Chapter 131: Vastness
If Transfiguration's vastness comes from generations of witches and wizards uncovering it piece by piece, then Alchemy's vastness surely springs from an imagination that never runs dry.
Add the Levitation Charm to a touch of low‑strength Legilimency, and a Quick‑Quotes Quill can be born and sold for centuries. Pair a Copying Charm with a Sustaining Charm, and you get Everlasting Ink. Even the Weasley twins' Canary Creams are simply Transfiguration applied in miniature, triggered at the moment of eating to perform an advanced transformation from one living creature to another.
Of course, the twins could not manage that part on their own. Professor Tyra had "generously" helped them inscribe it.
From there, Shawn could not help thinking, if this is possible, then why not that?
Shark Bread, so that a witch or wizard who eats it becomes a shark and swims freely through water. Eagle Biscuits, so that a bite grants a brief burst of flight.
Alchemy demands something very particular. It expects witches and wizards to think askew, to break the mould. The difficulty often lies not in the fact that it cannot be done, but in the fact that no one thinks to do it.
Take the Weasleys' Anti‑Jinx Hats from the original story. Was there truly no witch or wizard capable of making them?
Wizards contrived the Knight Bus, after all. It can be summoned, stretched, and shrunk at will, conceal itself automatically, and roar along at staggering speed, all under a single driver. It hardly deserves to be called driving. The description ran like this: the driver seemed unfamiliar with the concept of a steering wheel, so the Knight Bus continually ploughed onto pavements, yet never struck anything. Rows of lamp posts, letter boxes, and dustbins hopped aside as the coach hurtled past, then popped back into place once it was gone.
For Alchemy, or alchemical magic, to be that advanced, and yet no one produced an Anti‑Jinx Hat? If they were useless, the Ministry of Magic would not have bought five hundred of them for its staff. Fred and George took that as a springboard and devised a whole line of anti‑hex products, from hats to gloves.
Perhaps there are simply too few who truly study Alchemy, or perhaps witches and wizards care little for invention, or perhaps their thinking is too limited.
Whatever the reason, development in Alchemy is scarce, even though traces of it are everywhere in wizarding life.
For days, Shawn could not restrain the ideas racing through his head. He buried himself in the twins' notebook. It set out the first thin principles of Alchemy and explained how to devise several small tools.
His first step, of course, would be to produce a serviceable self‑floating quill. He was also very curious about Professor Tyra, that elusive teacher who only taught sixth and seventh years.
More than either, he kept glancing back to the requirements on his panel.
Potions. Charms. Transfiguration.
He now understood how Charms and Transfiguration powered Alchemy, but what part did Potions play?
November deepened with the cold. Snow began to drift over Hogwarts. Every morning, the world wore a thin white skin, and the wind cut hands and cheeks like knives. Snowflakes speckled the sky and the Great Hall's ceiling alike. Snow caps settled on the mountains around the castle. The temperature fell and fell. Sometimes Shawn wore two jumpers and still carried the blue‑flame jar Hermione had given him, like a hand‑warmer in his pocket.
Because his alchemical research demanded it, Shawn kept a more regular routine than ever. The Weasley brothers had no trouble finding him.
"Magnificent Green!"
They would croak it from behind suits of armour, behind portraits, even from holes in the snow, then dash away cackling. Only then would Shawn look up at last. All his attention was on the notes.
"Has he been a bit too focused lately?" Justin asked outside the Hope Room, sounding half curious, half concerned. "He is always focused, but this is different."
Hermione nodded and then glanced over at Harry and Ron lurking down the corridor, and at the tall Ravenclaw prefect with them.
"Should we just ask, Harry?" Ron whispered at the corner, puffing into the tips of his fingerless gloves, barely containing his excitement. "Did you see? When you caught the Snitch, even Hermione cheered."
Harry ducked his head, but his voice carried a shy note of agreement. "I think… Shawn will let us into that group."
While they whispered, the tall Ravenclaw prefect had already halted in front of Shawn.
"I am Prefect Penelope Clearwater, Mr Shawn Green. I am here to make amends for a fool's mistake," she said, identifying herself first and tossing a bait for his interest.
Behind her loomed several burly Ravenclaws.
"Roger, did your eye for eagles turn to owls the moment you stepped off the pitch?" a black‑haired wizard teased.
Roger flushed crimson. He wanted to retort, then remembered his error and held his tongue. What had he done? He had allowed a prodigiously gifted Ravenclaw Quidditch talent to drift unnoticed for weeks. When the flying test had been passed, he ought to have chased him then and there. Who did not like Quidditch?
"Owls are eagles, little wizard, you foolish little wizard!" a voice boomed. A portrait of an owl clutching parchment slid out of the wall. Several Ravenclaws flinched.
"Mr Owl, we were not talking about you…" The black‑haired boy clearly knew of Mr Owl's presence, and judging by their shivers, they feared him.
"I am not an eagle?!" Mr Owl squawked, so angry his spectacles slid down his beak.
Panicking at the probable fallout, the black‑haired Ravenclaw hurried to patch it up. "We meant you—"
"You mean I have no eye for things?!" Mr Owl flapped in outrage.
"No, not you. Yes, you. All right, no…" The more he rushed, the less he could speak. His face sank deeper and deeper into despair.
Now it was Roger Davies's turn to laugh.
"Troya, explain yourself properly, or for a month, you can forget about walking in without trouble. This castle was designed by Ravenclaw," he said.
"Shut up, Davies. Help me," the wizard called Troya snapped, sweating. "If I cannot get back in, neither can you sleep. I will knock on the door all night."
Laughter erupted. Several Ravenclaws doubled over, and the air turned bright with mischief.
At the front of the little crowd, however, the conversation was not going smoothly.
Prefect Penelope frowned, doing her best to soften her voice.