[When alchemists immerse themselves in the endless depths of materials, Chapter 185: Primal Thread, and combinatory effects, they forget the power of magic itself. Magic is an art, not a science.
When the caution "only carefully crafted potions can achieve the proper effects" appears;
when Master Zygmunt Budge dwells with rats on the distant island of Hermetray;
when Master Libatius Borage writes upon a narrow slip—
Spells and potions have already been tied by a single primal thread.
We have made the necessary effort: the framework of the potion will/intent field stands revealed.
But—where is the path for alchemy?]
Sean heard the heavy rain outside; clouds scraped the castle roof, lightning flashed in his steadfast green eyes. He wrote on:
[It is not hard to perceive.]
In Polyjuice ingredients: lacewing fly (lace → "bond");
leeches to siphon essence and make it one's own;
fluxweed to signify the flow of form and appearance (flux → "flow");
knotgrass to knot two beings together (knot → "tie");
boomslang skin to signify the user's final shedding, reborn.
Knowing these hidden correspondences, a skilled potioneer becomes surer in the final brew.
Have the materials changed? Is it the flame and the stirring that fit more perfectly? No. It is merely that the wizard has found the soul most perfectly consonant with magic.
Alchemists have kept secret their pursuit of wealth and a perfected soul. They have searched and pondered, yet the answer has long been before them.
Spells, potions, and alchemy alike should be bound by one primal thread.
That thread is the ritual.
Spell: gesture, utterance.
Potion: material, stirring, heat.
Alchemy: material, ancient runes, engraving method—
together forming the complete ritual.
Thunder cracked afar, rain poured down.
If there is anyone who understands potion ritual, who has gone far enough in the psychic will of potions to carry its core into alchemy—
even Professor Snape would admit there is only one in the wizarding world now—
the wizard Green, who inherited the Refinement Rite, perfected the Guiding Method, and summarized the Fusion Initiation.
Polyjuice suggests potions are rigorous because they have existed long enough for poor methods to die out, leaving the excellent.
But alchemy is different: its broad applicability comes from its vagueness and obscurity—so that each wizard can draw the ritual force he needs from veiled symbols and ambiguous phrases.
So, when Sean mapped the ritual steps intrinsic to Polyjuice onto the Magical-Creature Biscuit, he was certain a new ritual had emerged.
He had once again climbed onto the shoulders of giants.
When Sean left, the hearth burned hotter than ever.
The storm drummed; the wind roared.
A silver knife threw sparks under the Nook's dim lights.
Time crept past curfew; Hogwarts stood in the last moments before sleep—yet within its sleep, something seemed to be waking.
Refinement Rite to shape the soul's consonance;
Guiding Method to strengthen conviction;
Fusion Initiation to command the ascent…
At last—
Sean failed.
He stared a long while at the odd cat-shaped biscuit—then smiled, brilliant.
Of course he had failed; but the failure was not of the ritual. The flaw lay only in his insufficient understanding of Mrs. Norris.
Mrs. Norris—was she asleep?
He realized the room was pitch black—curfew had passed an hour ago.
He waved; the Nimbus 2000 rose into the air. Just before leaving, he paused—where had that postcard come from on the desk?
Ravenclaw's spires traced the milky moonlight. Sean was alone, yet felt no loneliness.
Too much of the wizarding world's greatness stood with him; he felt deep contentment. Even the last wisp of confusion about alchemy's obscurity vanished.
He found himself full of respect for Zosimos of Panopolis (ca. 300 AD), the alchemist whose appearance brought forth a flood of works unlike the early papyri.
And in Zosimos's writings, methods grew subtle and ambiguous—riddles and equivocal phrases—he was among the first to veil ideas in mystery and symbol, and thus founded a core tradition for alchemists to come.
That tradition has brought unimaginable wealth to alchemists remaking the world.
…
In the Ravenclaw dorm, the magic lantern still hung in the window; the boy who usually waited there had dozed off.
In his arms was a set of Oddball Wizard Chess—he must have been waiting a long time.
Sean quietly placed a Gendoka Knight among his knights. The once-boastful piece fell silent—he'd drunk too much and was asleep.
(Yes—designed by the Weasleys. First-years could, based on a handful of piece personalities, buy matching accessories at Weasleys & Green.)
But it didn't break balance: each accessory had pros and cons. For example, the Gendoka Knight has a high chance to fall asleep—but a small chance to trigger the "Mounted and Fired-Up" state and randomly remove two ill-willed targets (possibly his own side).
Second, Sean never believed a chess set where the queen could outright stab the king; there are too many arguments about game balance.
It's just that Sean's will was too strong—and the pieces too outrageous—leaving room for the first-years to "play the meta."
Ravenclaw Tower's view was fine. Sean leaned on a cushion made by Transfiguration and coaxed a tongue of fire from the hearth to burn at his feet.
The storm stayed outside.
He opened the postcard—he already knew who it was from.
The card showed a beautiful coast, a glen, and a castle. A letter tucked with a greeting read:
[Sean,
From far St Andrews—the North Atlantic wind skims the turf at the Old Course; I've trapped its sound beneath this card.
In the Highlands' Glen Coe, snow peaks trace the silhouette of a crouching giant; I've sent you a few stones from there.
In Edinburgh on Christmas night, the firs at the market beneath Castle Rock are enchanting—may you feel a little of them in these branches.
I thought you'd have no time to go—so I've brought some back.
After all, we're on the same team.
—Yours faithfully, Justin]
Beneath the card sat a tiny recorder, a small stone, and a sprig of fir.
In the winter night, the recorder's wind blended with the wind at Ravenclaw Tower's crown and howled.