[When alchemists lose themselves in the endless depths of ingredients, runes, and combo effects, they forget the raw power of magic itself. Magic's an art, not a science.
That old warning shows up the second you realize only a perfectly brewed potion hits the mark.
Master Zygmunt Budge holed up on remote Hermetray Island, rooming with rats.
Master Libatius Borage scribbled on tiny scraps of parchment.
Spells and potions? They're already linked by a single thread of origin.
We've done the work. The Potion Will Domain system is cracked wide open.
But where's the path for alchemy?]
Sean heard the rain hammering outside. Storm clouds rolled over the castle, lightning flashing across his determined green eyes. He kept writing:
[It's not hard to spot.
In Polyjuice Potion:
- Lacewing flies (Lace = bond, tie)
- Leeches suck out someone else's essence and make it yours
- Fluxweed handles the flow (Flux = flow) between two bodies and looks
- Knotgrass ties the whole connection together (Knot = knot)
- Boomslang skin means the final user sheds their old self and starts fresh
Any brewer who knows these secrets nails the final simmer every time.
Did the ingredients change? Did the heat or stirring get better? Nope. The wizard just synced their soul perfectly with the magic.
Alchemists have always kept quiet about chasing wealth and that perfect soul harmony. They search, they ponder; the answer's been staring them in the face.
Spells, potions, alchemy; all linked by one thread of origin.
That thread? Ritual.
Spell gestures and pronunciation; potion ingredients, stirring, heat; alchemy ingredients, ancient runes, carving techniques…
Put it all together: one complete ritual.]
Thunder cracked in the distance. Rain pounded down.
If anyone truly gets potion rituals, has walked far enough in the mental-will domain of potions, and can drag that core into alchemy…
Even Professor Snape would admit there's only one wizard alive who fits the bill:
The wizard Green, heir to refined rituals, perfected guiding methods, and the fusion enlightenment technique.
Polyjuice evolved because it's old; survival of the fittest left only the best methods.
Alchemy's different. It works everywhere because it's vague and obscure. Every wizard pulls the exact ritual power they need from cryptic symbols and fuzzy phrases.
So when Sean mapped every Polyjuice ritual step onto the Magical Creature Transformation Biscuits, he knew it: a brand-new ritual was born.
He was standing on a giant's shoulders again.
When he left the room, the fireplace roared hotter than ever.
Storm raging, wind howling.
The silver knife sparked under the dim light of the Hope Hut.
Curfew came and went. Hogwarts settled into that last hush before sleep, but something in the quiet felt like it was waking up.
Refined ritual shapes soul harmony;
Will-guiding strengthens belief;
Fusion enlightenment commands ascension…
Finally:
Sean failed.
He stared at the weird cat-shaped biscuit for a long time, then broke into a huge grin.
Of course he failed. The ritual wasn't the problem; he just didn't know Mrs. Norris well enough.
Is Mrs. Norris asleep right now?
Sean suddenly noticed the hut was pitch-black. Curfew had passed an hour ago.
He flicked his wrist; his Lightwheel 2000 broom floated over. Right before leaving, he froze; where'd that postcard on the desk come from?
Ravenclaw tower spire gleamed under clean moonlight. Sean was alone, but he didn't feel lonely.
Too many great wizards of history were right there with him. Total satisfaction. Every last shred of confusion about alchemy's murkiness? Gone.
He felt genuine respect for the alchemist Zosimos of Panopolis, circa 300 AD.
His work kicked off a flood of alchemy texts different from the early papyrus stuff.
In Zosimos's writings, methods turned subtle and vague; riddles, murky phrases.
Wizard Zosimos: one of the first to hide his ideas behind mystery and symbols, and the guy who started that core tradition for every alchemist after him.
That tradition brought alchemists wealth beyond imagination.
…
Inside the Ravenclaw dorm, the magic lantern still glowed by the window. The little wizard who usually waited up was fast asleep, arms wrapped around a wonky wizard-chess set that looked like it had been waiting forever.
Sean quietly slipped a "Gundakar Knight" into the kid's knight pile. The normally chatty, boastful knight stayed silent; he'd drunk too much and passed out.
Yep, Weasley & Green Wizard Wheezes design. Kids can buy matching props based on a few chess-piece personalities.
Doesn't break balance; every prop has ups and downs. Take the Gundakar Knight: high chance he'll snooze, low chance he triggers "gallant mounted charge" and randomly wipes out two shady characters (could be your own).
Also, Sean never bought the idea that the queen can straight-up assassinate the king in wizard chess; too many balance arguments.
It's just that Sean's will is so strong, and his pieces are so wild, it actually gives the kids room to play.
Ravenclaw tower has killer views. Sean lounged on a Transfiguration cushion, summoned a small chunk of fireplace to burn at his feet, and shut the storm out.
He flipped over the postcard. Already knew who it was from.
Picture side: gorgeous coast, canyon, castle. Tucked inside: a greeting card and a letter.
[Sean:
Far-off St. Andrews; North Atlantic wind whipping across the Old Course grass, so I trapped some of that wind under the postcard.
Glencoe in the Highlands; snow-capped peaks and sky sketching a giant beast crouched on the horizon, so I brought you a rock from there.
Edinburgh Christmas night; the fir trees at the castle-foot market are magical. Wish you could feel them through the branches.
Figured you're too busy to go, so I brought a little back.
We're a team, after all.
—Your loyal: Justin]
Under the card: a tiny voice recorder, a pebble, and a sprig of fir.
Winter night; the recorder's wind mixed with the real wind howling around Ravenclaw tower.