Chapter 134: Inheritance
[When it comes to the vast ocean of Potions, I still know almost nothing.
But now, has it begun to reveal miracles?
The small part that Borage left behind is offered to every witch and wizard who struggles onward in search of will within the domain of Potions.]
The wind and snow of tens of centuries of history had long been buried by time.
On an island hidden deep in the Scottish Highlands, the howling cold wind shattered itself against walls of hard, bitter stone.
Shawn sat alone by the window, heavy old tomes spread across his knees one after another. His gaze drifted over the winding lines of text, then slid away to the chaos of darkness beyond the glass.
Each time lightning tore the sky, it briefly lit the raging Black Lake beneath the tower.
He understood something. The power of will in the Potions domain would, in the end, move from strengthening and guidance to fusion.
On the far side of that great adventure of Master Zygmunt Budge and Master Libatius Borage, the Arctic Ocean and the Nile were blending within wet cloud.
So Shawn held a sky‑blue, ordinary quill in his hand. In that moment, it seemed as though three pairs of hands were lifting it together.
[Next, I will demonstrate the framework of the Potions will system.]
Improvement rituals. Will‑strengthening methods. Will‑guiding methods.
And finally, the fusion‑awakening method.
Just as Master Libatius Borage once did, Shawn wrote the method on the back of a sheet of parchment.
And as he wrote, the parchment copied itself exactly as he had expected. The duplicate slid between the pages, then slowly vanished from sight.
Shawn stared at the parchment in his hand, slightly dazed. In one corner of the slip, bold strokes had appeared soundlessly. Unlike the notes on scraps belonging to Shawn, Professor Snape, and others, this was an ancient rune symbol: Ken.
This rune meant light, and that light illuminated the road ahead.
Shawn looked at the slip for a long, long time. He knew that knowledge never truly ended.
...
When Shawn slowly woke, he happened to see Michael righteously refusing someone.
After Shawn was up, Michael picked up a kettle and watered the pot of Bubble‑Bean Pod again.
Snow was still falling outside the black, diamond‑paned window, and Michael was humming to himself in a bright, sing‑song murmur.
"Oh, you poor Bubble‑Bean Pod. Shawn never sees anyone all day. I suppose no one can water you..."
Now Shawn finally understood why the Bubble‑Bean Pod had looked so much more shrivelled lately.
After watering well outside Shawn's planned boundaries, Michael got up early again and started studying Shawn's Quidditch training notebook.
Yes. Even though he had only mentioned it once before, Shawn had still dug the notebook out and handed it to him.
To reach the Ravenclaw common room, you had to pass this staircase, and now footsteps were coming down it.
What a genius… controlling yourself, guiding magic. That's Shawn for you. No wonder that lot tried to drag him into Quidditch… but I knew from the start Shawn doesn't like Quidditch.
And as a Seeker, too. Idiots. Why didn't they ask me? I can take a hit better than Shawn...
If I can help Shawn slam into people, or be the one getting slammed, then maybe I'll support those blokes who come banging on doors at the crack of dawn."
Then came another knock. This time he opened without thinking and immediately slipped out.
Anthony and Terry were waiting outside.
After that, Shawn's life became perfectly regular.
In the mornings, he would be the first to arrive at the Hope Room. Justin always appeared exactly one minute later.
They would share whatever new food Justin had made.
Scottish breakfasts were famous for their hearty full English spreads, and Justin always prepared at least three dishes at dawn.
Paired with a steaming mug of honey pomelo tea, even the wind and snow outside blurred into misty warmth.
Shawn would first refine his notes. Lately, History of Magic and Astronomy had been moving very slowly, mostly in catch-up mode.
For History of Magic, Shawn had reached the third‑year sections, but the version in the first‑years' hands was still stuck in the first half of first year.
Charms and Transfiguration were updated the fastest. Most of the class couldn't understand what came next, but that didn't stop them from coming by every day. Whenever they saw progress, they looked happier than if they'd learned it themselves.
Potions and Herbology notes had become the most borrowed, after all not everyone could remember every word Professor Snape said once class was over.
As for Herbology, Neville and Justin helped fill that in together.
Defense Against the Dark Arts notes were special. If you did not read Shawn's notes, you could only teach yourself, so Justin copied two versions and quietly updated them every day.
The room was full of plants, steadily growing under magic until the whole place looked lush and green.
Neville carefully corrected their growth so they would not block the space. Justin always praised him as a Herbology master. At first, Neville would flush scarlet and grow shy, but now he seemed to half-believe it.
Outside, wind and snow raged. Inside the Hope Room, watched over by the fire, it was unusually warm.
Hermione came in, hugging her books, then Neville followed with a flowerpot in his arms.
By midday, the three of them would head to the greenhouses to help care for the plants.
After the wild wind and rain of October, Shawn's Herbology understanding had already reached [Entry], and he was pushing steadily towards [Proficient].
Still, Herbology progress, like Potions, was not always quick. It was constant, though, and unshakably forward.
...
Where drifting snow melted, on the marble stairs of the entrance hall, beside the corridor.
The room here was small, but a cosy fire burned in the hearth.
Minerva McGonagall was waiting for an owl that would come flying through the wind and snow. In recent days, it had nearly become a habit.
Whenever a letter arrived from distant London, she could not help going to look at that little one.
To look at his vivid green eyes, and the hunger for magic that so often shone within them.
[...Perhaps he wants nothing, or perhaps he has never had anything...]
Letters from Croydon often made her stern expression pause, just slightly.
When the wind and snow grew fiercer, Shawn and the other two would appear wrapped in thick robes.
Their boots pressed uneven footprints into the thin snow. At times like that, Neville would look at Shawn with eager, pleading eyes.
So Shawn flicked his wand, and a fire salamander ran out of the jar, scrambling up onto Neville's head within two or three breaths.
[You practised advanced Transfiguration at Proficient standard once. Proficiency +300.]
Neville hurriedly shoved his head down into the snow, bottom sticking up, and grinned foolishly as he watched the fire salamander burn a glowing trail across the white.
Lately, the flame salamander had become harder and harder to control. At the same time, Shawn could feel that in the advanced Transfiguration branch, the path of turning objects into "magic," he was already close to Expert.
He did not rush it. He simply waited patiently for inspiration to appear.