Chapter 186: The Fundamental Thread
[While alchemists lose themselves in the endless, profound realms of materials, runes, and combinatory effects, they forget the power of magic itself. Magic is an art, far more than a science.]
[When the adage 'Only a carefully brewed potion yields the proper effect' emerged;]
[When Master Zygmunt Budge kept company with rats on the remote isle of Hermetray;]
[When Master Libatius Borage penned his notes on scraps of parchment.]
[Charms and Potions were already linked by a fundamental thread.]
[We have made the necessary efforts. The system of Willpower in Potions has been revealed.]
[But where is the path for Alchemy?]
Outside, heavy rain began to fall. Dark clouds gathered over the castle. A flash of lightning illuminated Sean's determined green eyes. He continued writing:
[It is not hard to perceive.]
[Consider the ingredients of Polyjuice Potion: Lacewing Flies symbolize a bond or tie; Leeches aim to draw the essence of another into oneself; Fluxweed represents the fluidity of form; Knotgrass binds the relationship between the two; and Boomslang Skin signifies the shedding of the old self for the new.]
[Potioneers aware of these hidden meanings often find the final brewing stages more intuitive.]
[Did the ingredients change? Did the heat control and stirring technique become more precise? No. The wizard simply found the perfect soul alignment with the magic.]
[Alchemists have kept their pursuit of wealth and the perfected soul secret, pondering and researching bitterly, yet the answer has been right in front of them all along.]
[Charms, Potions, and Alchemy should all be connected by a fundamental thread.]
[That thread is Ritual.]
[The gestures and pronunciation of Charms; the ingredients, stirring, and heat of Potions; the materials, Ancient Runes, and inscription techniques of Alchemy...]
[Together, they form a complete ritual.]
Thunder crashed in the distance, and the rain poured down.
If anyone understood potion rituals, if anyone had ventured far enough into the realm of mental willpower in potion-making to bring its core principles to Alchemy...
Even Professor Snape would have to admit there was only one person in the wizarding world currently capable of it.
Sean Green, the inheritor of the Modified Ritual, the refiner of the Guidance Method, and the creator of the Fusion Enlightenment Method.
Looking at the development of Polyjuice Potion, the rigor of Potions came from its long history; the best methods survived through natural selection.
Alchemy was different. Its broad applicability stemmed from its ambiguity and obscurity. Every wizard could draw the ritual power they needed from vague symbols and ambiguous phrases.
So, when Sean mapped the ritual steps of Polyjuice Potion onto the Magical Creature Transfiguration Biscuit, he was certain a new ritual had emerged.
He was standing on the shoulders of giants once again.
As Sean left, the fire in the hearth burned hotter than ever.
The storm raged, wind howling.
Under the dim light of the Room of Hope, a silver knife sparked as it was sharpened.
Curfew had passed. Hogwarts Castle was settling into its final moments before sleep, yet something within the slumber seemed to be awakening.
Modified Rituals shaped soul resonance.
The Guidance Method strengthened conviction.
The Fusion Enlightenment Method governed sublimation...
Finally—
Sean failed.
He stared at the strange cat-shaped biscuit for a long time, yet a brilliant smile spread across his face.
He had failed, of course, but the failure wasn't in his ritual. The flaw lay simply in his insufficient understanding of Mrs. Norris.
Is Mrs. Norris asleep?
Sean suddenly realized the room was pitch black. Curfew had passed an hour ago.
He waved his hand, and his Nimbus 2000 floated over. Before leaving, he paused, noticing a postcard on the desk.
The moonlight outlined the spires of Ravenclaw Tower. Sean was alone, but he didn't feel lonely.
With so much magical greatness accompanying him, he felt immense satisfaction. Any lingering confusion about the obscurity of Alchemy vanished.
Instead, he felt a profound respect for Zosimos of Panopolis, the alchemist from 300 AD.
It was his emergence that led to a flood of alchemical works distinct from early papyrus texts.
And it was in Zosimos's works that alchemical methods became implicit and vague, employing riddles and ambiguous phrases.
Zosimos was one of the first alchemists to hide his thoughts using mystical descriptions and symbolism, establishing a core tradition for later Alchemy.
A tradition that brought unimaginable wealth to alchemists reshaping the world.
Ravenclaw Dormitory.
The magical lantern still glowed in the window. The young wizard who usually waited up had fallen asleep.
He clutched a set of Weird Wizard's Chess, clearly having waited a long time.
Sean quietly placed a "Gandoka Knight" among his knight pieces. The usually boastful knight was silent—he had drunk too much and fallen asleep.
This was a design by the Weasleys. Young wizards could buy matching accessories from Weasley & Green's Wizard Wheezes based on the personalities of a few rare pieces.
It didn't break the game balance. First, the accessories had pros and cons. For example, the "Gandoka Knight" had a high chance of falling asleep, but a small chance of triggering "Sir Cadogan's High-Spirited Mounting State," randomly taking out two pieces with bad intentions (possibly friendly fire).
Second, Sean never felt a chess set where the Queen stabbed the King had much "balance" to begin with.
It was just that Sean's will was too strong, and the pieces were too eccentric, giving the young wizards room to maneuver.
The view from Ravenclaw Tower was excellent. Sean leaned back on a cushion transfigured from a book, directing a small portion of the fireplace to run over and burn at his feet, keeping the storm at bay.
Sean flipped over the postcard on the desk. He knew who had sent it.
The postcard depicted beautiful coastlines, glens, and castles. Tucked inside was a letter with a greeting card:
Sean:
Far away in St. Andrews, the cold wind of the North Atlantic sweeps across the grass of the Old Course. So, I pressed the sound of the North Atlantic wind beneath this postcard.
In the Highlands' Glencoe, snowy mountains and the horizon outline the silhouette of a crouching beast. So, I sent some rocks from there.
Christmas Eve in Edinburgh, the fir trees at the Christmas market beneath the castle are enchanting. I hope you can feel some of it through this branch.
I figured you wouldn't have time to go, so I had to bring some back for you.
After all, we're in this together.
—Yours faithfully, Justin.
Beneath the postcard lay a small recorder, a stone, and a fir branch.
In the winter night, the wind from the recorder mingled with the howling wind atop Ravenclaw Tower.
(End of Chapter)
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