Chapter 3: A Side Effect Cured by Coin
With a final, concussive Confringo, the last of the stones shattered. The jumbled rock formation was now an unrecognizable crater. In its center, however, a dark, square entrance had appeared, a stark anomaly that proved this place was anything but ordinary.
The surrounding marsh water immediately began to trickle into the opening. Ryan quickly cast a Freezing Charm, solidifying the mud around the entrance to prevent the ruin from turning into an aquarium.
Perhaps eight hundred years ago, this wasn't a marsh at all, he reasoned. Even before the 1631 Ministry decree banning all magical beings except wizards from carrying wands, it was unlikely that a Merperson wizard would set up their home in the middle of a bog, let alone a human one.
Covered in splattered mud, he jumped into the opening, his Triple-cast Shield Charm absorbing the impact.
He landed in a spacious, underground room. Books and wooden crates were stacked neatly in the corners, and a long table covered with various instruments stood in the center. The floor was surprisingly clean, save for a few drops of mud from the entrance.
Though he couldn't see anything, the thrum of magic in his veins screamed that the room was saturated with power—and danger. He had to be careful.
"Protego!"
"Sometimes," he muttered to himself, "one good trick is all you need."
His Shield Charm shattered and reformed in a constant, shimmering cycle as he endured a relentless onslaught of attacks from all directions.
Forty-seven magical attacks, and thirty-two of them were pure magical force… Ryan calculated calmly, his shield flickering under the strain. The traps left behind in a ruin were a clear window into its master's magical inclinations.
A "pure magic attack," as Ryan understood it, was the act of projecting raw magical energy without the framework of a specific spell. It was a brute-force method that inflicted both physical and magical damage. This inefficient way of using magic was like throwing Galleons instead of stones in a duel—a waste of energy for a subpar result.
In his previous explorations, he had encountered ruins that favored golems, others that relied on complex curses, and some that were masterpieces of Transfiguration.
One particular Transfiguration ruin had left him, then a third-year, completely helpless. He'd had no choice but to find his Head of House and claim he had "prophesied" the unearthing of an ancient site.
I'm a Seer, after all. It's perfectly normal for me to prophesy the discovery of ancient ruins!
And if Gringotts and the goblins had a problem with him scooping their discoveries? Well, had they ever heard of the Dumbledore deterrent? Did they not understand the prestige that came with being one of Hogwarts' top students?
Because of this, the goblins of Gringotts had a love-hate relationship with Ryan. They desperately wanted to form a partnership with him to hunt for treasure together.
But even with Professor Flitwick leading the expedition, that Transfiguration ruin had been nearly impossible to clear. Its core was a magical mirror, crafted by the ruin's master from the essence of dozens of Boggarts. Combined with the ruin's ambient transfiguration magic, it could, to some extent, manifest an explorer's greatest fears.
To this day, he would wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the sight of a figure in a blood-red wedding gown turning a corner, its feet floating just above the floor.
And the memory of returning to his dorm room, only to find it crowded with silent, staring figures where there should have been no one.
Then there was the Boggart that had truly shaken him: the sudden, overwhelming presence of a mushroom cloud blooming silently before him, so close he could feel the phantom heat.
That particular vision had left even Professor Flitwick pale, staring at Ryan as if he were some kind of monster. For the past year, Flitwick, a lifelong Charms master, had been constantly seeking out Professor Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. He had developed a morbid fascination with Muggle weaponry.
Sometimes, Ryan worried his favorite professor might one day pick up "weapons development" as a side hustle.
"Confringo!"
Ryan downed a magic-restoring potion with one hand while blasting an ornate Occamy-patterned vase that had suddenly enlarged and flown at his head. "None of this feels like the work of an alchemist..." he grumbled.
Ryan was fascinated by alchemy, once dreaming of crafting a full set of enchanted gear to make himself unbeatable. But he had yet to formally study the subject. Alchemy was a sixth-year elective at Hogwarts, available only to students who passed their O.W.L.s. It was a profoundly difficult discipline—hard to learn, harder to master—and trying to teach it to himself would be a waste of time.
His daily intel provided him with so many leads for exploration that he'd had to prioritize improving his self-defense skills over investing time in other pursuits.
Even so, he knew the basics. Modern alchemists typically focused on creating magical items, enchanting them with a variety of fixed spells. But the room he was in had very few such items. The master of this place seemed to have a unique obsession with raw magical power.
Finally, after the sixtieth attack, the ambient magic in the room fell silent. The latent magical traps had been exhausted.
"No wonder he earned a mention in the history books," Ryan said, allowing himself to relax slightly as he approached the table. "For his traps to hold this much power after eight hundred years is incredible." He knew with certainty that if time hadn't severely weakened the enchantments, he never would have survived the onslaught. His only option would have been to retreat and call for backup.
"On... External... Magic..."
He read the title from a clean manuscript lying on the table. It was written in Ancient Runes, a script entirely different from the one modern wizards used. He carefully turned the fragile pages, afraid a single rough movement would cause the parchment to crumble to dust.
Thankfully, Ancient Runes was a third-year course, and its deep connection to alchemy meant Ryan had memorized the translations for most common symbols. Thank you, ancient master, for not using obscure runes... Ryan thought, feeling a familiar sense of intellectual challenge, like translating classical texts in his old life. He took out his own parchment and quill and began the painstaking work of translation.
The morning flew by, but he had only translated about ten percent of the manuscript.
"My head is spinning. I'm exhausted," he sighed. "Translating research like this is the most draining work. You constantly have to shield your own thoughts from the influence of a powerful wizard's mind..."
"Time for a potion. Time for a break."
Ryan waved a hand. The signet ring on his thumb flashed, and following his own pre-planned schedule, a potion to restore mental energy appeared, along with buttered toast and a large lamb chop he'd brought from the Hogwarts kitchens. The ring was an alchemical creation, a gift from an alchemist he had helped with a prophecy. An Undetectable Extension Charm had been cast on its hollow interior, creating a space of over a hundred cubic feet. The alchemist had since become one of Ryan's regular pen pals.
"According to this manuscript," he murmured, reviewing his translation, "the research is about crafting portable, external sources of magic using the blood and magical cores of magical creatures..."
The concept was both bloody and horrifying, yet it possessed a kind of fantastical, gruesome beauty. The language throughout the text was rigorous, precise, and dazzlingly logical. It was written in such a way that it compelled the reader to follow in the author's footsteps, to experience the allure of the alchemical process firsthand.
That was the effect the manuscript was having on him. He could feel his own thoughts beginning to take on a crimson hue, his mind ceaselessly cataloging every magical creature he knew of and their weaknesses.
It wasn't until he had downed a Calming Draught and an energizing potion that he snapped back to himself, realizing he had already fallen under the influence of another's theories.
"It's not the first time," he shrugged. "These ancient masters had brilliant minds. It's normal for me to get swept away. As long as I'm prepared and take my potions on schedule, I can manage the risk."
This was the known drawback of studying magic far beyond one's level. Without a sufficient foundation, it was easy to be led astray, to become a mere follower echoing the thoughts of another.
It was a side effect that, thankfully, could be cured with coin. Ryan shook the two empty vials in his hand, lamenting the high cost of his education. The two potions, worth a total of six Galleons, only provided protection for about three hours of study.
For the next three days, Ryan followed a strict regimen. He divided his time into six-hour cycles: two hours to disarm traps and curses in the other rooms, collecting documents and alchemical items into his ring; two hours to translate the manuscript; and two hours to rest, clearing his mind completely.
A confident Seer wasn't afraid to spend money. He took his potions every two hours, leaving plenty of leeway. There was no need to push his limits.
After three days, the floor was littered with empty vials, looking like the aftermath of a wild party. Ryan had finally packed everything away and completed the translation of the manuscript. The cost: over seventy Galleons' worth of potions.
"Seventy Galleons in three days, just on potions," he calculated. "That's more than what most adult wizards earn in two months. It looks like it's time to release a few new prophecies."
He planned to head to Gringotts first, to withdraw some cash and sell off the less essential magical items he'd found. Then he would purchase new protective amulets and restock his potion supplies.
Of course, some things were not for sale. Ryan glanced at the silver chain coiled around his wrist, dotted with tiny, polished beads. It was the most precious physical treasure from this expedition, discovered hidden away under layers upon layers of protection.