Friday morning.
Harry and Ron were complaining about the cold in the Potions classroom, while Rove stood fully armored at the entrance to the dungeons.
He was wearing two layers of robes (the inner layer lined with leather), a thick wool scarf wrapped around his neck, and clutching his backpack, which was clinking with bottles and jars.
"Rove, you look like you're going on a polar expedition," Harry said, shivering.
"Worse than that, Harry." Rove's voice was muffled behind the scarf, his eyes scanning the gloomy stone walls vigilantly. "This is a factory. A hotbed of dark alchemy. Can you smell it? That is the scent of sulfur, mercury, and despair."
Harry sniffed. "I only smell pickled slugs."
The Potions classroom was located at the very bottom of the castle. There were no windows, and lined along the walls were countless glass jars containing all sorts of creepy animal specimens floating in liquid. Under the dim candlelight, the specimens looked as if they might come alive at any moment.
> [Entering Area: Isengard Underground Laboratory]
> [Environmental Debuff: Industrial Pollution (Mild), Aura of Oppression (Moderate)]
> [Advice: Keep airways clear, be ready to evacuate at any time.]
Rove found a seat in the corner. It was an excellent tactical position—back to the wall, wide field of vision, and only five steps from the door.
Just as he pulled his battered frying pan out of his bag, the classroom door was slammed open.
BANG!
A black figure swept in with a gust of cold wind.
Professor Severus Snape looked like a giant bat, his black robes billowing behind him.
> [WARNING! BOSS-Level Unit Appearance!]
> [True Name Identification: Saruman]
> [Title: The White Wizard (Fallen State) / Potions Master]
> [Danger Level: SSS]
Rove's pupils contracted violently.
In his vision, Snape had completely transformed!
He was a tall, stern-faced elder. Though dressed in black robes, his body radiated a blinding, uncomfortable white halo. It should have been the color of order, but this order was twisted, full of mechanical coldness and disregard for life.
Snape stood at the podium, scanning the class with empty black eyes.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, yet silky smooth. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
Under the table, Rove gripped the handle of his frying pan.
"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Snape's gaze suddenly stopped on Harry's face.
> [WARNING! Eye of Sauron Focusing!]
> [Target: The Ring-Bearer]
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry froze.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said softly.
Rove was sweating anxiously beside him.
Don't look into his eyes, Harry! That's Legilimency! He's testing your willpower! He's searching for the location of the One Ring!
Snape sneered. "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."
He continued to humiliate Harry, firing off several questions in a row that Harry couldn't answer. Hermione's hand was high in the air, nearly scraping the dungeon ceiling, but Snape ignored her completely.
Finally, Snape turned around, his black robes whipping up a breeze.
"Turn to page twelve. Today we are brewing a cure for boils."
...
The classroom was soon filled with all sorts of strange smells.
Snape swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs. Almost every student got criticized, except Malfoy, who seemed immune.
Rove was processing his ingredients: horned slugs.
The task requirement was: stew the horned slugs. But before stewing, they had to be gutted and sliced.
For an ordinary first-year, this was a nightmare. Slugs were slippery, hard to hold, and oozed disgusting slime the moment you cut them.
But for Rove...
> [Skill Activated: Hobbit's Culinary Talent]
> [Sub-skill: Ingredient Processing Lv2]
Rove pinned a slug with his left hand and gripped a sharp silver knife with his right.
Swish swish swish swish!
Blade light flashed like snow.
Before the slug even had time to secrete mucus, it had been neatly sliced into thin pieces of perfectly uniform thickness. Every slice was exactly 1.5 millimeters thick, thin as a cicada's wing, translucent against the light.
Rove's expression was focused, as if he weren't handling potion ingredients, but top-tier truffles in a Michelin-starred restaurant.
He even casually arranged the sliced slugs into the shape of a flower on the plate.
Just then, a shadow loomed over him.
Snape was standing behind him.
Snape didn't draw his wand.
He looked down at the pile of artfully sliced slugs on Rove's cutting board, and an extremely bizarre expression appeared on his perpetually gloomy face.
It was the suffocating feeling of wanting to scold someone but being unable to find a valid reason.
"Baggins," Snape said softly.
"Here, Professor."
"Are you brewing a potion," Snape extended a long finger and picked up a slice of slug so thin it was transparent, "or preparing a French banquet?"
The entire class stopped what they were doing and held their breath, watching the scene unfold.
"For precision, Professor," Rove replied, his voice firm and resonant. "Alchemy tolerates no margin for error. Thinner slices mean greater surface area, which means a fuller release of medicinal properties. This is science."
Snape narrowed his eyes.
"Science?" He repeated the word as if it were a profanity. "At Hogwarts, we discuss magic."
"All paths lead to the same destination, Professor," Rove bullshitted bravely. "Whether it is magic or cooking, the essence lies in the ultimate mastery of the materials."
Snape stared at him for a full ten seconds.
Rove felt like he was being eyed by a Basilisk.
> [Mental Resistance Check in Progress... Passed!]
"One point to Hufflepuff," Snape suddenly tossed the slug slice back onto the plate. "For your atrocious knife skills. But if your potion ends up being slug soup, I will stew you."
Snape turned and swept away, robes billowing.
Rove let out a long breath, feeling his shirt soaked with sweat.
Just then, a loud bang erupted from the other side of the classroom.
Hiss!
Clouds of acid green smoke billowed into the air. Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob. The potion splashed onto the stone floor, burning holes in students' shoes with a sizzling sound.
"Idiot!" Snape roared, charging over.
But before Snape could reach them, someone else moved.
"TOXIC GAS LEAK!" Rove bellowed. "EVERYONE! COVER YOUR MOUTHS AND NOSES! EVACUATE!"
He grabbed Harry, who hadn't reacted yet, and sprinted for the door with textbook tactical evasion maneuvers.
"DON'T JUST STAND THERE! THAT IS A BIOLOGICAL WEAPON!"
As he passed Neville, he also grabbed Hermione, who hadn't completely frozen up, dragging her along.
The classroom was in chaos.
Snape waved his wand to clear the spilled potion, then turned around to look at Rove, who had already rushed to the door and was trying to wrap Harry's head like a mummy with his scarf.
He had taught for many years. He had seen stupid students, malicious students, and students who exploded cauldrons.
But he had never seen a student treat Potions class like a live drill for Resident Evil.
"BAGGINS!" Snape roared. "GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT! OR IT WILL BE FIFTY POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF!"
Rove froze at the doorway.
He looked at the spot where the green fog had been cleared, then looked at the furious Saruman.
> [Crisis Averted.]
> [Evaluation: Although slightly overreactive, your survival instincts are commendable.]
> [Reward Acquired: Potions Talent +1 (Culinary Conversion)]
Rove let go of Harry.
"Yes, Professor," he said obediently. "I was only thinking of everyone's safety."
Harry rubbed his neck where the scarf had choked him, looking at Rove with a very complex expression.
He suddenly felt that, compared to Snape, this somewhat paranoid friend might be a little more dangerous?!