Early the next morning, Solim rose before dawn to make preparations. That afternoon, he and Elrond were to visit the Orvis family to examine a young squib. If the child proved capable of channeling magical power, Solim and Elrond would finally have a solution for Sierna's predicament.
In a pure-blood wizarding family, the existence of a squib was a disgraceful secret—something to be hidden from outsiders at all costs. Among pure-bloods, having a squib in the bloodline was seen as a deep humiliation. Solim, however, was rather pleased to have identified three potential squibs to study. If the experiment with the Orvis family succeeded, they could spread word of it quietly, and perhaps one or two more families might volunteer their "subjects." But Sierna could not afford to wait any longer.
She was already ten years old, and by next year she would reach the age of school admission. If she could not awaken her magic before turning eleven, her future would become uncertain. No wizarding school accepted new students older than eleven. Transfers from other schools were permitted, but never late awakeners. Those who failed to awaken before eleven were left to fend for themselves, often untrained and without guidance.
Knockturn Alley was filled with such unfortunate souls—wizards who had awakened too late and never received a proper education. Their magic was clumsy, their knowledge patchy. Most had learned on their own, scraping by with whatever odd jobs or dubious dealings they could find to survive. Without the discipline of schooling, their magical foundations were unstable. Many could brew simple potions or work with herbs, but few could master Transfiguration, which required the most systematic study of all. Some didn't even possess wands; unregistered wizards were forbidden from purchasing them, forcing them into the shadows of the magical world—into places like Knockturn Alley.
Solim refused to let Sierna's life turn out that way. Though she was a true Selwyn by blood, to most pure-blood families, squibs were worse than Muggles. The common attitude toward them was indifference, though some families went to horrifying extremes, killing squibs in their midst to preserve their so-called "honor."
Sierna's situation could not be delayed. She would either become a witch or live as an ordinary person, far from everything she knew. Even if the potion failed to awaken her magic, Solim trusted that their grandfather would see she lived comfortably. Snape's line of potions had already been completed and shown results with Filch, but whether it would work for Sierna—or whether her case was even similar—remained unknown.
Still, the Orvis family visit held promise beyond his sister's plight. If Solim succeeded in helping their squib child become a wizard, the victory would bring immense benefit. Other pure-blood families would come to him for aid, eager to cure their own secret shames. Each success would strengthen Solim's reputation and expand his network of alliances. Every favor owed to him would be a shield against potential enemies.
The Orvis family, after all, was among the oldest pure-blood lineages in Britain. Their herbal plantations were renowned across Europe; every master potion-maker relied on their ingredients. The Orvis plantations produced some of the rarest and most precious potion materials, and their ancestral manor in Dartmoor remained the heart of their family's power. If this visit succeeded, it would mark a powerful beginning for Solim.
After a quick lunch, Solim and Elrond set out. The Selwyns, being a cautious and traditional family, never used the Floo Network. There were two reasons. First, the network was overseen by the Ministry of Magic, meaning that any home connected to it was effectively exposed to Ministry surveillance. Families like the Selwyns and Orvises, who prized privacy and independence, refused to be monitored in such a way. Second, the Floo Network was dangerously insecure. Once connected, a skilled wizard could breach the wards and travel through the fireplace at will—even if the connection was supposedly "closed." For ancient pure-blood families, the idea of an intruder arriving unannounced in their home was intolerable.
Their destination lay deep within the Cornwall Peninsula, the southernmost edge of England. North of Plymouth, hidden within Dartmoor National Park, stood the Orvis estate and its three vast plantations. Hikers wandering through the park would never know that behind the mists and hills lay one of the wizarding world's greatest strongholds. In Cornwall's mild and fertile climate, the Orvis family ruled as undisputed masters of herb cultivation, supplying rare ingredients to potion-brewers across Europe.
As Solim walked through the wild beauty of Dartmoor, his restless thoughts began to calm. He found himself daydreaming of building a home of his own someday. Whenever he left Selwyn Castle, he had nowhere to stay except the Leaky Cauldron. But such dreams were distant ones. He was short on gold—his modest savings barely enough to buy potion supplies, let alone land and a house. In the wizarding world, constructing a home was no simple task. The Ministry of Magic had to approve all building projects, investigating whether Muggles lived nearby, whether the structure might risk exposure, how large it would be, and what materials would be used. Without approval, a wizard-built home was considered illegal—subject to demolition, fines, or even a short stay in Azkaban. Even with permission, the Ministry demanded steep land fees, no matter how remote the site. Solim could only sigh—young wizards struggling for independence were little different from Muggles who worked themselves to the bone just to afford a roof over their heads.
"It's here—just ahead," Elrond said, pointing to a massive boulder.
Solim eyed the rock. "We go through that?"
Without answering, Elrond strode forward and vanished straight into the stone. Solim sighed and followed suit, muttering, "Isn't this just like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?"
The Orvis manor's gardens were meticulously tended—clearly the work of skilled house-elves. Near the front gate, Solim spotted a ghost tree. Wands made from ghost wood excelled at soul-related magic, though they were utterly incompatible with spells of light or purity like the Patronus Charm. He remembered Schuyler's lessons well: ghost trees must never be burned. The smoke they produced could kill a person on the spot, transforming them into a wandering spirit. To plant such a dangerous tree at the entrance of one's home seemed bizarre.
Before he could voice the thought, Elrond chuckled. "You don't understand yet. You'll see why soon."
An elderly wizard in a crimson robe appeared at the gate. "You're late, old man! Come in, don't dawdle." Though Solim was still some distance away, he recognized the voice immediately—Jilves Orvis, the current head of the family and a friend of Elrond's.
"Remember," Elrond murmured to Solim as they approached, "when they ask about the potion, take all the credit yourself. Don't mention your professors. Jilves knows the truth, but the others don't. We can't have Snape's name getting out."
It took Solim a moment to understand, until Elrond added sharply, "Use your head! If they learn that Snape made the potion, who do you think gets the favors and rewards—him or you?"
Solim understood then. If the potion worked, every pure-blood family with a squib would owe gratitude—not to Snape, but to him and Elrond. It wasn't entirely fair, but Solim needed those connections more than anything. He could always repay Snape later with potion ingredients or formulae.
The moment they entered the courtyard, Solim froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Before him stood a tree unlike any he had ever seen—majestic, dark, and alive with faint energy.
"Hah! I told you—every wizard reacts the same way on their first visit," Jilves said with a grin. "Boy, you're back!" Elrond barked, embarrassed. "It's just a tree—don't gape like that."
"Tree?!" Jilves snapped. "You were worse than him your first time here! If I hadn't stopped you, you'd have hacked off a branch to steal!"
Solim could hardly blame Elrond. It was snakewood—one of the rarest magical materials known. Slytherin himself had carved his staff from it. Snakewood was prized in both alchemy and potion-making, but above all, in crafting wands and staves. A wand made from snakewood had no upper limit for channeling magical power. Unlike ordinary wands, which could only channel a fixed amount of energy regardless of the wizard's strength, snakewood grew in power with its wielder. With enough magic, even a simple Stunning Spell could become lethal.
Jilves smiled knowingly. "If you can help young Fletcher awaken his magic, I'll give you a piece of that tree."
"Only one?" Elrond muttered, squinting. "So stingy for the great head of the Orvis family."
"Don't start with me," Jilves shot back. "If this works, you'll both have one. But if it fails, don't expect a twig."
Elrond smirked, tugging Solim by the sleeve. "Come on, boy. Let's finish the job first. You can stare at your precious tree later."
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