Chapter 186: The Thread of Origin

When alchemists immersed themselves in the endless depths of materials, magical runes, and combinatorial effects, they forgot the power of magic itself. Magic is an art, far beyond science.

When it became said that only meticulously crafted potions could produce proper effects—

When Master Zigmund Bachi dwelled among rats on the distant island of Hemetra;

When Master Libash Polachi wrote upon tiny scraps of paper.

Spells and potions have been linked by a thread of origin.

We made the necessary efforts; the domain of potion will has been revealed.

But where is the path of alchemy?

Wizard Sean heard heavy rain falling outside; dark clouds swept over the castle, lightning illuminating Wizard Sean’s determined green eyes. He continued writing:

{It is not hard to notice.

In the ingredients of Polyjuice Potion: lacewing fly (Lacewing Fly) signifies a bond (lace means bond);

leeches aim to absorb others’ essence and transform it into their own;

fluxweed is believed to express the flow between two appearances and forms (flux means flow);

knotgrass binds the relationship between the two (knot means knot);

the skin of the African tree snake signifies that the final user will shed and be reborn.

Potion-makers who understand these hidden meanings often find the final brewing process far more effortless.

Did the potion ingredients change? Did the heat control and stirring technique become more precise? No. The wizard simply found the perfect soul alignment with magic.

Alchemists have always concealed their pursuit of wealth and the perfect soul; they struggled, pondered deeply—yet the answer had long been before their eyes.

Spells, potions, and alchemy must all be linked by a thread of origin.

This thread is ritual.

The gestures and incantations of spells; the ingredients, stirring, and heat control of potions; the materials, ancient runes, and engraving techniques of alchemy…

Together form a complete ritual.}

Distant thunder cracked; rain poured down in torrents.

If anyone still understood the ritual of potions deeply, if anyone had advanced far enough in the domain of potion will to bring its core into alchemy—

even Professor Snape would admit that, in the magical world today, there is only one person—

that is the wizard Green, who inherited the improved ritual, perfected the guidance method, and synthesized the fusion enlightenment method.

Judging by the development of Polyjuice Potion, the rigor of potions stems from their long history; the methods remaining are superior due to natural selection.

But alchemy is different: its broader applicability lies precisely in its ambiguity and obscurity; every wizard can draw from its cryptic symbols and vague phrases the ritual power they seek.

So when Wizard Sean compared the ritual steps of Polyjuice Potion to the magical animal transformation biscuits, he was certain: a new ritual had emerged.

He had once again stood on the shoulders of giants.

When Wizard Sean left, the fireplace flames burned more fiercely than ever.

Rain pounded; wind howled.

The silver knife sparked under the dim light of Hope Cottage.

Curfew had long passed; Hogwarts Castle had sunk into its final moments before sleep, yet something within its slumber seemed to stir.

Improved ritual shapes soul alignment;

will guidance method strengthens conviction;

fusion enlightenment method governs transcendence…

Finally—

Wizard Sean failed.

He stared long at the strange cat-shaped biscuit, yet a brilliant smile curled on his lips.

Of course he failed—but it was not his ritual that was flawed; the defect lay only in his insufficient understanding of Mrs. Norris.

Mrs. Norris—was she asleep?

Wizard Sean suddenly realized the cottage was pitch black; curfew had passed an hour ago.

He waved his hand; the Firebolt 2000 floated toward him. Before leaving, he paused—where had the postcard on the desk come from?

The tower of Ravenclaw Castle traced the moon’s pale glow; Wizard Sean stood alone, yet felt no loneliness.

Too many great wonders of the magical world walked beside him; he felt profound fulfillment. The faint confusion over alchemy’s obscurity vanished entirely.

Instead, he felt deep admiration for Zosimos, the alchemist from Panopolis in 300 AD,

whose appearance sparked a flood of alchemical texts unlike the early papyrus manuscripts.

In the wizard Zosimos’s writings, alchemical methods became subtle and ambiguous—he began using riddles and obscure phrases.

The wizard Zosimos was among the first alchemists to conceal his thoughts through mysterious descriptions and symbols, and he established this core tradition for future alchemists.

And this tradition brought alchemists unimaginable wealth in their transformation of the world.

…

In Ravenclaw’s dormitory, the magical lantern still hung by the window; the usual student who waited patiently had fallen asleep.

In his arms lay a set of peculiar wizard chess pieces, as if he had waited a long time.

Wizard Sean quietly placed a “Gondokar Knight” among his knight stack; the once talkative, boastful knight fell silent—he had drunk too much and slept.

Ah, this was designed by the Weasleys; young wizards could buy matching props from Weasley & Green’s Jokes Shop based on the personalities of a few chess pieces.

But it did not disrupt game balance: first, the matching props had clear advantages and drawbacks. For example, the “Gondokar Knight” would most likely fall asleep, but rarely trigger the “Knight’s Inspired Mounting State,” randomly carrying off two morally corrupt individuals (possibly allies).

Second, Wizard Sean never believed the Queen would directly stab the King in wizard chess; too many claims about game balance existed.

It was merely that Wizard Sean’s will was too strong, and the chess pieces too bizarre, inadvertently granting young wizards room to maneuver.

The view from Ravenclaw Tower was splendid; Wizard Sean leaned against a cushion shaped by Transfiguration, directing a small portion of the fireplace fire to burn at his feet.

The storm was kept outside.

Wizard Sean opened the postcard on his desk; he already knew who had sent it.

The postcard showed a beautiful coastline, canyon, and castle. A letter was tucked inside:

{Wizard Sean:

Far away in St. Andrews, the cold wind of the North Atlantic sweeps across the grass of the Old Course, so the wind of the North Atlantic lies pressed beneath this postcard;

In Glen Coe, the highland canyon, snow-capped peaks and the horizon outline the silhouette of a slumbering beast, so I brought you some stones from there;

On Christmas Eve in Edinburgh, the fir trees at the Christmas market beneath Castle Rock were enchanting—I wish you could feel a little of it through the branches;

I know you have no time to go, so I had to bring you something back.

After all, we are a team.

—Yours faithfully: Jia Jia Siting}

Beneath the postcard lay a small recorder, a small stone, and a sprig of fir.

In the winter night, the recorder’s wind blended with the wind howling atop Ravenclaw Tower.