Dead silence.
The classroom fell into a silence so complete it felt like a graveyard.
If, just a second ago, everyone had been brimming with anticipation for an explosion and ridicule for Lucian, then now their minds had completely crashed—overwritten by the utterly unreasonable scene before them.
It was as though time itself had been struck by a Freezing Charm.
Every movement was suspended. The only thing in motion was the dreamlike pale golden glow rising from Lucian Thornwick's cauldron—and the lingering fragrance in the air, as if it could cleanse the very soul.
Every pair of eyes was locked, unblinking, on the potion before him.
That could no longer be called a Cure for Boils.
It looked more like a sapphire melted by the hand of a god, resting within an ordinary brass cauldron, radiating magical fluctuations that made all mortals tremble.
Among the crowd, Hermione Granger's face flushed crimson, the color spreading all the way to her ears.
She clutched her copy of Magical Drafts and Potions tightly—the textbook she had treated as absolute truth, nearly memorized cover to cover. Now it felt unbearably hot in her hands, as though it were mercilessly mocking her ignorance.
Shame.
An unprecedented wave of shame flooded her heart.
Just minutes ago, she had tried to stop Lucian from a position of academic superiority, convinced his actions were reckless, wrong, and in violation of the rules.
But now, it seemed the truly laughable one was herself.
"How… how did he do that?"
Hermione screamed inwardly.
Her mind raced, desperately trying to analyze Lucian's earlier steps using everything she knew about Potions.
Mixing dried nettles and crushed snake fangs first—by all logic, that was forbidden! It should have caused violent magical conflict!
And his control over the flame… his stirring technique… That wasn't something a first-year could possibly achieve. No—even seventh-year graduates of Hogwarts, perhaps even mediocre Potions masters, would be incapable of reaching that seamless state, as if he were one with magic itself.
He hadn't been fooling around.
He had been creating a miracle—one that Hermione Granger, who prided herself on being the most knowledgeable witch among her peers, couldn't comprehend and could barely even fathom aspiring to.
In that moment, her pride and confidence in knowledge shattered completely.
She looked at Lucian's calm, handsome profile, and for the first time, her eyes revealed a complex emotion—an awe mixed with admiration.
On the other side of the classroom, Draco Malfoy was in an entirely different state.
His face had gone as pale as parchment. The grey eyes that usually carried arrogance and disdain were now wide open, pupils contracted in extreme shock.
"N-no… impossible… This can't be real…"
His lips trembled soundlessly as his mind roared in denial.
Just moments ago, he had been mocking Lucian.
And now reality had delivered the loudest slap imaginable.
What was that?
The golden glow. The sacred fragrance. The flawless potion…
The Malfoy family library contained descriptions of legendary "Potion Masters." It was said that only those who had pushed the art of Potions to its absolute limit might trigger such phenomena while brewing.
A first-year Gryffindor?
Achieving something that only legendary masters could accomplish?
In that instant, every ounce of pride and confidence Draco had built since childhood was crushed to dust.
The pure-blood heritage he so revered seemed laughable before the miracle Lucian had displayed.
The Potions knowledge he believed placed him above others was, in comparison to Lucian's revolutionary methods, like that of a babbling infant.
This wasn't a gap.
It was an abyss—a chasm so vast that he couldn't even summon jealousy. Only despair.
"H-how is that possible?"
Ron Weasley's mouth hung wide open. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, then pinched Harry hard.
"Ow!"
Harry yelped, but his gaze never left Lucian's cauldron.
"Harry, you saw that, right? Tell me I'm not dreaming!"
Ron's voice trembled.
"I saw it, Ron."
Harry swallowed hard, waves crashing violently within his own heart.
For Ron, who had grown up in the wizarding world, and for Harry, who had long dreamed of magic before discovering it was real, today's shock was unprecedented.
In their understanding, Potions class meant Snape's oppressive presence, foul smells, and cauldrons ready to explode at any second.
They had never imagined—nor read in any book—that Potions could look like this.
That wasn't brewing.
That was a performance of the highest form of magic.
Harry stared at Lucian Thornwick—the quiet Gryffindor boy who usually kept to himself, almost invisible.
A powerful sense of frustration welled up inside him.
Just moments ago, he had been humiliated by Snape, mocked with the words, "Fame isn't everything."
And now, Lucian had proven something else entirely—
Comprehension could be everything.
What "Chosen One"?
In the presence of a true magical genius like this, the halo brought by the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead seemed to dim instantly.
For the first time, they realized—
Potions class could be like this.