Inside the quiet room, the air shimmered faintly with magic.
Elrond, Gilvez, and Solim stood around a narrow bed, their gazes fixed on the young boy lying upon it — Flegorvis, the subject of the evening's experiment. He had just swallowed the potion known as the magical reaction elixir, and already his body was burning with heat, his face flushed red.
Solim took out his stopwatch and notebook. His task was to record the reaction time and, from that, judge the strength of the boy's innate magic. The longer the reaction lasted, the greater his magical potential. When it was over, Solim would use Snape's potion formula to prepare the next mixture.
Five long minutes later, Gilvez raised his hand — the signal to end the observation.
"Five minutes," Solim noted, nodding. "That's good. No problem."
The reaction had lasted five full minutes — long enough to show that the child possessed the magical capacity to become a wizard. Filch's reaction years ago had lasted half an hour, but Filch had been an adult then. This boy was only ten. Five minutes was an excellent result.
When Solim announced he needed to brew the next potion on the spot, Gilvez pushed up his sleeves. "Leave it to me," he said. "I might not be good at dueling, but when it comes to brewing potions, you're all amateurs."
It was no idle boast. The Orvis family had dealt in potion ingredients for centuries; potion-brewing ran in their blood. Many of the greatest masters in history had come from their lineage.
Elrond smiled faintly. Like Gilvez, he was not a fighter. Few wizards mastered every field. Even Dumbledore, after all, was no expert in potions. But what "not good" meant among such wizards was a relative thing.
As Gilvez began to work at the cauldron, Elrond spoke quietly to Solim.
"The Orvis family has declined," he said. "Gilvez's son and daughter-in-law are both gone. Only their child remains — the boy you see there. But for years, everyone thought he was a Squib."
Solim glanced again at the pale, sweating boy.
"It was a terrible blow," Elrond continued. "For a pure-blood family, to have its sole heir born without magic… it's unthinkable. Without an heir, what becomes of the family's wealth? Its reputation? Its future? The vultures circle, the distant relatives plot, the council elders whisper. Everyone waits for the moment to strike."
He paused, lowering his voice. "You've brought them hope, Solim. If this boy becomes a wizard, the Orvis family will owe you a debt beyond measure."
Solim said nothing, but he understood. For wizards of power and influence, potion masters were indispensable. And the Orvis family — the largest supplier of magical herbs in all of England, perhaps all of Europe — had connections in every corner of the wizarding world. Their gratitude would be worth more than gold.
Gilvez's hands moved steadily over the cauldron, the air thick with the scent of crushed roots and silver vapor. The silence was broken only by the crackle of fire beneath the pot.
Then, without warning, the door burst open.
"Uncle!" a booming voice declared. "I heard someone claims he can save the Orvis family. Let me see this miracle worker for myself."
A large, round wizard strode in, a smirk tugging at his lips. Behind him followed a man Solim recognized instantly.
"Father, this is—" the second man began, but fell silent when he saw Solim.
Solim rose slowly, his eyes hard. "What's the matter, Leman? Has your memory faded since I left Schuyler? Or shall I remind you of the last time we met?"
The man's expression flickered, then twisted into a smile. "Ah, Solim. I've heard plenty about you. How are things with the Rich family? I know their members quite well — perhaps I could put in a good word, smooth things over—"
"Enough."
Gilvez didn't even turn from his cauldron. His tone was quiet but edged with steel. "Either close your mouth or get out. I won't say it again."
The burly wizard froze, then forced another smile and backed toward the door, his son hurrying behind him.
When the room fell silent again, Gilvez gave a thin smile. "My apologies," he said, returning to his work. "You'll have to forgive the interruption."
Elrond leaned close to Solim. "That was Deliovis," he whispered. "The son of Gilvez's late brother. He's always thought of himself as the heir. But if Flegorvis truly becomes a wizard, he'll lose everything."
Solim understood at once. "So he's desperate."
"Desperate enough to cause an accident," Elrond said grimly.
"And the man with him?"
"Leman Rich," Elrond replied. "From the Rich family — the same one whose heir you killed."
Solim's eyes narrowed.
Yes, he remembered. It had been through the black gloves that he ended Rich's life. Leman had been one of Rich's followers, and he had crossed paths with Solim more than once. After Rich's death, they had sworn vengeance.
But Solim had vanished from Schuyler soon after, enrolling at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's watchful eye. None of them had dared pursue him there.
In Schuyler, few students could match Solim anyway. Thirteen- and fourteen-year-old wizards might sneer at his mixed background, but few had the courage to face him. Solim's discipline, self-control, and raw talent made him dangerous even without formal training.
By the time the sun set beyond the manor's tall windows, Gilvez finally lifted his ladle from the cauldron. The potion shimmered a soft violet.
While Gilvez brewed, Solim had spent the hours in the family's vast library, copying down potion formulas and rare notes. When Elrond came to fetch him, Solim closed the heavy codex reluctantly. He had already gathered more knowledge in one afternoon than he'd expected in a month.
Back in the laboratory, they found Gilvez bent over Solim's codex, reading intently.
"Boy," Gilvez said without looking up, "are you certain this medicine can only be used once at the start of treatment?"
Solim shook his head. "That's what Snape's experiments suggested. But he only had one subject — Filch. The rest will depend on your judgment."
Gilvez grunted. The formula was intricate, and it was clear that more than one dose would be required to complete the transformation from Squib to wizard. Like Muggle medicine, it would need a full course — and the sequence and timing of each potion might differ for every patient.
Fortunately, with Gilvez and Elrond's combined expertise, the process could be refined.
Half an hour after the first potion was administered, the results became visible. Flegorvis's breathing steadied, and faint sparks of blue light shimmered beneath his skin. The potion was working.
To turn him fully into a wizard would still take several more doses, each carefully adjusted. But even this partial success left Gilvez elated.
He barely paused to eat, disappearing into his laboratory with Solim's notes clutched under one arm. Solim and Elrond skipped dinner as well, but Elrond wasn't annoyed. He needed Gilvez's help later — with Sirna's case — and he was willing to wait.
There was still time. Nine months remained before the next Hogwarts term began. Enough to finish both the boy's transformation and Sirna's recovery.
That night, as they prepared to rest, Elrond stretched and said, "We'll stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning, we'll go to Little Hangleton." He led Solim down the corridor to the guest rooms, moving through the manor with the ease of an old friend.
The candles flickered low. Somewhere in the depths of the estate, a door creaked open.
In a dark, stone-walled chamber, Deliovis spoke in a hushed voice.
"Father, what will we do if that Squib really becomes a wizard?"
A shadow moved near the window. The older man — the true head of the conspirators — folded his hands. "That boy Solim is talented, yes, but do you really think he could develop such a potion on his own? Someone helped him. A master, surely. If we find that person, we'll find a way to stop them both."
He hesitated, then said coldly, "Inform the Rich family. Their heir was killed by that boy. They won't let the matter rest."
Deliovis frowned. "But what if they carry Portkeys? Wizards like Elrond always keep one close. The moment danger appears, they'll vanish."
"The Portkey isn't a miracle," the man replied. "It must be activated. Interrupt the activation, and they're trapped. The key takes time to recharge. All we need is the right moment — a heartbeat when they can't escape."
He turned toward the flickering candlelight, his eyes glinting. "Once they're gone, the Orvis family will have no protector left. With the Rich family's backing, the position of patriarch will be mine."
Deliovis swallowed. "And Uncle Gilvez?"
"An old fool," the man said flatly. "He'll be no match for me — not with the Riches behind us. By the time the Ministry learns what happened, it will be far too late."
The candle guttered, and the room fell into silence.
Outside, the manor slept, its towers silvered under the moonlight. But in its heart, plans were being laid — plans that would decide the fate of the Orvis family, and perhaps much more.
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