Chapter 297: This Godfather Isn’t So Cold

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June was drawing to a close, and in just a few days, it would be time for the hectic end-of-year exams. The grounds of Hogwarts were filled with hurried footsteps, and even the students who usually slacked off and fooled around had no choice but to settle down. Their demands weren't many—just hoping for a few more P's (Passes) on their report cards. Otherwise, their holidays were bound to be anything but peaceful.

However, today, one particularly hurried figure strode out of the castle gates. His billowing black cloak was lifted by the wind, revealing a finely tailored, form-fitting black suit beneath. Every student who crossed paths with this man quickly stepped aside. For over a month now, Snape's mood had been noticeably foul, and the students who had been penalized to the point of numbness once again found themselves in tearful nostalgia for the old days—those days of trembling under Snape's oppressive authority, keeping their heads down and behaving themselves.

Some speculated that Snape was suffering from some sort of "midlife crisis-induced egg-jam cancer," a bizarre condition where his once-monthly moody "egg-changing" phase had morphed into a once-a-month event that lasted an entire month.

Little did they know, it had nothing to do with any "egg-jam cancer." It all started one day when Dumbledore, drunk out of his wits by Grindelwald, accidentally let it slip upon returning to Hogwarts that Harry would be transferring to Durmstrang next year and wouldn't be staying at Hogwarts. The mere thought that his godson, whom he had waited ten long years to mentor, was about to be taken away before he could even properly raise him, sent Snape into such a rage that his lips broke out in blisters. He nearly shaved off Dumbledore's beard in his fury.

If not for Fawkes' sharp reflexes and a quick burst of phoenix fire teleportation that tossed Snape into the dungeons to cool off, things might have gotten out of hand. Even so, after being force-fed half a bottle of Sobering Potion by Snape, Dumbledore ended up vomiting into a sink for an entire hour and was absent from dinner for several days afterward.

Now that Harry was returning to school, Snape, of course, made sure he was the first one out the door to greet him.

Harry was arriving on a special Hogwarts Express train dispatched just for him. This wasn't some privileged perk for the elite—Hogwarts Express, with its turtle-like speed inferior even to Muggle maglev trains, wasn't something Harry thought highly of. But under the current circumstances, he had no choice but to use it.

In fact, more than a week ago, Harry had already completed his "transformation." The operation had been a success, and Harry remained very much a man… cough cough, a strong one at that. But the strength was deceptive—he was so physically weak he needed help just to walk. Don't be fooled by the illusion that he could crush sound barriers with his bare hands—Awakeners weren't that easy to become, especially not for someone who switched paths midway. It wasn't as glorious as one might imagine.

That whole idea that "one surgery turns a skinny guy into a muscle-bound Captain America" didn't apply here. The newly reconstructed body was indeed transformed, but the unfamiliarity of the new physique was its own torment. Forget walking—Harry had to relearn how to breathe. Unlike natural Awakeners who evolved over time, Harry's evolution was an unnatural shortcut. By fully absorbing the magical power and fractured spiritual core his mother left behind, Harry's raw potential on paper now surpassed even Li Jiannan, who possessed a quarter of an Awakener's power. Though Lily's bequeathed power wasn't immense in quantity, every bit of it was pure essence.

Unlike Li Jiannan, Harry's physical evolution was nearly identical to that of a full Awakener. While his potential ceiling was lower, his baseline was just as strong. Meaning? Anything Seth could do during his Hogwarts days, Harry could now do too!

But a knockoff is still a knockoff. While functionally similar, the finer details showed a clear gap. Harry's body came with no warranty—parts of his upgraded body were made of materials that didn't even exist in nature. These bespoke components were tailor-made for Awakeners. A genuine Awakener's body evolved without any flaws, but Harry's body—having taken the shortcut—was patched together by Awakener magic on the fly.

An Awakener's body was diamond; Harry's patches were merely glass. Even under normal conditions, without any external impact, the glass components would be worn down or damaged by the diamond ones. Until his body completed its self-repair and filled in those flaws, Harry—who had already been slapped with a Five-Element Seal by Seth—couldn't even guarantee he'd have the strength to wring a chicken's neck, let alone beat a fire dragon barehanded.

Apparition? Portkeys? Floo Powder? All off the table. Riding a rocket? Forget it. Compete in the upcoming Quidditch European Cup? Dream on. Watch from the sidelines, and when you cheer, don't shout too loudly—you might choke on your own spit.

Thus, a two-meter-tall, 300-kilogram muscular beast now presented himself as delicate and fragile as Lin Daiyu. After discovering just how frail Harry had become, Fleur, who accompanied him back to England, seemed to have awakened some very peculiar instincts along the way.

But none of that mattered!

The Important Thing Is—I'm Back!

Radiant with pride, Harry stepped off the train, trembling as he leaned on his cane. A sudden gust of wind blew past, and his already unsteady legs gave out beneath him. If not for a strong hand reaching out just in time to support him, this triumphant young man might have ended up face-planting on the platform.

"Godfather?! What are you doing here?"

Seeing Snape, Harry broke into a cheerful smile. "Haven't seen you in over a month, Godfather, and you've gotten even more handsome!"

Under normal circumstances, Harry's smooth-talking might have coaxed a rare smile from Snape. But today, with his face as cold as death and eyes burning with a deadly glare, it was clear something was wrong.

"Didn't Flitwick say you went to a dueling competition?!" Snape's furious gaze was streaked with bloodshot veins. "What exactly happened, Harry?!"

"Tell me—it was Flitwick, wasn't it—"

"No, no, no!"

Seeing things escalate, Harry rushed to cut him off. Snape looked like he was ready to challenge Professor Flitwick to a no-holds-barred duel between real men, and this wasn't some playful scuffle. If he pulled that trigger, the spells would rain down like bullets from a machine gun. Harry didn't doubt that Snape's wand had undergone all possible upgrades—he could absolutely pull out a magical Gatling gun and unleash a barrage of spells.

"I really did go for the dueling competition—it's just that, well, something happened afterward, and I—"

"Name." Snape coldly spat out the word, sounding like a heartless assassin. "Who?"

"Godfather, don't make that face like you're about to unleash a potion and wipe out an entire species..." Harry wiped the cold sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

"When have I ever seemed incapable of doing that?" Snape narrowed his eyes, reaching into his robes with his free hand to pull out a shimmering, dreamlike pink potion. "One milliliter—four thousand people. Twenty bottles—London wiped clean. Inject it, and it can kill magical creatures as venomous as a Manticore or a Nundu. I used this to take out a tribe of one hundred Cyclopes."

"It's slightly sweet when taken orally, and the onset time is controllable—fastest, fifteen seconds; slowest, ninety minutes—long enough to let a whole rainstorm fall. No harmful residues post-effect. It even has a pretty name."

"'Commander, the cherry blossoms are blooming in the homeland?'" Harry stared blankly at the sparkling pink potion, with its floating crystal-like flecks that did resemble delicate cherry blossom petals.

"Is that… Japanese?"

Snape muttered under his breath, his gaze growing colder and more chilling by the second.

"Look, as much as I'd love to see you pour that potion into a raincloud and give them a bath, this actually has nothing to do with those people. No one from their Magical Institute made it into the dueling tournament. Tiny country, small population, resources drained dry—they can't produce any talent without pouring in their entire national strength. And even then, they can't afford it."

Harry snorted with a half-laugh. As a massive power in East Asia, the Taishi Celestial Empire had no real vassal states around it. Vassal states were like adopted sons, but they only kept obedient dogs—dogs that drained themselves dry just to pay tribute every year. If a dog relied on its master for power, it had to please the master or end up in the stew pot.

"Then that's a waste—I rarely use this stuff."

Snape's expression changed instantly as he tucked the potion back into his robes. The real reason for his sudden change of attitude was that, during the brief moment he had touched Harry's arm to examine him, he realized the boy was ridiculously healthy—so healthy it didn't even seem human. As Snape cooled off, the overwhelming vitality radiating from Harry was suffocating, as if he'd been bathing in unicorn blood. Just being near him made the body flush with heat, like he could walk shirtless into a snowstorm and not feel a chill.

With this kind of vitality, Snape wouldn't believe Harry had been injured or sick even if you put a wand to his head.

"If you're fine, then what's with the cane? Trying to pass yourself off as an invalid?" Snape flicked Harry's forehead with a sharp snap of his fingers, annoyed. But when Harry nearly collapsed again from the light tap, Snape's mind seemed to short-circuit. "What the hell is going on? Were you injured or not?"

"I just wanted to better integrate into normal life, so I—"

"Speak plainly." Snape gave him a stern, piercing glare that made Harry's heart tremble.

"It's basically just—"

Harry concisely explained the entire story to Snape. Though the tale wasn't long, it made the man's expression shift several times. When he fully understood the method Lily had used to protect Harry, Snape closed his eyes tightly and stood in silence for a long while before slowly opening them again. He turned his head slightly, pretending to casually wipe at the corner of his eye. His right hand, still gripping Harry's arm, tightened unconsciously.

"…I understand."

Snape spoke calmly, and though his tone was flat and emotionless, it was unclear whether his heart matched his words. This, of course, was something only he could know.

"You shouldn't take your final exams this year. Rest for the next few days. I'll prepare some potions for you, and you'll need to take them regularly."

"I'd rather not." Harry began to protest, but as soon as he met Snape's bloodshot eyes, he faltered. "Can you make it… less intense? Godfather, I can't handle any more right now. If I keep going, I'm going to blow up." Harry's eyes welled with tears as he nearly choked up. Snape's potions were bearable in an emergency, but being told to drink them regularly? It felt like he was being poisoned.

Snape's potions followed a clear pattern: the stronger the effect, the more intense the taste, and the more beautiful the color, the more dangerous it was. The more vibrant and appealing a potion looked, the worse it was—either it sent you straight to the afterlife, or you'd wish you were dead.

"I know my limits."

Snape didn't seem to notice anything wrong with his potions. After all, he had brewed them for years and had consumed many of them himself. Surely they couldn't be dangerous, right? But as a competent and exceptional potion master, Snape knew Harry didn't need any supplements at the moment. In fact, he planned to run some tests during Harry's full-body check-up later. The overwhelming life energy Harry exuded was unmistakable, and to a potion master, this was the best material for brewing top-tier potions. Keeping a curious mindset was an essential trait for a great master, and though Snape wasn't old, his passion still burned like a young man's.

"However, Harry, I think there's something you need to tell me."

"What is it?"

"You're going to Durmstrang next year."

"I already told you that, didn't I?" Harry blinked innocently, looking surprised. "I should've, probably, maybe, definitely mentioned it!"

"Did you?" Snape's lips curled into a faint, almost mischievous smile, like he was giving a demonstration of how to smile devilishly.

"Godfather, you don't want me to go, do you?" Harry felt a shiver down his spine. He honestly couldn't remember if he'd mentioned it before.

"No. Go ahead."

Snape's sudden concession caught Harry off guard, but what surprised him even more was what came next.

"I've already handed in my resignation to Dumbledore. I won't be teaching at Hogwarts next year. This school hasn't changed in decades. They've made dozens of versions of cold remedies, but the way they teach hasn't evolved at all. I'm done with Hogwarts."

"I've received an invitation from the Potion Masters' Association to serve as a guest lecturer on war potion theory. It's a good opportunity to get out and exchange ideas with other potion masters."

"What about the potions class at Hogwarts?"

"I've written to my mentor, Horace Slughorn, a master of potion-making specializing in beneficial potions. He's one of the few who guided me. When I studied under him, I focused on curse-breaking potions and poisons before moving into the more complex field of war potion theory."

"Your mentor, a specialist in beneficial potions, taught you curses and poisons?" Harry couldn't help but voice his confusion. "That seems a bit strange, doesn't it?"

"What's strange about it?" Snape shook his head. "If you study under a master of beneficial potions, you'll be limited to that area. But if you learn from someone who knows the opposite side of the coin, you'll benefit from both their insights. After all, the best way to understand yourself is through your enemies."

"Oh!" Harry nodded in understanding. "I see now."

"When you have some time during the holidays, come with me to visit him. Your mother was also valued by Professor Slughorn. He's a bit of a snob, but he has a good eye for people. He'll prepare a couple of bottles of Felix Felicis for you, a useful potion for protection. In top-tier potion-making, even a slight difference can make all the difference. I'm not skilled in beneficial potions myself."

"Felix Felicis can really make things go your way, Godfather?"

"Of course not." Snape's mood seemed to lighten as he chatted with Harry. "It enhances your sixth sense. Any potion that boosts the drinker's natural abilities is a beneficial potion, but unlike enhancement potions, these are highly draining. You shouldn't take too much, but in a critical moment, they could save your life."

"Better to lose ten years than your life, right? Sometimes, when even the ultimate life-saving potion can't help, a single dose of a beneficial potion could make the difference between life and death."

"There was once a Muggle who drank it and within ten seconds, managed to kill a juvenile giant in hand-to-hand combat. Though, after the effects wore off, he didn't last more than thirty seconds. But you should understand the kind of power that a beneficial potion can unlock. It's a kind of high-interest loan—you can't repay it in a lifetime."

"Tempting yet deadly. But it could be the trump card in a life-or-death situation. My mentor is both generous and miserly, but I believe he'd make a serious investment in you."

As they neared Hogwarts Castle, Snape's faint smile vanished, and his cold, forbidding presence took over. He strode through the door with long, determined steps, leaving behind a back that no one dared to gaze upon.

But the students didn't seem too focused on Snape. When Harry returned, leaning on his cane and beaming with sunlight, excited voices of greeting rang through the Hogwarts campus.

(End of chapter)