Plants vs. Zombies? Forget it. Even if Allen could cultivate plants for that purpose, it wasn't realistic at all.
In the wizarding world, there were creatures similar to zombies, but a simple ring of fire could solve the problem. Why bother going through the trouble of transplanting plants? This wasn't a T-virus outbreak. Creating Shadows required manual effort—Voldemort was a dark wizard, not a necromancer. No waving a wand to summon thousands of skeletons and relying on a human-wave tactic here.
Still, it wasn't entirely fruitless. Allen realized that some of the plant modification techniques could be applied to magical inheritance.
A wand flick producing clusters of mushrooms instead of attacking plants… that wasn't impossible.
Thinking carefully, since battles here relied heavily on dodging and positioning, Allen found the idea very feasible—now it could go boom boom boom.
With that thought, Allen and his roommates, the center of everyone's admiration, carried a large pot of chilies back. According to the professor, these were best left untouched by ordinary students. Even though their explosive ability was temporarily restricted, they were still dangerous. Too much pressure and… boom!
For this reason, Marshall and the others, though curious, examined them briefly and then put them aside, pulling out a deck of cards to play. Since they were back, they didn't bother seeking fun elsewhere.
While they played, Allen reopened the notes he had obtained from that incompetent werewolf. Although he remembered most of the content, after comparing it with the professor's materials and activating his alchemy inheritance, he realized his initial study had been somewhat shallow.
Mastering and creating were two entirely different concepts. With his knowledge now complete, Allen's skill in Potions gradually progressed from mere mastery to true creation.
Although he lacked passive bonuses from alchemy, and didn't have recipes for potions that could significantly enhance physical abilities, or even the common ones due to unavailable ingredients, the knowledge was still invaluable—it transformed him from a top student in Potions to a prodigy.
Don't underestimate Potions. While Voldemort specialized in Dark Magic, his core subject was undeniably Potions.
At the time, the Slytherin head of house was also a Potions professor. The erudite Slughorn was the source and foundation of most of Voldemort's knowledge.
For example, Voldemort's greatest reliance, his Horcruxes, and even his resurrection methods—crafted with potions imbued with Dark Magic.
So, it wasn't that the schools couldn't produce experts—rather, many students simply didn't pay attention in class.
Even if you couldn't access the professor's signature skills, a few notes from them could unlock a treasure trove of library resources.
In short, although Allen wasn't allowed to show others the professor's materials, comparing them to the potion book at hand, he gained a lot in just one morning. While marveling at the lack of time and beginning to theorize another potion formula, someone knocked at the tent's door.
Strange—who could it be at this hour?
After calling them in, a small head peeked inside—it was a well-known junior from their house.
She had made significant contributions in Herbology that no student dared inform the professor about. She had independently figured out how to incorporate herbs from half of a greenhouse into meals.*
Of course, the "half" referred to quantity, not variety—she picked the herbs with the largest numbers for her experiments.
Though she had created several experimental dishes, she had successfully earned a chef's spot at the Hufflepuff weekend buffet—after all, she was half-blood, with culinary skills and ingredient bonuses.
"Allen-senpai, I heard you got a chili this morning?" she asked confidently, as they were fairly familiar.
"Yes, that's right. You're well-informed—how did you know?" Allen set down his quill, surprised. They hadn't encountered any acquaintances on the way.
"The Mahoutokoro students in the advanced class told me. They said you took a chili carefully cultivated by their professor. The professor was so angry she didn't even explain its use before dismissing them. If they hadn't been quick at the start, today's hotpot ingredients wouldn't have been enough."
Impressive—Selma's culinary attack has infiltrated the enemy! Wait… hold on.
Hotpot?
Intruder! Mahoutokoro has a mole! They ate the professor's carefully nurtured herbs!—Of course, Allen completely ignored how they handled herbs that had been boiled into porridge.
"Alright—today there aren't enough ingredients. Another day, I'll have them grow more, and we can cook together. Today, I just borrowed a bit of chili as seasoning. I want to see what makes these specially cultivated chilies different."
What about the poor old professor? Allen felt a pang of guilt and pointed to the pot of chilies—he had forgotten their dangerous nature.
As for the professor, no worries—the mass of herbs was for school use, and compared to Potion class consumption, their small sampling was negligible.
Once Selma entered, Allen suddenly remembered the chili's danger. He almost immediately stood up, wand in hand, hurrying over—yet nothing happened.
Selma had already finished harvesting. She rolled her eyes at Allen:
"Not gonna kill you—don't be so stingy!"
Speechless, Allen could only watch as Selma left with the prize. Only then did he check the plant—shouldn't it have exploded?
Yet, nothing happened—the chili was trembling.
Yes, Allen could even sense its fear, its branches quivering uncontrollably.
What the…? Why?
If he didn't know Selma lacked such high-level skills, he might have suspected her of being a druid—able to activate plants with a touch.
But it was clear the plant's sentience was temporary. When Allen communicated with it, he saw its consciousness steadily decreasing, likely returning to its original state soon.
What caused this? How did she do it?