Azkaban students at Hogwarts

Roman rarely had breakfast in the dining room, preferring to bring a few sandwiches back to the house from the kitchen the day before.

A hundred or so owls flew into the restaurant and circled around the table until they dropped the package roughly.

Sometimes a tired owl will fall into the cereal.

This simply affects the appetite.

Roman brushed the owl feathers off his head and ate the sausage in his mouth expressionlessly.He lifted the thick dragon-skin notebook and placed it on the dinner plate.

But there was no way, he was going to be busy with Snape for who knew how long today; and before that, he had to make sure that Damcos Belby's letter was answered.

As he swallowed the last bite of toast, the wobbly brown owl fell onto the nacho plate.

Roman looked at the owl distressedly and was about to take a sip of orange juice to calm down his shock.

But the owl obviously didn't think so.

It angrily pushed a package twice its size in front of Roman.

"Don't be like this, come on, eat first."

Roman picked up a few corn flakes from under it and brought them to its mouth, while he drank the orange juice at the bottom of the glass calmly.

The owl pecked his finger angrily, but then moved away, tempted by the cornflakes.

"Hey buddy."

"It's a shame, we've heard that."

"Take extra classes. Does Snape want you to follow OWLS standards?"

A familiar voice came, making Roman realize that he was sitting at the Gryffindor table.

But what can be done?

Hufflepuff's table was overcrowded, and there were even more owls at the other two house tables.

Fred sat next to Roman without waiting for a reply.

First I grabbed myself a piece of jam bread, and then took a few big gulps of oatmeal.

George sat down on the other side of Roman.

"Promise me." Fred said vaguely, "If he makes you a specimen, please come back as a ghost."

"We will avenge you."

George banged the sugar bowl against his chest, as if that would be convincing.

"I don't think that's the case."

Roman grinned, then stroked the owl's feathers, "The little guy must be exhausted."

The owl turned its butt against him unhappily, but he persisted in stroking it.

Then he opened the package with clean hands, leaving the curious owl among the crumbs.

Then——Roman frowned.

What Mr. Belby sent was not the latest progress in Wolfsbane potion as he thought, but several bottles of potions of different colors.

Each bottle is carefully wrapped in sponge and grass clippings and covered with thick parchment instructions.

Prescribing potions in the dining room was a bit unfashionable, so he just picked up the top slip of parchment.

The other party's handwriting was scrawled and messy, obviously written in a hurry.

"Moonstone grinding does increase the stability of Wolfsbane Aconitum, but it also makes it less effective. The latest formula is only slightly stronger than what's on the market and doesn't meet our expectations."

"I used four new ways to dissolve it, and one bottle even added the highly toxic juice of Wolfsbane Aconitum, but the effect was still not ideal."

Roman flipped through the notes casually. Most of the records in them were experimental data, and then there was the news he had gathered among the werewolves.

This is what Mr. Belby lacks - he cannot get so many werewolf data.

Even Roman himself did not expect that the investigation task he took on for dozens of galleons would eventually become a TV series.

"Cool." Fred looked at the neat potions in the box and stuffed the bread into his nostrils.

"I think it's better not to touch it." Roman shook his head and covered the box.At the same time, he pressed Fred's hand to align the bread.

"You two little bastards! Wait until I catch you..."

Administrator Filch's cursing voice could be heard from across the corridor.

Fred and George jumped up at the same time, each grabbed an omelette and stuffed it into their mouths.

"We were just on the armor in the corridor..." Fred said vaguely.

"A sprig of mistletoe with a little fruit on it." George said more vaguely.

They jumped over the stools and ran quickly towards the outer hall.

"I swear."

"Just a little bit."

When Filch walked into the restaurant angrily, the table was already empty.

Roman came underground and stopped in front of the dimly lit office.

He knocked on the door, but no one answered.

But the door opened with his knock.

There was no one in the office, and there were a few cauldrons on the floor.

The shelves against the wall are filled with countless glass specimen jars.

"Professor Snape?"

Roman was carrying a box and an owl on his shoulder, looking like he had just come from next door to visit relatives.

"I don't remember asking you to bring these extra things."

The door to Snape's personal storage room opened. The man who was originally just sallow-faced was now like a zombie, with red eyes.

"Professor? Do you need me to take you to Madam Pomfrey?"

Roman looked at the somewhat frightened Snape and suddenly felt that the Weasley brothers' concerns were justified.

"It's not necessary."

Snape threw a dozen thick, neatly bound pieces of parchment into his arms, then turned around and took out a bottle of potion from the shelf, and drank it in large gulps.

"If you didn't drink this stuff to death, it would be a good fortune teller." His ears were abnormally dark red, but he was in much better spirits.

Snape returned to the private storage room and rolled out a full trolley. "Now, let's get through it my way."

Roman looked at one of the pots of mature mandrakes and subconsciously blocked his ears.

When noon came, the potion on the flame was already foaming with light blue foam.

Roman put the wand into the pot and turned it clockwise seven times. It immediately turned into a clear pink liquid.

Now it has to be simmered for six hours before other ingredients can be mixed in, but Roman has already seen its subtlety.

Mandrake is cleverly added to the formula, along with Wolfsbane Aconitum, which can both keep the user awake and relieve pain.

Compared with the life and death of the Living Hell Decoction, wealth and wealth are in the sky; it will be safer to use the potion in a awake state.

He raised his head and looked at Snape, who was still revising the remaining manuscript.

The other party has fallen into an obsessive state of research, and the quill in his hand keeps writing.

Two cauldrons beside him were churning with foam.

The silver knife flew in the air, cutting the ginger root into powder.

The stone mortar kept pounding the snake teeth into powder.

Roman didn't want to know the consequences of disturbing Snape at this time, so he wisely started to find something else to do.

He looked at the remaining wolfsbane aconite in the cart, the crucible in the corner, and the owl sleeping on it, and silently opened Belby's box.

It can be seen from those lengthy descriptions that Wolfsbane Aconitum has been tortured to a terrible state.

In the Middle Ages, aconite was used in poisonous arrows for hunting wolves.

And now it will save werewolves as a potion that temporarily kills their wolf nature.

Should it be said to be ironic or to make the best use of it?

Roman carefully created an isolation strip with his wand, cast a soaking charm on himself, and then slowly unscrewed the potion sent by Mr. Belby.

Looking at the potion in the crucible that rolled automatically without fire, he smiled bitterly.

If any werewolf drinks this, he will be "lucky".