HP: It's a snake, not a badger.

Chapter 7 The tea master expressed his doubts

Who could refuse Galleons? No one. Emeric was overjoyed after receiving the signed contract. Although Snape would receive 10% of the proceeds from each bottle of the replica potion sold, the prospect of having the youngest Potions Master in history researching potions was enough to draw many buyers, not to mention it was actually true.

The formulas Snape researched cost zero money; they were all stolen from somewhere by his ancestors. The herbs were grown on his own estate, and rare animal parts were harvested directly. If he couldn't get them, he traded them with animals. If he really needed to spend money, he could find a partner family to exchange them for. The initial investment was actually not much.

Failed research products, as long as they are non-toxic and harmless, can be processed and modified. For example, the waterproofing agent produced in the previous failure could only prevent oil stains and was not waterproof, so it was used to produce kitchen aprons. Every little bit helps. Half of the revenue went to operating costs, part to pay Snape's research salary, and the rest went into his pocket.

Emmerich's punctual arrival every night made Snape very happy: he didn't randomly throw things into the crucible, he didn't get distracted while stirring, he handled materials strictly according to requirements, he was aware of safety precautions, and he would even bring him things every time he came.

Merlin's lace-trimmed trousers... finally, he'd met a normal little wizard whose brain wasn't filled with water or slugs. Snape was deeply moved, looking at the newly acquired mutated sneeze root, and became even more attentive to Emeric's upbringing.

Without comparison, there's no harm done. The Gryffindor students next door are messing around in class, blowing up the crucible, scalding people with the medicine, and locking up slugs to deal with. But the little snake in my own little house just looks better and better.

Emeric noticed that Snape was in a good mood, at least when he looked at him. As for the Gryffindors next to him being in a bad mood, that was none of his concern.

He was actually quite puzzled. Surely no one was giving the professor gifts? Was it really that hard to please him? If all else failed, he could give him some homemade pastries, casually showing his injured hand and saying he genuinely knew he was wrong. Taking the initiative to apologize would reduce the punishment considerably. Emeric, an expert in tea ceremony, remarked that these people couldn't even feign pitifulness; they deserved to be punished.

Of course, these methods don't apply to Slytherin. Emerick has his own little tricks for dealing with his Headmaster. First, apologize, then offer to punish him, satisfying the professor's perverse tastes, and ideally, having a Gryffindor take the fall as well.

A few days ago, Snape caught him out at night. Before Snape could get angry, he said, "I'm sorry, Professor. I was wrong to come out so late. I just remembered that you haven't eaten anything all night because you were tutoring me, so I wanted to bring you a midnight snack."

Emeric's tone was somber as he took out a box of pastries he had previously hidden in the ring, which he didn't want to eat. "I originally wanted to bring you some hot food, but I was afraid you were busy. These pastries aren't very sweet, so you can have something to eat. Please don't refuse them because you're angry. I'll be in the cellar for solitary confinement at six o'clock tomorrow."

Snape had barely begun to speak, "Mr. Thaddeus, assuming your eyes can see time, and your brain can comprehend what night is..." The master of tea—Emeric—started brewing tea upon hearing Snape's sarcastic remark. Regardless of right or wrong, apologizing first is always a good idea, especially since he'd been caught breaking school rules. (This tactic is incredibly effective at appeasing one's wife; Harry gave it a thumbs up.)

Compared to Filch's physical labor, processing herbs in the cellar was clearly more comfortable. Although some of the herbs were a bit disgusting, at least you could leave when it was time to go. If Snape were brewing potions, he could even learn a trick or two.

Emeric was also puzzled as to why his classmates would rather do manual labor than learn from the Potions Master. Professor Snape brewed potions almost every day; he could probably learn some tricks by watching for a week. The professor was indeed sharp-tongued, but he didn't scare his students. Wasn't Filch's constant talk of caning far more terrifying?

Every day, they would give Snape small, inexpensive gifts that appealed to his tastes, so he wasn't too angry when Snape caught Emerick's nighttime wanderings. He would even accept the snack gift box that Emerick handed him.

"Now that Mr. Thaddeus knows he was wrong, I don't think you'll have time for remedial lessons until the end of your confinement. Hand me a two-foot-long letter of apology by next Monday." Snape's wicked Zairemike, who loved to steal his ideas, had assigned him the most dreaded essay assignment.

He noticed that Emeric's little tricks for brewing medicine were becoming more and more like his own, realizing that the young wizard was secretly learning, and learning very quickly, so much so that he couldn't find anything to criticize him for lately.

Upon hearing the two-foot-long apology letter, Emeric stiffened. He figured he'd rather write the letter than do manual labor at Filch's. He already had to go to the cellar every day, and the professor decided what kind of solitary confinement he'd be put in. If he was in a good mood and some unlucky Gryffindor got caught, he might not even have to do any work.

After a second of calming himself down, Emerick immediately accepted the condition and promised Snape that he would not go out at night again and risk being caught.