chapter 51

"Are you saying that you can use this new method to complete the brewing of lacewing flies in just seven days?"

Snape frowned, staring intently at the process diagram laid out in front of him.

Devereux, however, kept his eyes fixed on the storage room behind him.

He wrung his hands now and then, an eager glint flashing in his eyes.

Hearing Snape's question, Devereux reluctantly tore his gaze away from the room brimming with potion ingredients and gave a nod.

"That's right. The most crucial part is that I replaced the African boomslang skin with the fangs of a banded krait. Although this increases the toxicity tenfold, the brewing process speeds up dramatically. As for the toxicity—it's actually easy to manage. Just take an antidote pill within half an hour after ingesting the potion."

"Of course, this is based on the improved formula I developed earlier. It reduces the use of bicorn horn, significantly decreasing the body's rejection response."

Snape listened to Devereux's casual explanation with growing intensity.

He leaned back in his soft leather chair, staring up at the ceiling.

Rubbing his forehead with one hand, he slowly shook his head and muttered under his breath,

"Too dangerous... but..."

After a moment, Snape sat upright again. His expression was one of sudden realization, as if he'd just unraveled a mystery that had eluded him for ages.

"Your idea is highly dangerous... but it may actually be worth trying. Still..."

At that moment, Snape seemed to revert to his usual intimidating self.

His eyes narrowed and turned sharp as blades, locking onto Devereux like a predator eyeing prey.

"How did you come up with such an idea? And how did you even learn about the effects of banded krait fangs?"

Devereux stood confidently, certain of his idea's merit.

He responded directly.

"Isn't it obvious? I once treated a patient who—"

No!

Devereux froze mid-sentence.

He suddenly remembered—this idea had come to him after he copied and loaded Madam Pomfrey's entry.

He had used much of her medical experience in handling poisons and antidotes.

So how was he supposed to explain his knowledge of banded krait venom and how to treat it?

Uh-oh.

He fell silent.

Noticing Devereux's hesitation, Snape narrowed his eyes even further.

He tilted his head forward, exuding a quiet menace.

"You wouldn't have..."

Devereux felt the muscles in his back tense.

Was Snape onto him? Could he have guessed his secret system?

No way! There's no chance he could guess something that absurd!

But Snape's expression looked alarmingly insightful.

A cold sneer curled on his lips.

"You wouldn't have sneaked into the restricted section, would you!?"

"Huh?"

Devereux blinked in surprise, momentarily confused by the sudden accusation.

"Don't play dumb! You think I don't know what's in those library books?"

Snape's sneer deepened, victory dancing across his face.

"European wizards have very limited research on banded kraits. You won't find them mentioned in standard textbooks."

"And when I was a student here, I personally read every potion and herbology book in the library. There's absolutely nothing about banded kraits in them."

Snape leaned back, looking supremely satisfied.

"But there is one book in the restricted section—St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries: Critical Care Records. That book contains a case involving a banded krait bite. You must have read it there, right?"

Devereux nearly applauded.

This wasn't just potion expertise—Snape was practically Sherlock Holmes!

The logic was completely off-track, but somehow, the conclusion was spot on!

And honestly? It was a perfect excuse.

Devereux nodded.

"Yes, Professor. That's where I learned it."

Snape's triumphant sneer widened.

Devereux's gut twisted with foreboding.

"Then, Mr. Alexander," Snape said with exaggerated politeness, "for breaking school rules and entering the restricted section without a professor's permission... I am assigning you detention."

Damn it!

Devereux's eyes widened in dismay.

This old bat had lured him into a trap!

"Professor... I was doing research! You can't do this!"

He tried pleading his case, hoping his accomplishments might earn him leniency.

Of course, to his adult soul, detention wasn't a huge deal.

But he suspected Snape would personally supervise.

And that was a fate worse than expulsion!

Snape paused, seeming to consider something.

He glanced at the potion flow chart on his desk.

Devereux watched his expression closely.

Wait a second... was Snape reconsidering?

Could it be—was he about to be spared?

"You'll report to my office every night for the next week."

What?!

A whole week of detention?!

Devereux wanted to cry.

This punishment was on par with something Umbridge would dish out.

"But Professor, it was just the restricted section! A week is too much..."

He gave one last protest, hoping to salvage his weekend.

He still had a castle to explore!

"Oh? You think so?"

Snape arched a brow.

"You walked into an area filled with items that could kill you—or everyone else in the school—in countless ways. A week's detention is too much?"

Snape paused, then added with an ominous calm,

"Perhaps I should speak with the Headmaster. He might prefer expulsion."

That shut Devereux up.

Defeated, he bowed his head.

Detention it was.

"Alright. That's all for today. Go back to your dormitory and get some rest."

For some reason, Snape seemed in an unusually good mood now.

Probably because he got to punish someone and feel like a genius in the same conversation.

"Psychopathic old bat!"

Devereux muttered internally as he got up, still reluctantly glancing toward the storage room.

He swore to himself—first chance he got, he was going to sneak back in and raid that place!

"Oh, one more thing."

Snape's voice halted him mid-step.

"Next Friday afternoon, keep your schedule open. I'll be taking you somewhere."

"Huh? Where are we going, Professor?"

Devereux asked cautiously.

Snape didn't respond.

Instead, a quill on his desk began writing on its own.

Once the scribbling stopped, Snape picked it up and signed his name at the bottom.

He handed the parchment to Devereux.

"You're not to enter the restricted section on your own again. I do have a quota that allows students to borrow from it—one book per week."

Devereux looked down at the parchment, stunned.

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