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#25 WSWW
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 16:14:01 +0000 UTCThe next morning, Ted woke up half an hour earlier. The system had been right—a true wizard didn't just rely on magic and knowledge; they needed physical strength too.
At the right moment, he wanted to be like Gandalf, wielding both magic and a sword—pulling off moves like a Witcher taking down a beast.
So, last night, he told Hermione, "See you in the Great Hall tomorrow morning." He had an early run planned.
Originally, Ted had grand ambitions—running a full lap around the Black Lake.
Then he stood at the shore.
And immediately scrapped the idea.
Yeah, no. That was a marathon. Maybe even a half-marathon.
"I’d probably still be running by lunchtime..." he muttered.
Instead, he settled for a solid twenty-minute run before casting a quick Scourgify to clean himself up. His eleven-year-old body was still weak; he really needed to train more.
That said, the effort wasn’t a total waste—he even gained 3 experience points for running. Not much, but hey, progress was progress.
More importantly, he discovered something new—a psychic ability: Mental Stimulation.
Anyone who runs knows that the body often gives out after the mind. If you push through the exhaustion, your brain eventually adapts.
Ted found a way to use his psychic powers to stimulate his brain, tricking it into pushing past those mental barriers.
Of course, this was dangerous. If he ignored his body’s limits completely, he could actually collapse. Definitely not something to use recklessly.
Day Two: Charms, History of Magic, and Herbology.
Charms and Herbology went well. Ted answered three questions and racked up 10 points for Ravenclaw.
History of Magic? A complete loss.
The culprit? Professor Binns.
The ghostly teacher literally floated into the room, droning on in a dull monotone. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t interact. He just… recited text.
"Well, there goes my plan to farm points," Ted sighed.
If this were university, he might've appreciated an easy-going professor. But right now? Pure torture.
Even the system couldn't help him exploit this one. It was like someone had deliberately patched all loopholes against overpowered transmigrators like him.
By the third day, it was time for Potions with Snape.
Unlike other subjects, Potions was a combined class—all four houses together. The class was held in the dungeons, a dim, cold underground space.
Was it for better potion ingredient storage? Or did Snape just like the atmosphere? No one knew for sure.
But one thing was certain—the vibes were creepy.
Tall glass jars filled with preserved magical creatures lined the walls, their shadowy forms barely visible in the flickering torchlight.
Even some of the Slytherins looked unnerved, shrinking away from the shelves.
"This feels like a scene from a horror movie," Jerry whispered.
Ted had to agree. It was like stepping into Frankenstein’s secret lab—except, he might be the next experiment.
Before class started, Hermione muttered nervously, "I heard Professor Snape never gives points to students from other houses."
Ted smirked. "Then he hasn’t met me yet. Let’s see if his heart is really made of stone."
Just to be safe, he activated [Ravenclaw’s Wisdom (Blue)] for a temporary intelligence boost.
Then, Snape arrived.
The moment he glided into the room, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. His black robes billowed behind him like a vampire’s cloak.
His gaze swept across the class, pausing briefly on Harley before he spoke—his tone silky yet condescending.
"You are here to learn the precise art of potion-making," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper yet somehow sharp enough to cut through the silence.
"Since there will be no foolish wand-waving in this class, many of you will doubt that this is magic at all."
His dark eyes gleamed. "I don’t expect you to truly appreciate the delicate dance of ingredients blending together... the way a properly brewed potion seeps into the blood, altering one's very essence."
A slow smirk curled on Ted’s lips. Now this? This was some high-level villain monologuing.
If this were an RPG, Snape’s "Dark Overlord" meter would be off the charts.
"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 put a stopper in death—but only if you are not the dunderheads I so often have to suffer."
Ted nodded in approval. Confirmed. Snape, your "Blood is Pure."
Then came Snape’s favorite part of class: humiliating first-years.
Like McGonagall, he enjoyed "testing" new students. Unlike McGonagall, his version of testing was publicly crushing their hopes and dreams.
Of course, the real target was usually Harley. But this time, Snape skipped her.
Harley wasn’t interesting enough. Neville? Too easy.
Instead, his eyes locked onto Ted, who had—mistakenly—been smirking the entire time.
Snape’s lip curled. Ah. A cocky one.
"You there—Mr. Epefani."
Ted barely resisted a groan. Here we go.
"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Snape's eyes gleamed with anticipation. He was expecting Ted to fumble, stutter, fail.
Unfortunately for him, Ted had cheat codes.
Without hesitation, Ted replied smoothly, "You’d get the Draught of Living Death, sir."
A flicker of surprise flashed in Snape’s expression, but he recovered quickly. "Hmm. A lucky guess. Let’s try another. Where would you find a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat. It neutralizes most poisons."
A few students gasped. Ted fought back a grin.
Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"There is no difference, sir. They’re the same plant, also known as aconite."
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Snape’s expression didn’t change, but Ted could feel the irritation radiating from him.
After what felt like an eternity, Snape finally said, "Correct."
A murmur rippled through the class. Even Hermione looked impressed.
Snape turned sharply on his heel. "Well, don’t just stand there—why aren’t you writing this down?!"
Ted exhaled. Mission complete.
As class went on, Ted made sure to work carefully, knowing Snape would be watching. He didn’t just want to pass—he wanted to win.
Snape may have hated awarding points to non-Slytherins, but Ted wasn’t worried.
Because for the sake of the system, the quests, and his future—he was going to wring every single point out of this school.
'Epifani! Stand up!"
"Answer me, what do you get when you add daffodil root powder to a wormwood infusion?"
Snape's voice sliced through the classroom like a whip. His sudden turn towards Ted was a classic ambush—an attempt to catch the student off guard.
"A dose of Draught of Living Death, Professor." Ted’s usual smirk vanished, replaced with a calm, almost eerie composure. It was as if he had anticipated this exact moment, as if Snape’s sneak attack had played out in his mind beforehand.
Snape’s eyes narrowed. "If you were asked to find a piece of bezoar, where would you locate it?"
"In the stomach of a goat."
"What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"
"There is no difference. They’re both names for Aconite."
Snape fired off three questions like a duelist striking with a rapier, but Ted blocked each one effortlessly. His defense was impenetrable.
But Snape wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.
His lips curled into a sneer as he raised the difficulty level. No longer confined to first-year textbooks, his next question was meant to leave Ted floundering.
"Why are slugs dried in the shade before use in potions?"
Ted barely batted an eye. A slug could take a full tour around Diagon Alley before he’d get this wrong.
"Because slug mucus is a cheap ingredient. It’s removed to increase profit. If you don’t strip it before drying, it weakens the effects of most potions."
For a fraction of a second, Snape hesitated. He hadn’t expected Ted to know that. This wasn’t textbook knowledge—this was something learned through practice. And even more impressively, Ted understood the financial angle, something rarely considered by first-years.
Snape’s gaze sharpened. "Then tell me, what must you be cautious of when collecting toadstools?"
"Never take the stalk. The stem of a Jumping Parasol Fungus is highly toxic and hallucinogenic. If mixed into a potion, it could cause severe side effects—potentially fatal."
A red cap and a white stalk, eat it and you’ll be in shock.
Ted had learned this firsthand while working at Slug & Jigger’s in Diagon Alley last summer.
"Where are lacewings typically found?"
"In dark, magic-rich undergrowth."
The class sat frozen in place as this rapid-fire duel continued. Five… six… seven more questions, each one more difficult than the last. But Ted countered each attack flawlessly.
Then, finally, he hesitated. He didn’t know the answer.
Snape’s expression shifted into something smug and satisfied. "I thought you knew everything, Epifani. Perhaps you don’t need this class at all."
He turned his glare to the rest of the students. "And what are you all staring at? Shouldn’t you be taking notes? Or do you already understand all of this?!" His irritation was palpable.
The students exchanged looks. What just happened? They had done absolutely nothing and still got scolded.
Meanwhile, Snape was inwardly fuming. How had this happened? He had almost lost control of his own classroom!
If he hadn’t pulled out something obscure, he might have actually let Ted show him up. He prided himself on always being a step ahead, and today had nearly shattered that illusion.
The first ten minutes of Potions class had been spent with Snape flexing his knowledge and Ted proving he could keep up.
And in the end, Snape hadn’t awarded a single point.
Ted, muttering to himself: Snape’s heart isn’t just made of stone—it’s made of pure black obsidian.
Snape: If I have to suffer, I’ll make sure everyone else does too.
Finally, the actual lesson began. The topic? Basic brewing techniques and equipment handling. Today’s potion: the Boil-Cure Draught, a common remedy for skin ailments.
Potions class wasn’t just theory—it required hands-on practice. An hour after Snape finished explaining the process, the students were set to work.
Cauldrons, stirring rods, grinding bowls, scales, silver knives—each student set up their station. For some, this felt as dangerous as handling live explosives.
Just then—
_______________________
Ding! Task Triggered: [Young Wizard’s First Potion (Green)]
Professor Snape may be ruthless, but he’s a master of his craft. He has now taught you how to brew a Boil-Cure Draught. Time to put your skills to the test!
Goal: Successfully brew your first potion.
Reward: 200 XP, and a card—[Neville’s Failed Boil-Cure Potion (Green)].
_______________________
A deep sigh. One sip down… three more to go."
At least Snape hadn’t been completely useless today.
Ted set to work, slicing ingredients, measuring out precise amounts, and carefully heating his cauldron. As the potion bubbled, a strong herbal scent filled the air.
From the next table over, Malfoy’s voice rang out in distress.
Ted glanced over and smirked.
Someone’s potion had just exploded.
