Hogwarts: I Can Still Learn

The life of being obsessed with research always passes quickly. Just like now, Vincent, who was boiling the potion, was sweating all over his head and realized that it was already summer.

“Daisy roots chopped and shriveled figs peeled”

The boy held the knife and muttered to himself. There was a small crucible in front of him, which contained boiling green potion.

"Stir clockwise three times and then the leech juice will only take a little bit."

He picked up a glass bottle filled with brown liquid, struggled to unscrew the lid, pinched his nose and stretched out his hand to pour it into the crucible.

"It's time for Vincent to have dinner." Aunt Elise's shout came from downstairs, and the frightened boy's hands shook violently.

By the time he came to his senses, most of the liquid in the bottle had been poured out, and the dirty brown was slowly dissolving into the clear green.

"Alas, failed again"

Vincent sighed. This was his third attempt at brewing a shrinking potion. The first two attempts also failed at this step.

He didn't know what use this potion was for him, but if he wanted to make a high-level potion like the magic recovery potion, he had to start from scratch and learn how to make the potion in the lower grade textbooks.

But obviously, Vincent does not seem to have as strong a talent in the field of potions as learning spells.

Making a potion is not a soup.When making soup, even if you make a mistake in any step, the taste will be slightly different at most. But unlike potions, if you make a mistake even a little bit, the effect of the finished product will be vastly different.

A strange sour smell began to spread in the attic. Vincent did not dare to delay. He picked up the crucible and ran downstairs to flush it in the toilet.

"Vincent, are you pouring something into the toilet again?" Aunt Elise called to him with a frown, still holding a spoon stained with tomato juice.

"Oh, please don't pour your failed products into the sewer pipes again. It will corrode the pipes. The owner of the Chinese restaurant downstairs just told me yesterday. He said that customers can always smell something in the toilet. Smells like shit”

When Vincent heard this, he had to stop and move the crucible out of the toilet.

"Then I'll go downstairs and pour it."

"Well, be careful how you dress up."

Elise was just about to turn around and clean up the kitchen, but she caught sight of her little nephew poking his head at the bathroom door.

I saw a small ball of white light floating on top of his head. His long white hair was tied into a ponytail. He was loosely wrapped around a white apron that he found somewhere and had almost turned green on his forehead. His trousers were rolled up to his knees. , with a pair of flip-flops under his feet.

"I just said why can't I find my apron all of a sudden?"

"Okay, I'll give it back to you after I clean it up." Vincent took off his apron, picked up the crucible and walked towards the door.

As a result, Elise stopped him again: "Put on your shoes before going down."

""Flip-flops are not shoes. Why don't you just go downstairs?

Alas, forget it, ordinary people cannot understand the charm of flip-flops.I think back then, in his hometown, flip-flops were a symbol of wealth, fashion and wealth.

Vincent reluctantly changed out of his King's Drags, and suddenly recalled that the last time he properly wore shoes and went out was when he went shopping in Diagon Alley half a year ago.

Aunt Elise must have realized that two months at home was nothing.

But now, when I feel it carefully, I find that the shoes are a bit tight on my feet.

Vincent lamented that time had made his shoes smaller and walked out of the house carrying the crucible.

In fact, it was getting late now, but the lamp above the boy's head illuminated the corridor even brighter than during the day.

He only made this last week. It wasn't that fast at first, but there was a sudden power outage that night. Although it was only for a few seconds, Vincent was so frightened that he no longer believed in electricity, so he worked overtime to create a levitation. lamp.

This lamp is attached with a lighting array, a floating array and a relatively unpopular tracking array, which will automatically float on his head.The three magic circles were all engraved on with the blood of Motla rats he bought. To his surprise, the first addition was successful.

Vincent carefully put away the lamp and went around to the alley behind the shop. There was a whole sewage channel beside the wall. There was everything in it. You didn't have to worry about being discovered when you poured the potion here.

The liquid in the crucible had begun to smell like rotten eggs, and he felt that he should move faster.

Even though there are street lights here, it’s still pretty dark anyway.

Vincent was pouring into the ditch, and suddenly there was a "squeak" from behind, and then a man's voice said: "What kind of rotten egg soup did you pour?"

He quickly looked back and saw that the back door of the Chinese restaurant was open, and a guy who looked like a chef was leaning out half of his body to get some air.

"Well, yes." Vincent reluctantly confirmed the other party's guess. Rotten egg soup is rotten egg soup. It can't be said to be a shrinking potion.

"It tastes very strong." The man obviously didn't expect that his soup was really rotten egg soup, so he walked out of the door with great interest and said.

Vincent looked at him under the dim street light. The man had a yellow face, about 30 years old. He was wearing a white chef's uniform and had a herringbone on his feet. drag

They seem to be of the same mind.

He suddenly lost his guard against the chef.

At the same time, the chef was also looking at him.

The boy squatted beside the stinking ditch. His height could not be seen, but he looked like a child no matter what.

Well, that's a kid.

"Children, don't mess around with food to eat at home. It will upset your stomach. If you are really hungry, you can come to our restaurant to eat."

"You are the owner of this Chinese restaurant." Vincent suddenly remembered the unlucky guy who had a customer complain about the smell of shit in the toilet because of the corrosion of the sewer pipe.

"Yes, I am." The chef puffed out his belly proudly.

"Are you Chinese?" Vincent suddenly asked in Chinese.

"Yes, you can speak Chinese," the boss replied in Chinese.

"I've learned a little bit," he scratched his head and lied, "What do you call me?"

"My surname is Zhang, just call me Uncle Zhang."

Maybe it was because it had been so long since I had met someone with whom I could chat in my hometown dialect, so the conversation between the two of them opened up immediately.In fact, it was mainly Uncle Zhang who was talking and Vincent was listening. After all, in Uncle Zhang's eyes, he was just a kid who had learned Chinese and had nothing to listen to.

"I also have a daughter, who is probably a little younger than you. You can get to know her mother who works in an underground organization."

Wait, Huayi Zhang has a daughter who is one year younger than me.

it can't be such a coincidence