull knife and a cracked pot."
"Then provide me with the tools," Snape said, his black eyes burning with a desperate hunger for knowledge. "In exchange, I offer you everything. My private library. My research notes. My personal laboratory. All of it is yours."
Zhang Ming stood and offered his hand. "Agreed. On one condition."
"Name it."
"Become the Honorary Advisor to the Science and Cultivation Research Club. Help me build a proper curriculum. Help me teach this knowledge to those worthy of it."
Snape was taken aback. "You would… make this public?"
"Knowledge should be shared, not hoarded," Zhang Ming stated simply.
"It will cause an uproar. The traditionalists… the Ministry…"
"Let them come."
Snape looked at the young man's unwavering expression and saw not arrogance, but conviction. After a long moment, he grasped Zhang Ming's hand. "Then we have an accord."
And so, an alliance was forged between the Bat of the Dungeon and the Cultivator from the East.
"Where do we begin?" Snape asked, his demeanor that of a student.
"At the beginning. With spiritual fire." Zhang Ming summoned a sphere of golden flame above his palm. He demonstrated its incredible control, shaping it into rings, dividing it into multiple, independently controlled points of heat. "Imagine brewing a potion that requires different temperatures at different sections of the cauldron simultaneously. This makes it trivial."
Snape watched, mesmerized. "The control… it's everything I've ever…" He mastered himself. "The prerequisite?"
"The ability to perceive your internal magic. You can do this?"
"To a degree," Snape nodded.
"Good. The next step is understanding energy conversion." For the next two hours, Zhang Ming became the teacher. He explained the theory of converting raw magical energy directly into thermal energy, bypassing the need to ignite external materials. Snape listened with rapt attention, asking sharp, perceptive questions.
"So the key is the vibrational frequency of the magic itself," Snape summarized.
"Precisely."
Snape closed his eyes, his face a mask of concentration. Minutes passed. Then, a wisp of smoke rose from his palm. Another minute, and a small, flickering tongue of golden flame sputtered to life. It was unstable, but it was there.
A look of pure, unadulterated wonder crossed Severus Snape's face—an expression none of his students had ever seen. "I… have done it."
"Your control is exceptional for a first attempt, Professor," Zhang Ming said, genuinely impressed.
Snape stared at the flame in his hand as if seeing magic for the first time. "Tomorrow… with the Ministry inquiry. Are you prepared?"
"I am."
"Should you require a… character witness…" Snape offered, an unprecedented gesture.
"Thank you, Professor. I doubt it will be necessary."
"A word of caution, then. Dolores Umbridge does not operate on logic. She operates on a twisted sense of authority."
Zhang Ming's smile was cold. "I am aware. And I have a hundred ways to deal with bureaucrats who forget their place."
That Evening, Room of Requirement
The core team was training. Today's lesson: Spiritual Sense Scanning.
"Extending your sense is one thing," Zhang Ming explained. "Scanning is another. It is about gathering detailed information."
He pointed to a wooden chest. "With a basic sense, you know 'there is a chest'. With a scan…" He closed his eyes. "...I know it is made of oak, 2.3 centimeters thick. Inside are three books, a quill, and a bottle of ink that is two-thirds full."
The five teenagers stared, wide-eyed.
"That's… that's like x-ray vision!" Ron exclaimed.
"In combat, it tells you your enemy's position, weapon, even intent. In study, it allows you to absorb information rapidly. In life…" he glanced at Ron, "...it can help you find your mother's hidden snacks."
The training commenced. Hermione was the first to succeed, managing to read a book title through the chest. Harry followed, sensing shapes. The others made progress, feeling the new frontier of perception opening to them.
After the session, Harry looked worried. "Zhang Ming… about the Ministry tomorrow…"
"There is no danger," Zhang Ming said calmly.
"But what if she won't listen to reason?" Hermione asked.
"Then," Zhang Ming said, a glint in his eye, "I will simply have to… persuadeher. If reason fails, force remains a universally understood language."
His confidence was infectious. The team felt their worries melt away. With Zhang Ming leading them, what did they have to fear?
Late Night, Headmaster's Tower
"He has won over Severus," McGonagall said, her voice laced with disbelief. "Severus actually agreed to be an advisor!"
Dumbledore smiled, peering out at the stars. "Tomorrow should be quite interesting, Minerva. Dolores is accustomed to bullying hesitant headmasters and frightened children. She has no idea what awaits her."
"And what is that, Albus?"
"A force of nature, Minerva. A revolution wearing the face of a student. And I suspect tomorrow, Miss Umbridge is about to get a lesson she will never forget."