After setting up the cauldron, Alan performed a final check of his ingredients; the quality of the raw materials always dictated the purity of the finished product. He began processing them according to the refined instructions. One batch of Euphoria Potion required two Mandrake fruits: one added whole and unpeeled, and the other peeled and sliced into precise strips.
Alan's hands were perfectly steady. Soon, the preparation was complete.
The next stage was the most delicate: timing the additions. He had to monitor the shifting colors of the liquid, the thickness of the rising smoke, and the specific cadence of the boil to decide when to stir or add the next component. The process went smoothly, and Alan felt his confidence grow as the chemical reactions mirrored the descriptions in the book exactly.
At the final step, where a standard brewer would simply extinguish the heat and let the mixture settle, the Half-Blood Prince's notes suggested that adding a sprig of peppermint would significantly enhance the potion's potency. Alan decided to experiment. He planned to brew one batch with the modification and one without to compare the results.
He dropped the peppermint into the first cauldron. After the settling period, the batch was complete.
"Should I test it myself?" Alan looked at the shimmering liquid in the glass vial, feeling a momentary surge of conflict. But the potion's properties were identical to the Prince's description; surely a single leaf of peppermint wouldn't turn a happiness draft into a poison.
He took a small sip.
Almost immediately, a wonderful, pleasant warmth spread through his chest. His worries seemed to drift away, replaced by an easy sense of contentment. The potion was a success.
"Good. It works exactly as intended. Now for the original version."
One cauldron produced five standard vials. According to Hagrid, Slughorn & Jigger's Apothecary in Diagon Alley would purchase them for twelve Galleons a bottle. It wasn't a fortune, but it was steady income that didn't require him to risk his life.
The second batch, made without the peppermint, also produced a feeling of happiness, but it was noticeably milder.
"The peppermint makes the onset faster and the emotion more intense," Alan noted. Personally, he preferred the original version; he didn't enjoy having his emotional state manipulated too heavily. However, he knew that apothecaries and customers would invariably flock to the more potent formula.
"It seems this 'Prince' knows his business," Alan mused. With the Prince's credibility established through the potions, his curiosity toward the spells recorded in the margins resurfaced. He suppressed the urge for a moment, finishing his work first.
By the end of five hours, Alan had produced ten bottles of high-quality Euphoria Potion. He packed them into a box to leave with Hagrid, intending to borrow more vials from the Potions classroom before returning the next day to process the remaining Mandrakes.
To celebrate the successful start of his venture, Alan used the new iron wok to stir-fry a massive batch of salt and pepper ribs. He and Hagrid feasted until they were both thoroughly satisfied.
The following afternoon, Alan returned to the hut with twenty fresh vials and a second cauldron borrowed from Vivian. He felt practiced enough to manage two batches simultaneously. After several hours of focused labor, he had produced another twenty bottles. Hagrid's supply of Mandrakes had been transformed perfectly into liquid gold. Alan kept ten bottles for himself and entrusted the other twenty to Hagrid to sell.
"Finally finished!" Alan stretched, feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders. With the work done, the urge to try the Prince's spell became irresistible. "If the recipes are real, the magic should be too."
He stepped out of the small hut into the crisp November air. He set up a thick, unsplit log in an open space and walked about fifteen yards away. "This should be a safe distance," he calculated, ensuring he was clear of any potential backsplash.
Alan drew his wand, aimed it at the distant wood, and spoke the incantation: "Sectumsempra!"
A nearly invisible blade of magic tore through the air with terrifying speed. In the blink of an eye, the heavy log was sliced clean in half as if by a giant, invisible razor.
Alan's eyes widened, and he let out a sharp gasp. It wasn't just the power of the spell that shocked him—it was the familiarity. He had seen this magic before. On the night he first met Sirius, this was the very curse that had nearly struck him. If not for Lily's amulet, he would have ended up just like that log.
"So it was you, Snape!"
Alan remembered the man from that night—the dark-clad wizard whose single spell had shredded his Shield Charms with ease. "I never would have guessed you were the Half-Blood Prince. Not only an arrogant show-off, but a Death Eater to boot," Alan thought bitterly. He made a silent vow that if he ever had the chance, he wouldn't mind giving Snape a taste of his own invention.
He walked toward the severed log to inspect the damage. The cut was surgically neat, and he could feel the faint, oily residue of dark magic lingering on the surface. He tried a basic healing spell on the wood, but the two halves remained separate, the magic refusing to mend.
A chill ran down Alan's spine. The destructive power was staggering—the speed, the invisibility of the projectile, and the apparent resistance to healing magic.
"If there isn't a specific counter-curse for this, it's as bad as an Unforgivable," he frowned. Even if a counter existed, this was Dark Arts of the highest order. A victim wouldn't just be wounded; they would bleed to death while standard healing magic failed to stop the flow.
"This is too dangerous to use casually," he decided. "Unless it's a matter of life or death, this stays in the book. If I accidentally hit myself, it would be suicide."
Alan took several deep breaths to settle his racing heart. He suppressed the shock, schooling his features into a mask of indifference, and returned to the hut to prepare dinner as if nothing had happened.