Just like that, several more days slipped by.
It was July 30th.
Since returning from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, Richie had stayed put at home and focused entirely on studying. He never once mentioned getting hurt during the trip.
Early that morning, after washing up and finishing breakfast, Richie climbed into his magically expanded suitcase and began preparing to carve his third alchemical rune. Like the first two, this was an activation rune—[ع].
The condition for carving it was that it had to be done underwater.
The problem was obvious: paper disintegrates in water, and ink just dissolves. Figuring out how to actually draw the rune became a real headache.
Richie racked his brain and flipped through Basic Alchemy multiple times before finding a solution buried in one short passage.
He made all the necessary preparations.
Still, he couldn't help wondering—if every alchemical rune was this tricky to carve, wouldn't assembling them into a complete array be incredibly difficult?
Basic Alchemy didn't address the question, so Richie wrote a detailed letter and had Wangcai deliver it to Professor Milossan Celine's office at Beauxbatons.
Her reply was thorough and reassuring.
She explained that the elaborate rituals required for first-time carving weren't the runes themselves being inherently difficult. They were simply Nicolas Flamel's way of projecting and interpreting the runes. Only by completing these rituals could a person truly connect with the inner form of each rune. Once all thirty-two runes had been properly experienced and rooted in the carver's consciousness, they no longer needed the physical rituals. You would simply need to "imagine" them to manifest.
Flamel had described the thirty-two runes as an ouroboros—a serpent eating its own tail. Only when the full cycle was complete could it become self-sustaining.
Of course, that brought a whole new layer of difficulty. Many wizards still couldn't "imagine" having all thirty-two runes existing within their own minds. It might be a lack of talent, or perhaps they hadn't truly gone through the carving process step by step, or they simply didn't believe in alchemy at all.
In short, what Richie needed to do right now was stay grounded and keep moving forward one step at a time.
Professor Celine had put Richie's worries to rest. As long as he followed the proper process in Basic Alchemy, the door to true alchemy would eventually open for him.
Once again, Richie was struck by just how extraordinary Nicolas Flamel truly was. The man had taken something abstract and turned it into something concrete, then written a practical guide so others could follow.
Incredible… absolutely incredible.
(Nicolas Flamel in the background: "Even if you're slow, you should still be able to learn Basic Alchemy by your teens, right?")
Richie cleared his mind and focused on carving the rune.
---
Meanwhile, at the Burrow on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon.
Ron stumbled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in every direction from sleeping badly. His parents and most of his siblings were already seated and enjoying a simple but delicious breakfast.
"I can't believe you guys didn't wake me!" Ron grumbled, squeezing into his chair and grabbing the last piece of toast on the table.
"Oh, we thought you'd been up all night," George said, waggling his eyebrows. "We were about to send Mum up to give you some proper Weasley love."
Seeing his twin jump in, Fred immediately piled on.
"So, did you finally confess to that girl you like? Is that why you were up so late?"
Confess?
Molly's eyes narrowed the second she heard the word. She pointed her fruit knife—still smeared with jam—straight at Ron.
"Ronald Weasley, is there something you haven't told me?!"
Ron threw both hands up immediately.
"I swear it's nothing like what they're saying!"
"It had better not be. If I find out you're dating at your age, I'll break your legs and make you appreciate how precious tomorrow's sunshine really is!"
Molly gave him one last threatening look before lowering the knife.
Arthur, seated at the head of the table, lowered his copy of the Daily Prophet and cleared his throat. As the man of the house, it was his job to keep the peace.
"Hey, kids—do any of you know Richie Harland?"
Ron froze at the name.
"Richie Harland?"
"How do you know about him?"
"Ah, so you do know him," Arthur said with a small smile. He slid the newspaper across the table to Ron.
"This is one brave young wizard. He's just been awarded the Golden Flame Medal by the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary!"
"You know, when Charlie earned his, he nearly lost half his life. He still has a scar that never fully healed…"
At Arthur's words, the whole Weasley family turned toward the living room wall—the family's Wall of Honor. Most of the medals and photos there were Arthur's from the Ministry, along with family vacation pictures paid for with various bonuses. At the very top hung Charlie's Golden Flame Medal from his internship the previous year.
"I can't believe a boy that young has already achieved something like this," Molly said, clicking her tongue. She shot a slightly disappointed look at Ron, George, and the others. "I'm not asking you to go out and risk your lives like that, but at least behave yourselves at home…"
Ignoring his mother's usual scolding, Ron stared at the photo in the newspaper—Richie being tossed into the air by a cheering crowd, a big smile on his face. He couldn't help but purse his lips.
After breakfast, Ron wrote another letter and handed it to the family owl, old Errol.
He watched the ancient bird flap unsteadily out of the Burrow and let out a heavy sigh, looking miserable.
"Hey, you're not actually in love, are you?"
"Need some big-brother advice?"
George and Fred slid over to him, eyes wide with curiosity.
They had only been teasing him at breakfast, but it looked like something was genuinely bothering their little brother.
As the self-proclaimed best older brothers, they figured they should step in and help their (still very early) pubescent sibling through his troubles.
"What are you talking about?!" Ron rolled his eyes. "It's Harry!"
"We promised to keep in touch over the summer, but it's been a whole month and I've sent him over a dozen letters. He hasn't replied to a single one!"
He sighed again and slumped onto the couch, looking depressed.
"And tomorrow's his birthday… I wanted to invite him over…"
Fred and George exchanged a glance, both looking a little awkward.
Oh. So it was a friendship problem.
They had assumed it was girl trouble.