Two months.
That was how long it took to reach Level 3 Occlumency — instant mental emptiness, iron discipline over thought, and the ability to twist memories just enough to hide what mattered most.
It wasn't perfection.But it was a fortress.
With my mind stronger and my magic more stable, I shifted focus to the next pillar of power:
Potions.
Snape's journals were brutally clear — in real battle, potions determined who walked away alive.
So I started with one of the most important life-saving mixtures in magical history:
Wiggenweld Potion.
Not too rare. Not too advanced.But powerful enough to pull someone back from death's edge.
I set up a brewing station in the former Potions classroom — cauldrons steaming, shelves stocked, enchanted utensils gleaming under torchlight. The place smelled like herbs, metal, and danger.
I unrolled Snape's notes and began.
Wiggenweld Preparation — Log Attempt #1
I took a deep breath, steadying my wand above the cauldron.
Focus. Magic follows intention.
✔ Salamander blood — dripped in until it glowed deep red✔ Stirred clockwise — red shifted to orange✔ More salamander blood — orange to yellow✔ Stirred — green✔ More blood — a bright turquoise✔ Heat — bubbling to rich indigo✔ More salamander blood — pink
So far, so good.
The heat shimmered as I fed fire beneath the cauldron, slowly turning the brew crimson red once again.
Next came the volatile part:
✔ Five lionfish spines — fizzing until yellow✔ Heat — maintaining color✔ Five more spines — sharp magical scent✔ Flobberworm mucus — potion slithering into violet✔ Stir — red✔ More mucus — orange✔ Stir — yellow✔ Shake — back to orange✔ Honeywater — turquoise✔ Heat — pink✔ Final salamander blood — green
The potion released a rising plume of soft emerald vapor.
I checked the consistency…
Perfect.
The first vial I bottled seemed to glimmer with vitality, the liquid alive with healing magic. A Wiggenweld potion of this quality could restore a wounded warrior, mend bones, or potentially revive someone on death's doorstep.
I capped it, sealing in the promise of survival.
Snape had been right.In the end, potions save lives when spells cannot.
And in Middle-earth, survival would not be guaranteed — not against dragons, orcs, Nazgûl, dark sorcery… or Sauron himself.
I set the fresh batch onto a cooling rack, already thinking ahead:
Blood-Replenishing Potions.Burn-Healing Paste.Skele-Gro… eventually.Even poisons — basilisk venom imitations, paralysis mixtures, silent killers.
War was coming.Sauron would rise.Armies would clash.And I would not face that future unprepared.
Every drop of potion I brewedwas another step toward immortality.