It was another sleepless night.
Yet Ian felt no fatigue or drowsiness at all. He returned once more to the Room of Requirement, continuing his careful experimentation with potion-making, seeking to further refine the elusive Prince's Magical Power Revival Potion.
As it stood, the current iteration of the Prince's Magical Power Revival Potion could not permanently rekindle the magical core of a Squib. Even if a Squib consumed the entire bottle, it would only sustain a temporary reactivation of their magic for a limited number of cycles. Clearly, it had yet to achieve the flawless, everlasting revival effect that Ian so keenly pursued.
While this potion could become his most lucrative creation, for a true potioneer like Ian, choosing not to brew a permanent magic-restoring Potion was a matter of personal choice, but failing to do so was utterly unacceptable.
Maximising Galleons was a matter for businessmen. But to truly and irreversibly revive a Squib's magic? That was the work of a wizard worthy of being called a master of the craft.
"There must be a method, and such a method, within the framework of 'Magical Awakening,' could even extend to love potion theory. I might be able to improve Professor Morgan's Heartstring Elixir in the process."
"I only wonder whether concocting a love potion with lifelong effects would cause an uproar in the Department of Magical Ethics."
"Some would argue that enduring effects still count as love if mutually accepted. Others would claim it to be a vile mockery of free will."
"Well, as the old saying goes: the potion is not to blame, it is the intent of those who wield it. If two lovers willingly take such a potion together…"
"…then it could be given another name, one imbued with beauty and meaning."
Ian pondered purely from the academic and professional angle of potion-making. He held no personal interest in love potions that bound hearts for life.
After all,
The young wizard had already glimpsed what he would look like as a grown man. Whether by charm or skill, he was quite confident that both would prove far more effective than any love Potion.
Bubble Bubble~
The cauldron atop the enchanted hearth emitted a steady rhythm of bubbling.
Researching a potion's effect was no simple endeavour. Ian did not expect a breakthrough overnight. He needed to exhaust a vast array of magical ingredients and combinations to prolong the potion's efficacy.
It was a process destined to be slow and repetitive.
Much like the routine of a Magical Materials scholar.
But Ian was delighted by it.
[You have brewed with care. Potioneering Proficiency +3]
[You have brewed with care. Potioneering Proficiency +2]
[You have brewed with care. Potioneering Proficiency +3]
…
After all, he was still accumulating skill and experience. By the time morning dawned, his "Potioneering Proficiency" had crept ever closer to the threshold of advancement. With just a few more days of effort, he might see it level up.
"Extraordinary traits are all well and good, but what I truly seek now are Legendary traits," Ian murmured. He already possessed several level-seven skills, and within a year or two, his first legendary trait might finally awaken. Extraordinary traits had already allowed him to surpass most of his peers. So it stood to reason that legendary traits would be exponentially more powerful and rarer still.
[Flame Journey (Level 7) 87/6400]
[Linguistic Command (Level 7) 154/6400]
[Transfiguration (Level 7) 341/6400]
With a bit of luck, perhaps a fortunate encounter, or proper mentorship, Ian believed the time needed to awaken a legendary trait could be greatly shortened.
Naturally, as long as he remained a student of Hogwarts, continuing his studies under Professor Morgan in the Twilight Realm, his progress would never stagnate.
Before he had met his teacher and stepped into Hogwarts, it had taken him years, and no small amount of cunning, to awaken just two Extraordinary traits. That was likely the difference between coming from nothing and being guided by legacy.
"In the future, I might get by with only three or four hours of sleep a night. I'll devote the rest to learning. The more magic I master, the greater my energy becomes. No wonder powerful wizards can live beyond two centuries with ease."
Ian, despite staying awake all night, still felt remarkably refreshed.
He gave instructions to the Dementor, a peculiar one that had been semi-domesticated, and watched as the creature donned its janitorial uniform and began tidying the room. Satisfied, Ian stepped lightly out of the Room of Requirement.
Outside.
Sunlight streamed through the enchanted windows of the castle. It was a rare clear morning in winter, casting a golden hue over the frost and adding a touch of warmth to the biting cold.
As he descended the spiral staircase, Ian spotted Filch in the corridor. The caretaker stood hunched and despondent, staring mournfully into a rusting iron bucket as though the meaning of life might be lurking at the bottom.
"It seems being reduced to a Squib once again has struck him harder than anyone imagined."
Ian passed quietly behind the man. But just a few steps beyond, he was startled by a sharp scream, followed by a deafening blast.
BOOM!
A violent explosion echoed through the corridor.
Ian spun around at once with his wand drawn in an instant. But no Death Eaters had appeared, no shadowy threats loomed. Instead, he saw Filch sprawled across the stone floor, unmoving.
It was like déjà vu.
The iron bucket that had been blasted into the air came clanging down from the ceiling, and Filch's legs gave a feeble twitch before he passed out once again, the corridor reeked of poorly brewed magical combustibles.
"?????"
Watching the younger students panic, some shouting for help, others sneakily giving Filch a nudge with their foot, Ian's expression became a complex mix of exasperation and disbelief.
"Did this daft codger seriously think his magic had returned because he got blown up by an enchanted bucket?" Ian noted that Filch had placed the bucket in exactly the same spot as the day before.
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry… but he had a sinking feeling he might be right. Filch had grossly underestimated the volatile nature of magically-infused powder. His injuries today looked far worse than yesterday's.
Yesterday, he'd still had a leg twitch or two. Today, he looked positively lifeless.
"Did he try to off himself?"
Ian crouched down and checked for a pulse.
"He is barely breathing… hanging on by a thread."
It seemed the old caretaker was exhaling far more than he was inhaling.
"Who's going to carry him to the hospital wing?"
After a beat of hesitation, Ian pulled a weak restorative Potion from his robes and gently tipped it into Filch's mouth. Then, watching the crowd of wide-eyed students scatter like startled pixies, he decided to be a little more assertive.
"Oy! You lot, yes, you, take him to the hospital wing, now!" Ian snagged a few burly Slytherins by the collar. Not only had he just saved Filch's life, but he also gave the Slytherins a spot of early morning exercise.
A win for Filch, a win for Ian, and, depending on your perspective, a win for the reluctant volunteers.
(To Be Continued…)
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